“Congratulations, Tiss.” Cordelia says from her table in the middle of the room.
Sadrie says nothing from hers. She’s perusing her own graded exam, upon which she likely got a perfect score. From here I can see that Cordelia certainly did.
Nothing much has changed between us over the last few days. Sadrie’s still avoiding me when she can and freezing me out when she can’t; there’s no love lost there as far as I’m concerned.
The two of them spend most of their free time together. While I haven’t been dissuaded from joining them at mealtimes or prayers, Sadrie’s eschewal, combined with my still-simmering resentment and Cordelia’s (justified) annoyance, leads me to choose solitude more often than not.
“As a reward for passing your first exam, you’ll each be allowed to select a token of your own.” Elodie’s voice comes from behind me.
Meanwhile, the First High Priestess hefts a carved wooden box, carrying it from her beloved lectern to my desk. She removes the lid to reveal a satin-lined interior, a selection of gleaming jewelry nestled within. “Go ahead and pick a prize,” she says, the corners of her gray eyes crinkling. “You might find that something in particular calls out to you.”
Items of all varieties glint under the weak light coming through the storm-streaked window: etched silver cuff bracelets, earrings and finger rings of all shapes and sizes, and necklaces strung with beads of polished hematite and other vividly colorful stones I can’t identify at a glance.
My hand hovers. Absolutelynothingis drawing me in, and I’m overwhelmed with choosing.
Elodie says, “Don’t be shy, Tiss. You earned it.”
My cheeks heating, I nudge items aside to pluck out a pendant of black stone framed in silver and strung on a silver chain. It’s surprisingly heavy for its size.
“Excellent choice,” says Lady Maida. “Obsidian is known to calm the mind and relieve emotional turmoil. It helps to soothe bodily stresses and remove negative energy.”
That feels… uncomfortably appropriate.
Ghisele’s shoulders shake like she’s enjoying a private chuckle, but she keeps her thoughts to herself. Sadrie and Cordelia select tokens of their own. While they’re deciding, I put on my jewelry.
The chain fastens in front by latching to a hook where the pendant is attached. I play with it, noticing I can adjust it where the obsidian rests in the hollow of my collarbone, the unused length of chain hanging between my breasts.
A silver disk on the chain’s end is stamped with Eisha’s emblem of finch and yew.
Sadrie chooses a beaded necklace, looping its generous length twice around her neck. Even so, the rich purple-blue beads fall to her ribs, the color complementing her eyes in a way that makes me ache just a little bit. A silver charm hangs from it, also stamped with Eisha’s emblem.
“Tumbled lapis,” says Maida of the beads. “This is a stone of powerful intuition, truth, and wisdom. It will help deepen self-connection.”
Cordelia picks out a delicate silver bracelet. Two charms dangle from the end of the adjustable chain: an aquamarine teardrop and the ubiquitous silver disc featuring yew tree and finch. She admires it on her fine-boned wrist.
“Aquamarine is a stone of truth.” Maida replaces the box's lid, moving to the front of the room. “It will help with balance and harmony and promote self-expression.”
Setting the carved box on the lectern, she turns to address us: “Did anyone feel a tug from the items you selected?”
Sadrie and Cordelia murmur in the affirmative. The only tug I feel is the taut tether between me and Elodie.
Our connection is stronger than usual today. My body thrills at the perplexing intimacy. I offer a shrug.
When our mid-morning break is called, Elodie addresses me while the others scatter for a snack or the washroom: “Tiss? Will you stay behind for a moment?”
She waits for Maida to usher a staring Ghisele out of the door before approaching my desk. “In the interest of keeping myself unpunctured and in one piece, I believe I owe you something.” She lifts one dark brow. “Do you know what you want to ask?”
“How many questions do I get?”
“Until I get tired of them.”
Is it me, or is there a little something extra in her gaze and the way she’s leaning close, one hand braced on my desk?
“I suppose you still don’t want to tell me what we talked about before the ritual?” I glance up at her through my lashes, wearing my coyest smile.
It’s a test. I’m poking her—dangling the inquiry to see how receptive she is.
From the sudden, mask-like cast to her features, not very. “Tiss—” She straightens.
