Page 1 of The Bartered Soul

Prologue

Eight years ago…

Although night fell hours ago, the fires blazing along the coastline and through the forest turned the dark skies the orange of a sunset through the haze of smoke. No stars shone through the smog, and the moon hid behind the clouds as though the crackling flames and soldiers’ roars frightened her as much as they did the villagers fleeing through the trees. Screams of terrified women and children echoed over the shouts of those who stood to defend them, even if they knew their scythes and axes wouldn’t stand against the warhorses and cold steel of the new King’s army.

As the homes outside Athene burned, the army turned its attention to the sacred grove and temple on the hill, the same as it had at the Northern point and the Eastern coast. In the month since Queen Adelaide’s assassination, the lengthy siege at the castle in Aphros ended, and the troops swept through Selennia.

Dargan Blackwell, a nobleman from the nearby continent, seized the throne, declaring himself the new King. His true desire was always power, but when his attempts to win Queen Adelaide’s heart ended in embarrassment and failure, he settled for destroying everything she ever loved. Backed by religious zealots and other men desperate for power, King Dargan pushed his men onward under the guise of revolution to convert the heathen people of Selennia to the true religion and the real God. To save them.

His army razed villages, destroyed temples dedicated to the Goddess, conscripted men into military service, and forced women into worse. The new priests who traveled with his forces could be just as cruel as his soldiers, insisting the priestesses in the temples serving the Goddess be cleansed of their sins with holy fire, oftentimes lighting the pyres themselves.

The bells of sorrow rang through Selennia for weeks after the Queen’s murder, and those in Athene were no different. But tonight they were frantic, warning the townspeople of the oncoming army, screaming for them to flee.

But the priestesses in the white temple on the hill didn’t flee. In the old days, they would have been the ones to defend the town, but over a century of peace lulled them into a sense of security, and they no longer trained in ways of war. Some of the younger novices and initiates – many not even old enough to have taken part in the rites yet, and those not fully trained — cowered in darkened corners, but there was no hiding from the danger lurking at their door. Whether they wore the mark of the Goddess on their brow yet or not, their fates were sealed.

The High Priestess stood in the center of the temple’s great entry, her feet grounded on the precious metal sigils that were inlaid on the white marble tiles. She barked orders to the male guards who waited at the oak doors, knowing they would be the first to fall in the name of the Goddess. She knew that she would likely fall shortly after the guards, but held herself straight and proud despite her age — silver hair streaming behind her, the sigil of the Goddess glowing at her brow. She couldn’t allow her fear to show; she knew her duty this night.

It was said that the priestesses once glowed alongside their sisters, fueled by their hot fury as they walked into battle. But, this night, they stood against the enemy at their doors without their full power to protect them, whispering prayers to the Goddess that one would escape the clutches of the new King. One who would rise again to bring justice to Selennia.

When the sound of hoofbeats became more clear through the open windows high at the front of the temple, and the smell of smoke wafted overhead, the High Priestess knew the time had come.

“Nerissa! Aisling! Layla!” Her strong voice carried through the temple, and three young women stepped from the shadows. Fear showed on their faces, but the girls stood firm. All three worked closely with the High Priestess as they trained to bear the title themselves, she knew they would follow her instructions without fail, even if they trembled in terror. Pride at their courage swelled in the High Priestess’ breast as she memorized their faces. Grief gripped her heart that she had not been able to teach them everything they needed to know to keep them safe.

Her voice dipped low, barely above a whisper, and the younger women leaned in to listen. “Goddess be with you all.” The High Priestess laid a hand on each of their brows in blessing, then commanded, “Make for the escape ways. Now!”

The three glanced between one another in confusion.

“Go? High Priestess, we can help —” Aisling began. Her quaking voice betrayed fear despite her bold words, but before she could finish her elder stopped her.

“This is not an option. This is a command, straight from the Goddess.” Pounding began on the doors of the halls, and every eye in the hall shifted to the wood, groaning loudly under the battering ram that slammed into the doors. “Go now!” the High Priestess roared the command at the three in front of her.

Nerissa, the most solemn of the women, opened her mouth for a moment to protest, but caught herself before any sound passed her lips. Her jaw tightened before she bowed her head deeply in respect, and was the first to turn on her bare feet to take flight. The other two followed, each headed in a different direction, dark hair flying behind them. Their footsteps pounded down the secret passages that would lead to the forest — to freedom — as the battering ram breached the heavy oak doors.

Part One

The Bartered Soul

Chapter 1

…Goddess, I haven’t forgotten you. I know I am not the only one who remembers. I can’t be the last. I honor you tonight, as I do each night I am here. Give me strength to endure, don’t forget me either…

Jingle. Jingle jingle.

The sound breaks through my silent prayer, and my eyes snap to the golden bell hanging next to the door of my room as it sweetly chimes, signaling the start of another evening. I’ve lain awake for the past hour, absently staring out the window to admire the sky changing colors as the sun slowly sinks behind the buildings that block my view of the distant mountains.

The moon will be full over the city of Artemisia tonight. In what feels like a previous life, my entire day would have been spent in prayer, and I would now be anointing my skin with sacred oils and silks in preparation for the full moon celebration. But that life no longer exists. Instead, I will be anointing myself in the cheap fragrance and tacky clothing Madame Celeste demands we wear.

I assume Celeste isn’t her real name; she thinks it a clever choice to play off the blatant celestial theme she chose for the brothel I now call home. Each one of her girls must select a constellation for her namesake. I chose Andromeda, but I’m not foolish enough to think a hero is coming to save me.

The bell rings another warning, so I sigh and push myself from the feather bed to begin my evening routine. I wash my body and comb my dark hair, braiding the front portion into a crown with the rest free to tumble down my back. The style, along with the faint crescent sigil on my brow, is a reminder to the world of what I once was. I smear kohl around my eyes and smudge stain on my lips to darken the deep rose hue I was blessed with.

To honor the Goddess, I delicately trace gold dust along my collarbone and the tops of my shoulders. The small jar has barely any dust still clinging to its sides — one of the last remnants of my old life that I smuggled with me when I fled the temple all those nights ago. In the dim lights below no one will realize what shimmers on my skin, but She will know I still honor Her.

My hands graze over the inky blue scrap of fabric I choose to wear this evening, almost the same color as my eyes. Its sheer panels barely hide my breasts and the skirt lands just below the curve of my backside — leaving things to the imagination is not one of the tenets of Madame Celeste’s establishment.

Fortunately, she has allowed several concessions for me — I am allowed to pick the colors I wear and I only bed the men of my choosing. I command a higher rate and privilege because of my talents, both those I sell to the customers and those I offer to the other girls — challenging me is not worth the hit her profits would take if I left.

With a last glance in the mirror, I stand taller. The proud priestess I once was is a mere phantom staring back at me from behind my kohl-darkened eyes.

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