Page 119 of The Cerulean Sister
The shadowy figure I saw on Frith gave off the same cold emptiness . . . right before he drove his weapon into my chest.
Chapter
Thirty-Two
The priestess stands perfectly still, her head bowed, obscured by fabric. It's more than a temple gown, more than a standard veil. It looks wrong. The style is similar, but the material is different, like the one Lady Anne made for me. It could not be replicated completely because Viathan did not have the same fabric the temple has access to.
"Blessed evening, Priestess," I call out.
No reply.
Alarm bells toll in my head. There is no reason for her not to reply to the greeting or even bow her head to me, simple manners which are imprinted on lesser priestesses.
Then she shifts slightly, walking out into the aisle but never fully turning to the side, like she is trying to hide her face.
"Are you alright, Priestess?" I stand and shuffle around my gown into the aisle as well.
Again, she ignores me.
Instead, she steps closer to the altar, large billowing ribbons of incense smoke wrapping around her as she passes the last pew.
I press into her mind's eye with greater force, mucking through whatever ward that keeps her intentionally empty. Ibend it into submission, finding a tiny crack to penetrate and sink my claws into.
She can sense me now, body stiffening to the change in pressure. A tense panic runs through her system. I follow it, spreading to every nerve ending in her mind and fully invading her thoughts that were previously kept so tightly behind a thick wall.
I can hear a small echo she is trying to hide, one that gives away her actions.
"Quickly, do it now. Reach for it now,"she recites to herself.
I brace, planting my feet, ready for whatever she is preparing to do.
She shouts to herself, not knowing I can hear the echoes of each word. "Gun! Kill her! Now!"
My light fills the space, calling itself forth in automatic reply.
The woman spins toward me, the fabric of her veil wafting with her.
A green orb blooms, shielding me from her attack, veining and strobing from the light in my extended hand.
She shoots her weapon at the barrier that separates us, and the beams of blue bounce off but leave tiny stinging insect bites on my palm.
Her expression is furious, but there are no other discerning features. She looks like any other young lesser priestess.
I push my light forward in a forceful shove.
She yelps and her gun falls to the stone floor, and with another wave of my arm, I throw it across the temple.
She uses that tiny moment to pounce on me, sending me falling back into the aisle. She is stronger and clearly trained in close physical combat, bringing me down so fast I cannot even scream or think quickly enough to shoot my light at her.
My head is slammed against the floor, her feral grunts cutting out with a new, sharp pain in my ear.
In my dazed, throbbing vision, I can see her body on top of mine, her face turning red with exhaustion as she holds me down, a vein on her forehead bulging.
I try to take in a breath, but I can't with her hands so tightly around my neck, crushing my airway.
I grab at her arms, trying to free myself, but my eyes are so heavy. They want to close, my body needing to sleep. I scratch at her with dull fingernails as she pushes down more.
"Priestess bitch," she spits through gritted teeth.
