Page 70 of This Cruel Fate

Xolia had let go of her reservations about having a constant guard. If it was the price of being in the public eye, it was a price she had to pay. “Lead us to them.”

“A guard will give you freedom,” Bridget said. “Peter chose this team from his own personal guard.”

Freedom is admitting to what makes you happy. The first time she had been here, Irvine had told her that. Something twisted in her gut. What if nothing makes me happy?

She buried the thought and followed the small party as they walked down the side hallway. Rather than going into the office she had sat in before, Irvine led them to a large classroom. A set of windows overlooked the east-facing parking lot, where congregants were parking and talking in small groups. The room had a few round tables with chairs; one of the tables had three people sitting around it. Two men and one woman in casual dress, though one of the men had a handgun protruding from the pocket of his jeans.

“I’ve had the honor to talk to them before you arrived.” Irvine folded his gloved hands into the folds of his white robe. “Allow me introduce you, unless you’d like to do the honors.” Irvine gestured to Bridget, who shook her head.

“This is Jareth.” Irvine gestured to the tallest of the three. He was broad-shouldered and had a short beard and bushy eyebrows, which made him the most rugged man in the trio. His skin was free of any blemishes, and there were no wrinkles around the creases of his eyes or by his mouth; he was a variant.

“And Isiah.” Isiah was shorter, but rivaled Jareth in bulkiness. He was clean-shaven, though he had a scar through one black eyebrow. Human. Interesting.

“And your final guard, Emily.” Emily had cropped red hair. Recognition sparked for Xolia.

“We were in the same barracks,” Xolia guessed.

Emily nodded. “We were. I look forward to working with you again.”

Xolia nodded. She turned to the two men. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. How did you come into this line of work?”

“I fought in the rebellion, just not in Atalia.” Jareth held out a hand, and Xolia shook it. While most of the fighting had been concentrated in Atalia, there had been other cities that’d seen uprisings against the status quo.

Isiah held out his hand. “My brother was a variant. I never got the chance to meet him or protect him.”

Xolia clenched her jaw. She wasn’t used to seeing humans express regret for variants’ suffering. I shouldn’t judge him before he’s had a chance to prove himself. “I appreciate your dedication to helping, though I hope I won’t have to use your services.”

“The Palace and the Church are in agreement—you’ll have one of them with you at all times,” Irvine said. “The safety of our Selermine is paramount. Nothing is ever going to be the same for you again, Xolia.”

Xolia couldn’t stop from glancing at Adonis. He looked at her and nodded reassuringly. This is the right thing to do.

“The service will be starting soon; we should get you ready.” Other priests entered the classroom to guide Bridget and Adonis out, and Jareth and Isiah followed them. Emily remained by her side, shoulders straight and head held high.

“Follow me,” Irvine said. He strode out of the classroom, folding his hands into the robe sleeves.

Xolia followed him and Emily followed behind her. The hallway was empty, and the darkness weighed down on her even though the flame torches still burned violently against the old stone. Xolia could barely breathe. Why is it so hard to breathe?

They reached the antechamber, and the pressure on Xolia’s chest only increased. Even looking at the first Selermine didn’t give her any of the usual comfort. She had no idea what to expect. What if she failed? Everything was dependent on this working.

Sel, it was so hard to breathe. A pair of acolytes entered the antechamber through the main doors. One carried a polished wooden box in his gloved hands. “For you, Priest Irvine.”

Irvine lifted the lid, on well-oiled hinges, to reveal a solid gold pendent of a moth with flaring wings. Rather than a moth’s body there was a dagger. The symbol of the Selermine. Irvine lifted it from the velvet and placed it around his neck. He turned to Xolia and said, “I told you once before this was the mark of the Selermine. It hasn’t been worn in a thousand years. I’ll wear this as I’m administering your trial. Should you be successful, it will be my honor to give this to you.”

Xolia nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. This was more nerve-wracking than the war. More vulnerable. There was no Silas. No Adonis. It was just her. The acolytes opened the doors to the grand room. Light spilled in through the stained-glass windows, illuminating the stone altar at the foot of the podium. Flames danced around the walls, and each and every pew was filled with people. Xolia didn’t have the mental capacity to try and guess whether they were variants or not.

Somber notes of an organ filled the silent room, and Irvine walked down the aisle, with her following, and behind her the rest of their growing procession. She kept her head held high and refused to deviate from looking straight ahead. It was too late to show weakness. Irvine took his place behind the altar, and the two acolytes positioned her slightly behind him. Off to her right, Adonis was waiting in a small alcove. Relief washed over Xolia, though she didn’t let her shoulders slouch or even look over at him. She couldn’t, not when everyone had their eyes on her.

Irvine opened his sermon. “It’s been a thousand years since a Selermine has last walked among us. It’s been even longer since we’ve seen a trial. But on this auspicious day, we have a chance to change history for the better. This is our time to restore the rightful hierarchy that Sel wanted for us.”

The acolytes brought a set of white robes to Xolia. They were identical to Irvine’s. Xolia lowered her head, and they placed the thick wool over her head and pulled down. Xolia slipped her arms through and let the rest of the garment fall to the ground. Heat enveloped her, and sweat began beading around her forehead and down her back. If only she could look at Adonis.

Irvine kept talking, and the acolytes moved away from the dais before returning with another box. It was the same polished wood as the one that had carried the Selermine pendant, but it was larger. Narrow and long. Xolia tried to puzzle what could be in there. It wasn’t more jewelry.

“Xolia Stone stands before us and Sel. She is a variant who spent her childhood fighting for variants. She spent her days under the tutelage of Silas. She humbles herself before the church to be named this generation’s Selermine.” Irvine turned away from his congregation to her. He held out a hand, hidden away by the white glove. Xolia took his hand in hers, and he led her to the altar. “Please kneel before the Altar of Sel. It is against this rock that Sel took the life of their sibling for us. For their creation that they so loved. And it is against this rock that every Selermine has laid to offer themselves to Sel.”

Xolia clenched her jaw but did as she was told. Dropping to her knees, she scooted up to the altar and placed her elbows over the carved stone, holding her palms together in a picture of prayer. Her heart thudded against her chest. She stopped trying to breathe.

“No, my child. Arms at your side, and hang your head over the stone.” Irvine opened the latch on the box.

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