Page 29 of Thunder's Reckoning
That warmth held something else behind it. Something wrong. Something I felt every time he looked at me.
“Shhh, little flame,” he said, his voice like honey poured over something rotted. “It’s late. You’ll wake the others.”
I gripped the sheet tighter, fingers curling until my nails bit into my palm. “I didn’t mean to… I wasn’t making noise.”
“You called out,” he said gently. “Your soul cries in sleep for me. It’s not your fault. You’re beginning to bloom.”
The words twisted in my stomach, sour and thick.
He walked toward me with that same slow, gliding pace—silent, like he never touched the floor at all. Like a serpent wrapped in righteousness.
“You’re special,” he murmured, crouching beside the cot. “You know that, don’t you?”
I nodded. Because I was taught to, and I didn’t know what else would keep me safe from being burned by the flame.
“Yes, Prophet Gabrial.”
He reached up, tucked a piece of hair behind my ear with a touch that pretended to be gentle. I flinched. He smiled.
That smile told me everything.
“Your obedience is sweet,” he said softly. “But obedience is only the beginning, Sable. There’s something greater. Something deeper. Do you trust me?”
The question wrapped itself around my throat.
I wanted to lie and say yes, but the truth got stuck somewhere deep inside me, lodged like a splinter in my windpipe.
I stayed quiet.
His smile faltered, just barely. The kind of shift a child wouldn’t notice, but I wasn’t a child anymore, not really.
“That’s alright,” he whispered, lowering his hand to my shoulder, before moving it up to caress my face. “It’s always frightening the first time. The flesh resists what the spirit longs for.”
His fingers moved down over my neck, gentle, but claiming.
I went still.
Stopped breathing.
Stopped blinking.
He leaned over me, breath brushing my cheek. “You’re chosen. And soon, you’ll be mine in all ways—in the eyes of the flame—but the flame understands our need to burn before the ceremony.”
“No,” I whispered. The word felt brittle. Like dry leaves in the wind, and he heard it.
The change in his face was slight but sharp, something inside him tightened. “No?” he echoed, his voice soft but warning now.
“Forgive me, Prophet Gabrial,” I forced out, remembering the punishment Sister Johanna suffered yesterday. I forced my expression into one of acceptance and gave him a small smile.
He kissed my lips and murmured, “Good girl.”
Then—
A hand on my arm. Real. Steady. “Sable.” A voice, not his. “Sable. Wake up.”
I gasped, jerking upright like I’d been yanked out of water. Air rushed into my lungs in shallow bursts, my chest tight, skin slick with sweat. The dream clung to me like oil, thick, suffocating, impossible to wash off.
The room wasn’t mine.
