At last! A vital clue about my identity.
Giddiness shoots through me, followed by a subtle, anxious fear. It’s like passing my hand too close to a flame, blistering the skin.
Flabbergasted, I leaf through the pages, scanning and comprehending but not really absorbing folktales from across the border. I open another Rogation book, and another. My brain instantly translates every word.
With shaking hands, I replace the last volume before pacing down a little further, feeling like my past is taunting me from beyond an intangible divide.
A chill squirms down my spine as soon as I open the next book. I freeze, my mind automatically translating the introduction to a collection of Aritertan myths as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Shit,” I say, completely dumbfounded.How many languages do I know?
I drop my hands, letting the volume dangle. I desperately need to sit down.
Chapter 6
Itissa
Buried nose-deep in the book, I rely on my peripheral vision to wander into the closest alcove between bookcases. I sink into a plush leather chair, sweat breaking out on my scalp and the small of my back. I unfasten my heavy cloak with trembling fingers, shrugging it off.
I’m so engrossed, I’m not aware of her before it’s too late. She clears her throat.
The unexpected figure sitting across from me is jarring enough. Realizing the figure is Elodie while the gut-twisting pull springs up between us is enough to shock me senseless.
Yelping, I jerk backward, sending the book flying from my hand. It clatters across the floor, coming to rest at her feet.
“Damn it.” I dive to retrieve it, hoping it isn’t damaged.
I don’t register Elodie bending to grab it herself until it’s too late. Our skulls clunk together with a sickeningcrack.
“Fuck!” she cries.
“Gods! I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
“Areyouall right?” She’s clutching her forehead and watching me like she’s not entirely sure what to make of me.
“I’ll survive, thank you.” Agony pounds through my head, embarrassment flushing my cheeks. “I can go somewhere else.”
“No. You don’t have to leave. May I take a look at you?” She’s already leaning forward, her hands moving to my forehead. Her intoxicating fragrance fills the space between us. “A poultice will help with that bruise forming. It’s already starting to swell.”
You blow hot and cold, don’t you, priestess?“I’m fine,” I mumble as my nerve endings sing to the tips of my fingers and toes.
I’m rooted in place, held captive by her touch and the tugging behind my navel. For a moment everything bleeds together until I can’t tell where she ends and I begin.
My focus narrows, the world around us going hazy. Without warning, I’m imagining her dragging me up, bending me over her knees, and throwing the hem of my dress over my hips.
I shudder internally, yearning to scream, to hurl curses at her, until she drags me out of here—or takes me, putting me out of my misery.
My breath comes fast and far too shallow. I have noideawhy this nonsense is flashing through my head, but it scares the everloving shit out of me.
Who the hell was I in my past life?
My inexplicable urges are staggering. I wish I could cut them out of me; I fear if I don’t, they’ll tear me apart.
I snap out of it when she releases me, her nose wrinkling. Eyes narrowed, she jerks back as if I’ve suddenly become repugnant. As if she needs to exit my proximity as quickly as possible, but she’s the one who invited me to stay!
The warmth of her touch still hums on my skin as I snatch the book, get to my feet, and settle into the chair again.
Her next words are cold and clinical, her mask firmly in place: “Promise me you’ll tell a sister if you experience any confusion, disorientation, nausea—”
