Page 77 of The Cerulean Sister
"Blessed is the embrace of First Mother," I repeat, thinking maybe I should restate the entire passage.
I am met with another blistering strike. I can feel myself bleeding into the cup.
"Your name, divine child, say it."
"Priestess Ferren."
This time, Crixa takes my hand out of the water and gives Lord Hollis a curt nod in permission. My hand is left in the same position I held it in when I first reached down into the rim.
He holds a thin piece of rigid leather up and brings it down twice.
I bite down on my lip and scream, hoping if I do not make as much noise, it will stop.
Crixa pours out the water at my feet, giving up on the ritual. She flicks her hand to her scribe, and then I hear a tearing of pages like she has instructed the entire incident to be removed from their records.
The pattern continues for days, Lord Hollis interrogating me alone while taking my gifts, followed by Crixa and her scribe coming to have me start my vows.
But she is never satisfied. The deranged version of a sacred ritual continues until I have lost count, the fresh and healed marks on my arms and hands the only indication of time passing.
Every day, I pace the front bars of my cell, trying to calm my trembling body after each session of Lord Hollis's harassment. I have translated books of what happens to prisoners who are being questioned, ones that will not break, but Iamwilling to. I just have to figure out what it is they want.
In those texts, the people who had the prisoners detained knew that it was only a matter of time and in the right conditions, their minds would start to deteriorate and they would have their answers. I have to stay focused, stay sharp and not let the confusing mind games being played on me seep into my bones and rot my insides.
The whispers I sometimes hear down here are not real. I know they are just echoing noises off the stone. I know thecreature in the warded cell across from me cannot escape, even if I feel its eyes on me when I pace to the one end of my own cell.
I glance over at the glowing bars. I don't want to see it again, but some piece of me wants confirmation of what I truly saw.
"Priestess Ferren." A whisper from the other end of the hall makes me jump.
I look back at the glowing cell, wondering if this creature is throwing its voice or if I am finally losing my mind.
"Priestess Ferren?" The voice is masculine and almost searching, like the person cannot find my exact location.
"Hello?" I whisper, matching the tone, and walk over to the far end of my cell.
There is movement where the last bar meets the outside wall. The torches in the hall illuminate the stone in a ghostly dance, catching the movement again.
Someone is there, standing just outside, waiting for me to come over.
The figure is tall and in a dark, hooded cloak, standing perfectly still with their back pressed against my cell.
"Who is there?" I slowly approach, my arms wrapped around my body.
The person turns, their hood obscuring their face. "Priestess Ferren, are you alright?"
The voice is clear and familiar. I search the blacked-out area where shadow and fabric hide the man.
I know that voice.
". . . Commander Wesley?"
He turns to the side slightly, letting more light between us. White teeth are exposed in a grin when he nods. I can make out a shadow of scruff, only able to see from the top of his lips down and just a hint of his strong jaw. I do not know his face, and if he did not speak, I would never know this was truly him.
"Are you injured?" he probes, the familiar voice crisper without speaking through the metal of a helmet.
"No. What are you doing here?"
Why has he risked entering the Estate clearly not in Viathan armor?
