Page 76 of The Cerulean Sister
Ipace the bars of my cell, not able to sleep in the wooden chair in the middle of the room any longer. My bones ache from the discomfort of curling into it each night, but it's the only relief from the cold floor. There is a heap of straw in the corner, but I have seen insects crawling out of the nest-like bed, so I try to keep moving and lift my gown off the ground.
The water trickling down from the walls is drinkable, and I have been instructed by the guards who patrol the walkway between cells to use it to bathe as well. It's crude, but I have read of much worse conditions for prisoners.
Every day, I am brought an extravagant meal, the size enough for two people. The plates are full of fancy fruit, fresh meat, and warm bread. It's unnerving. The food is meant for a party, for the emperor. The quality does not fit the setting, and even the guards look confused when they pass it to me. The only possible reason is Lord Hollis wants to play some sort of sick game with me to make sure I am keeping up my strength, taunting me with such luxuries.
I have tried to use the bread rolls to count how many times I have slept, an attempt to keep track of days in this cell, but I woke to scattered crumbs from them being torn to bits by mice.
Lord Hollis comes frequently, but at random. He brings guards with giant torches that illuminate my cell and remind me how awful the room truly is. Each time, he straps me to the chair with his unseen restraints and makes sure to neutralize my powers again. If he stays away for too long, I can almost feel them seeping back to me like the natural spring water in the walls.
He has been left to do whatever he wants down here in the dark, and I wonder how far and how long this will go on.
The last session of questioning seemed longer than any other. I can tell he is trying new tactics and soon he may resort to other measures.
Today, Crixa comes too, along with a scribe.
Lord Hollis neutralizes my gifts and asks a few questions that seem more timid with Crixa in the room. I am restrained to my chair, but I notice that the scribe does not start their work until Crixa readies herself to speak.
She raises her hand out to a guard and is given a goblet. She dips her fingertips into it and takes a deep breath, readying herself to pray over me. A time ago, it would feel sacred and beautiful, but now it seems frightening.
"First Mother, before me stands a postulant of the order of your priestesshood. She has been found worthy by her priestess sisters to devote her life to you, to serve and uphold the temple."
I watch her swipe the liquid down her face—moon water. I have heard this prayer before; every priestess has. She said these words the day I took my vows in the Estate temple before my priestess sisters and First Mother. The words held so much weight, boundless hope and promise then. Now, each one feels stiff, unnatural.
I have no reaction to her performing my vow renewal in this terrible place. But it is meant to be done in a place of honor, even when retaken. Not a damp cell amongst prisoners. Sheis completing the duties of the highest priestess, following the rules that cannot be broken, but she is making sure to dishonor me as much as she can in the process.
"Divine child, repeat after me." Crixa gazes at me through her heavy lids. "Blessed second mother, I thank you for your sacrifice. Hear me, I denounce you, committing myself to the true mother. She who birthed the world, the moon, and the space between. First Mother, hear me."
I repeat the sticky words.
"First Mother, I give my mind to you in service of your temple. I give my body to you in service of the priestess order. I give my spirit to you in everlasting hope that in death, I will lie with you in slumber." She dips her fingertips back into the moon water and traces them down my face.
I am meant to prostrate before an altar while repeating this portion, bowing before the giant statue of First Mother in the temple, not tied to a chair. I swallow hard, not having spoken a formal prayer to First Mother directly since I left Cosima.
"I will uphold your stones, your temple, and the priestess order, forged to protect the worlds against those who wish harm. If any should fall to the side of the wicked, I will fight against them, and they will perish in your name." She looks at me like I am a child who has deceived their mother, one who has done something so horrible, forgiveness would not be granted if it were not for that bond. Crixa's line between love and hate is too thin to see where one ends and the other begins.
I repeat her words.
She continues, "You renew your vow to the temple and to First Mother before the highest priestess of your order. State your name under First Mother’s loving embrace."
"I renew my vows to the temple, to First Mother, and to my highest priestess." I feel sick when I look up at her. This is harder than I thought it would be. I can ignore the temple, avoidwalking past it on Viathan, forget to pray to First Mother. But recommitting myself under false pretenses that I will truly live my life as I did before seems wrong.
Crixa waits for me, holding out the goblet that would normally be a brass bowl of moon water for me to dip my fingers in and finish my vows.
The restraint on my wrist gives way, and I dip my fingers into the cool liquid to recite the final words. "Blessed is the embrace of First Mother, the temple, and the highest. Blessed devotion to me, Priestess Ferren of Cosima."
I hear the strike across my hand and my own gasp before I feel it.
A long, stinging cut appears across the skin. I want to pull it back, hold it to my chest, and apply pressure until the nip subsides, but it is frozen there. The restraints now keep it perfectly still, a statue with fingertips kissing into the cup Crixa holds.
"Again, state your name," Crixa demands, spinning my attention to her.
"Blessed." I clear my throat, trying to refocus. "Blessed devotion to me,
Priestess Ferren of?—"
Another strike across my knuckles cuts my words off.
"Again," she commands.
