Page 124 of Between Wrath and Mercy

“Great. Just what Vesta needs.” I sighed and shook my head. “Already making a mess of it, aren’t I?” He laughed and stood, carrying his empty plate with him. Before he left the room, he turned, studying me with a serious expression out of place on his normally jovial face.

“He’d never forgive you, but if you change your mind—if this is all too much—you have to tell him. He wouldn’t want you to do something you’re scared of doing.”

“It’s not that simple. I don’t know if he told you, but—” I hesitated, debating on telling him more. I was uncertain if my friend with the quick smile and sad eyes could handle what I had to say. I pushed ahead, knowing I shouldn’t avoid it. “Rain is my twin flame. Mairin read our auras.”

The fact his jaw dropped was the only indication he was surprised, but he recovered and smiled, albeit sadly. “There’s no getting around that, is there?” He stiffly turned toward the kitchen to drop off his dishes.

“No, I suppose not.” The way he spoke filled me with sorrow, and I wasn’t sure what either of us may have been sad about specifically; there was too much to choose from.

After Dewalt left and I finished my food, I retreated to the bedroom, lonely without Rain there with me. I reminded myself that I hadn’t been around him for a long time before these last few weeks, and I survived just fine. Perusing the books on either side of the fireplace, I picked one, settling in, warm in front of the blazing fire. My legs were mildly sore, but I propped them on the arm of the sofa as I read. I’d only been up for a few hours, but I knew I’d only be able to read a few chapters before I crawled back into bed, seeking peaceful sleep. I wanted to wait for Rain, but it seemed he wasn’t coming home that night.

WhenIwoke,thesun streamed across my face from one corner of the bed to the other, where my head rested. I didn’t remember crawling under the blankets, and I was confused about how I got there; the other side of the bed was crisp and untouched, with Rain nowhere in sight. Had Dewalt moved me to the bed? Had he come in to check on me? I glanced at the nightstand to see my book lying there with a small slip of paper resting on top.

Unfolding it, I saw tight, crisp handwriting I hadn’t seen in a very long time. Rain had come back last night, and I felt a tinge of disappointment I hadn’t woken up. He’d even slept next to me, tidying his side of the bed without my awareness at all. Dewalt was taking me to the Myriad today, and Rain hoped for an easy task for me. I was curious about what his own had been and was eager to find out. My thoughts turned to worry when I began to wonder what the Myriad would ask of me. They’d asked Keeva for a cloak, which was laughable. Would I get the same treatment? I doubted it. Perhaps that was why they weren't kicking up a fuss; they planned to give me something impossible for my task. If I couldn’t complete what was asked of me, they wouldn’t approve of the bond and we’d be denied access to the font. It was quite unfair. Of course, my mind raced toward the woman who had almost killed me and the consequences we might face because of her death. I was not sorry, but I didn’t want to think about her at all.

Hours later, properly outfitted in a simple traveling dress—cotton and emerald green to match Rain’s eyes—I was cursing the fact I’d have to ride to the temple side-saddle. I wished I’d chosen breeches, but something told me they expected something different from a future princess and queen. I was dreading this visit. I hated the Myriad. I hated what they did to Lucia. I hated that they seemed to think women incapable of leadership. Dewalt watched me as I successfully, but clumsily, mounted Bree side-saddle. The horse was not a fan of it and huffed in frustration before I soothed her, grateful for my fussy mare’s presence.

After a ride that was too long for side-saddle and too short for my nerves to calm, we arrived at the temple on the outskirts of Astana. It was more ornate than the temples in Mira and Brambleton. The building itself was plain, comprised of porous white stone, and the four giant windows across the front were bright and attention-grasping, two on either side of the large oak doors. Each window contained stained-glass depictions of life-sized versions of the gods. Rhia was positioned furthest to the left, a babe in one arm for fertility and an apple in her free hand, the symbol of wisdom. She wore a long white dress, drawing one's eyes to the bottom where tiny shards of glass depicted her toes. For a stained-glass portrayal, she seemed relatively lifelike, almost familiar. Aonara stood tall in the next window, and I took a moment to look at her open palms, white glass representing the light she held in her hands. I was disappointed when my perusal was cut off a moment later, the door opening and a novice escorting us into the temple. I was surprised they allowed Dewalt in with me, but I didn’t dare say anything.

