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CHAPTER ONE

Arie

My eldest sister, Attina, enters the room in a flurry of white skirts and a nauseating cloud of jasmine oil. Her eyes roll over my naked form, and she quickly averts her gaze and closes the door behind her. “You are not ready, Sister Ariella.”

My stomach roils and bile burns my esophagus and throat. I swallow back the excess saliva in my mouth and shake my head. “I’m scared, Attina.”

She clucks her tongue; her gaze reproachful. “SisterAttina. You really must remember to address the Sisters correctly, Sister Ariella. Mother forbid you should forget to address the Brothers properly.”

“I do not want to marry Prophet Job. He is old enough to be my great grandsire.”

“We have no choice in whom the Mother decrees we marry, but Prophet Job is a fine match indeed—our holiest of men. Not all the Sisters of the Moon have been so lucky.”

Attina doesn’t have to speak her name to get her point across.Poor Arista. Her body hung, rotting and picked over by ravens, on the Wall of Sinners for two Mother’s moons after she brought shame upon the Sisters, and shame upon our family. She refused her husband, Brother Saul, in their marital bed. She disobeyed the Brothers and disgraced the Mother’s name. She was no longer fit for the Sisterhood of the Moon.

My throat constricts and tears spill from my lashes. I wipe them away, but they don’t stop, an endless torrent streaming down my cheeks.

“Come now. Crying won’t make your lot any better. Let us pray.”

How had all the other Sisters before me put on their ceremonial gowns and walked blindly to their fate? My legs are shaking as hard as the earth when it quakes with the Mother’s wrath. My heart is filled with fire and rage. I don’t want to pray. I don’t want to marry a man old enough to be my grandsire. Nor do I wish to count my breaths, complete the steps, or follow the path to true enlightenment.

I want to rally. I want to scream.

I want to run.

Instead, I drop to my knees alongside my sister and pray to the Mother for strength. I pray for courage, and for a swift death.

CHAPTER TWO

Arie

Attina pulls a heavywhite veil over my head and leads me from the room. I can just make out shapes in my peripheral, but I feel the enormous presence of the bodyguards at my back. My tears flow swiftly, but my sister nudges me hard in the ribs, warning me to stop. I only cry harder.

The ceremony is in the great hall and all the Children of the Moon are in attendance, including the Sisters of the Moon, whose bodies are scrubbed clean of dirt and dressed in the white gowns of the ceremonial rites. They kneel on the dais behind the Prophet. He’s dressed in the gauzy white robes of the Brothers, and he lies upon a mound of silk pillows. His rolls of fat are many and are clearly visible through the sweat-stained fabric.

The whispers from our people are too loud. A buzzing in my head that will not quiet. My heart races and sweat beads on my brow and temples. Even though my sister’s arm is linked through mine, my feet halt their forward momentum. I cannot walk any further. I cannot willingly walk to this betrothal knowing that it will be my sole job to service the Prophet, to meet every one of his needs, and to bear his offspring until I’m deemed unworthy.

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