Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“She’s not wearing a cuff,” Elisaf says.
“You read my mind.” And to any of these immortals, she is just like any other human. One who isn’t currently owned by a keeper and is therefore free for the taking. “We should have given her a fake one.”
“We will be out of this throng soon enough.” Elisaf shifts closer to her side, his normally soft brown eyes hard with warning as he turns to face our pursuers.
But it’s Jarek and Zorya closing in to bank either side of the two men, their hands resting on their daggers, their wicked smiles begging for an excuse to use them, that steers the men in another direction.
The remainder of our passage through the square is uneventful, and soon we are on a quiet, cobblestone street, our two Legion warriors fanned out on either sidewalk.
“That is the sanctum, up ahead.” Elisaf points to a tall church. It’s nowhere near the grand spectacle of the one in Cirilea and only half the size, but it is elaborate nonetheless, its walls a pristine white stone, the clock tower gilded.
“I didn’t think there were casters anywhere except Cirilea.”
“There aren’t. These are false priestesses. Unremarkable humans who devote their lives to the fates in prayer. Almost none have even met a real caster, but they study Mordain’s belief system as if raised within it.”
Gracen’s words spring to mind. She’d said she had never seen a “real” priestess before. This must be what she meant. “You don’t sound particularly fond of them.”
Elisaf chuckles. “My feelings are mixed. Some are pious and gracious. Others develop rather grandiose and self-righteous illusions of their value to society.”
“Are there sanctums with false priestesses everywhere in Islor?”
“Even in the villages. There was one in Freywich. I’m sure Lady Danthrin is in there at this very moment, seeking salvation for her sins.”
“Some of these priestesses do have skills as healers. Not with affinities, but with knowledge of herbs, tonics, and a delicate hand. The woman who runs the apothecary where we met had such a gift.” Gesine picks up her pace, her keen focus flipping between the iron doors ahead and a small laneway to the side that leads into a well-tended garden and stable. A covered wagon and horse sit idle. “I think that was her wagon.”
“When did you last see Ianca?”
“The night we arrived. Wendeline was worried that word of a seer would spread, so we paid a man to bring her here and not ask questions.”
“And you know she made it?”
“I do not. We left Cirilea before I received word. I gave him half his payment up-front and promised the other half when I arrived here to collect her, and I hoped Wendeline’s trust in him was well placed.” Her brow furrows. “But I have heard the legionaries talk about raiders in the hills. I fear what may have happened during her travels.”
“I’m sure she’s fine.”
Gesine offers an appreciative smile before pausing at the bottom of the steps. “Sanctums are a place for prayer and reflection. Warriors and their weapons normally wait outside—”
“Except in this case.” Jarek strolls up the steps and yanks open the door. “After you.”
Gesine walks through the doorway, offering a cold look to Jarek—which earns her a stony glare.
He trusts her as much as I trust him—not at all.
Inside smells of incense, lavender, and cedar. I inhale, the scent oddly soothing. Perhaps because it reminds me of Wendeline, and she was my sole comfort for many weeks after I first arrived.
Rows upon rows of gleaming pews sit empty, not a person in sight.
Gesine leads us down the aisle toward the altar.
“Do all sanctums have those?” I examine the four looming statues. They’re like the ones in Cirilea, but they seem larger. That could be on account of the smaller building.
“The pillars? Yes. Of course, they do not have to be that grand, but in the days when summoning was permitted, many believed the larger and more elaborate the pillars, the more likely one would gain the fates’ attention. They serve as a gate for a fate to visit the caster calling on them and must all be present and positioned in that way, encircling the altar. Within the boundaries of those pillars is the only way a fate can assume a corporeal form within our world.”
“So, if an elemental caster summoned the fates, one of them could stand within those statues, right up there?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
Sofie had pillars in that dungeon-like vault under her castle. And an altar.
That must be where she summoned Malachi.
But it’s not the only place I’ve seen these. “The nymphaeum has pillars around the stone altar too.”
“I’m not surprised. The nymphs’ affinity is an ancient and especially potent connection to the elements, but it is still rooted in the fates.”
We’re nearly at the dais when a woman in gold-trimmed, white garb matching that of the Cirilean priestesses appears. “I sense great wariness in you today, visitors.” The woman dips her head in greeting. “I am Sheyda. How may the sisters of Bellcross and I be of service to …” Her words trail, her eyes growing wide as Gesine unfastens her cloak to reveal her gold collar.