The temple interior was tall, with high ceilings and columns made from white marble. I would have thought it beautiful if I hadn't been distracted by a distinct feeling of being watched. Above us, a beautiful mural of the gods and goddesses decorated the arched ceiling, and, although we weren’t given time to appreciate it, I could tell it was ornate, immense in its elaborate perfection. After leading us behind the altar, the novice stopped just inside a small room, gesturing to a long wooden bench against the wall. We sat, and the novice turned and left without a word.

“This is unsettling.” I leaned over to Dewalt, keeping my voice low.

“You’re telling me. I hate it here.”

We didn't wait long before a door in the back of the small room opened, and a short, bald man with a ruddy complexion walked in, hands clasped in front of him. His white robes dragged behind him on the ground, and I was impressed he didn’t trip over them.

“I understand you are Emmeline Highclere?” His voice was much higher-pitched than I would have expected. I nodded, and his mouth stretched into something like a smile. I thought it felt like a threat.

“Your Grace,” He nodded his head in deference to my friend, and I suppressed a smile when I remembered Dewalt’s comment about the phrase. His expression was sour as he nodded back at the Master. “I am Master Filenti. Lady Highclere, you will follow me while His Grace waits here.” I shot Dewalt a nervous glance, but he only nodded.

I followed Filenti into a narrow passage that ended in a tall, open room. There was no marble, but instead, the walls were hewn out of rough, grey stone, not a single window in sight. A rudimentary chandelier hung from a chain high on the ceiling, made of two crossed pieces of wood, and it barely emitted enough light to see the corners of the room. Other than a few chairs off to the side, it wasn't furnished, and the only color came from old tapestries hanging on the walls, covered in depictions of the Great War. It reminded me of Rain’s bedroom at the palace. Three other masters were sitting in the chairs, waiting. The two men already seated watched me as I took my place where Filtenti gestured, as he took his seat among the others. Only one of them didn't stare at me with some sort of disappointment, and it was a woman. I'd never seen a female master—or a mistress as it was.

Filenti cleared his throat before he spoke. “Lady Highclere, your task is a simple one. Show us your divinity and what makes it worthy of the Crown Prince of Vesta.”

I blinked. I had no idea how to show my abilities. “Uh . . . do any of you have any ailments or injuries?” Looking at one another, disdain clear on their faces, they shook their heads. All but the woman; she remained still. “Alright, do any of you have a knife or something sharp?” I hadn’t brought my dagger, thinking it might have been frowned upon, but now I wondered if I seemed horribly unsuited to take care of myself. Though I guessed since I was marrying into royalty, would they expect me to carry weapons?

One of the masters stood, pulling a letter opener out of a pocket of his robe, and handed it to me. A letter opener, of all things. I made sure they were all watching as I turned my hand over and sliced it open. The letter opener was not sharp, so I had to apply a fair amount of pressure to cut through my skin. None of them reacted to it.

“Though healers are the most common conduits, and their value speaks for itself, I am more rare. I’ve never met a healer who could also heal themselves.” I clasped my other hand to my wound and willed my divinity to move toward it, showing my unmarked palm to them a moment later. I passed the letter opener back to the master who presented it, and he promptly cleaned my blood off with a handkerchief before proffering the cloth to me.

“Thank you.” I cleaned away the blood and glanced up, a grimace on my face, not sure what to do with the handkerchief. Its owner did not smile as he took it back from me.

“What else?” Filenti didn’t seem impressed by my healing, and I was mildly offended.

“Well, the healing is honestly amazing. I had two broken bones three days ago, and now I don’t.” I felt my stomach clench, realizing I probably shouldn’t have told them about that.

“How did you break them?”

Shit.

“A tumble down some stairs. Unfortunately, my divinity doesn’t help me keep my balance.”

Unruffled and seemingly annoyed, Filenti sighed as he chose not to comment on my lack of grace. “I understand you have a type of ability to do with the heart?”

“I do, but I’m not sure how to demonstrate without hurting anyone. I’m a harrower, I believe is the term?”

“I’m aware of it, yes.” The master inclined his head, but his brows furrowed.

---