“Only if you feel like talking about it,” he added quickly.
“It’s not a secret,” I said, eager to reassure him. “Discipline is… one of the ways we stay aligned with the Light.”
He hummed thoughtfully. “What kind of discipline?”
“Different kinds,” I said, trying to remember how Father explained it. “There’s spiritual discipline, like fasting or silence. Or emotional discipline—training yourself not to give in to fear or pride or anger.”
“And… physical?” Jace asked gently.
I noticed the careful edge in his tone. “Yes. Sometimes Father uses physical correction. Only when necessary, though.” I glanced at him, worried he might misunderstand. “It’s never meant to be cruel. It’s to keep us on the right path.”
Jace’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “And who receives the… correction?” he asked.
“Anyone can,” I said. “Even Father, once, many years ago. He let the Inner Circle correct him to show humility.” I smiled softly at the memory, even though I hadn’t been alive for it—it was a story I’d been told. “No one is above the Light.”
“And you?” His voice dipped. “Do you ever get corrected?”
My steps faltered. Not because the question frightened me—I wasn’t afraid to answer—but because it made my stomach twist in a strange, fluttery way. No one asked me things, especially not about myself.
“I… sometimes,” I admitted. “Only when I disappoint Father. But—but he doesn’t choose to physically discipline me. He says that’s not what I need.”
“Does it happen often?” He kept his voice calm, gentle.
I shook my head quickly. “No. Not often. I try very hard to be good.”
The breeze brushed past us, rustling the tall grass and the nearby corn stalks. I kept my gaze forward, but I could feel him looking at me—could feel the air charge between us like a held breath.
“But if you disappoint him…?” he pressed, voice even softer now.
I shrugged. “He corrects me. He leads me back to the right path.”
There was silence for a moment long enough that I risked a glance.
Jace’s mouth was set in a thoughtful line. Not angry, not upset, just… focused. Like he was piecing something together in his mind, then he looked at me fully, and his expression softened. “Thanks for explaining all that, Elior. You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” I said, and I couldn’t help the shy smile tugging at my lips. “But I don’t mind talking to you.”
His eyes heated in a way that made my chest feel too small for my heart.
And when he asked another question—something about our younger members, I think—I answered it eagerly, walking a little too close, glowing a little too brightly.
As we walked a little farther, my voice getting more use than it had in years, I felt comfortable in a way I never did with anyone except Father.
And then, suddenly, something flickered in my memory.
“Oh—” I stopped mid-step. “Confession is tonight.”
Jace blinked, raising a brow and turning toward me. “Confession?”
“Yes.” I nodded, smoothing a wrinkle in my robe. “It happens every ninth evening, or in the morning of the tenth day, if we’re too busy. Have they told you what to expect yet?”
He shook his head. “Not really. I’ve just heard the word tossed around. Figured it was like… a special prayer service or something.”
“Oh, no.” I shook my head harder, happy to help him understand. “It’s not like the morning or evening prayers. It’s more private.”
His brows lifted a little, encouraging me to keep going. “How private?”
“Well…” I felt my cheeks warm, not because it was embarrassing, but because the role still made me nervous sometimes. “I sit in the Seat of Light in the chapel—”
