Her sisters said nothing, only followed as the girl continued her journey. But her steps were not quite as hurried as they had been.
When they reached the main hall, the girl beamed at the garlands that hung between the huge arches, misgivings forgotten beneath the green boughs with white flowers thatmatched those Nyx had woven into her hair. She forced her feet to slow, swallowed back the grin that threatened to split her cheeks, and carefully moved into the crowd that stood beneath them.
There were somanyfaeytes here. All of them had come, and pride pushed her shoulders back, straightened her spine as she walked. Even Aylina, their librarian and scribe, had left her cavernous library of books and scrolls within the Sanctum to attend, although a smudge of ink still dusted the very end of her button nose. She caught the girl’s eye and nodded, placing a hand over her heart with stained fingers.
Others echoed the movement. Faces turned to her as she moved through the crowd. They offered small smiles and whispered blessings, and each one made her heart swell with pride as she moved toward the dais.
The Maiden, still youthful with her dark braided hair and a soft smile despite her decades of life, beckoned her closer. Beside her on the dais sat an empty, carved wooden chair, and the girl wondered what had the Mother moving away from the ceremony and not toward it. On the Maiden’s other side, the Crone, her black eyes glassy with age and her skin lined with the wisdom of a hundred years, nodded in greeting.
She couldn’t help pausing, glancing over her shoulder.
Hundreds of faces looked back at her. Each of them familiar in a way that could only be achieved over a lifetime.
Calista, who had spent weeks patiently teaching her the basics of healing, in the hope that she might receive it as her Calling. The girl had followed at her heels as she moved around the infirmary, working with the inritus and the Caelumnai who came to Asteria for help from Hala’s priestesses.
Gifted hands, they had whispered in awe as Calista passed by them.Hala’s hands.
Deva, wearing a furrow between her sleek dark brows but smiling nonetheless, who oversaw the gardens at the back of the temple. A pair of shears, lethally sharp and edged in fresh-looking wet dirt, still poked from the pocket of her cloak. The girl still remembered the way Deva’s eyebrows had twitched after a full morning spent planting, only to find the seeds still in the pocket of the girl’s apron.
The girl was not destined for the earth. That much had been clear, but Deva had still been patient in her teaching, had still invited her back weeks later to see the green sprouts of new life rising from the ground, had placed a hand on her shoulder in quiet pride and told the girl to look at what she had created.
Every face brought a memory, and the girl swallowed as she turned back to the Maiden. The Maiden’s eyes softened with understanding. “Hala’s blessing on you today, little sister. No longer a child.”
The girl quickly touched her thumb and index finger against her forehead, sketching out the shape of a clumsy crescent moon. “And to you, Maiden.”
“Not yet,” the Crone muttered, her tone laced with the wisdom of the years that Hala had gifted her. The solid end of her wooden cane thumped into the stone floor. “Not yet.”
Still, there was no sign of the Mother.
The tension in the room grew. Enough that the girl could feel it, could almost taste it on her tongue. “Is…is there a delay, Maiden?”
It was bold to ask such a question at all. But then, this was her final day of childhood. It had taken her sixteen years to reach this point, always willing time to go faster.
Perhaps Hala was punishing her for her doubts. She had wished for extra time, back in the hallway.
The Maiden smiled again. But her hands, the girl noticed, were gripping the arms of her seat tightly, the already pale knuckles bleached unnaturally white. “Are you frightened, little faeyte?”
The girl frowned at that. Slowly, she shook her head.
And then she thought about it once more, and nodded.
“Good.” The word was low, and unexpectedly fierce, and the girl glanced up, startled. She looked into the Maiden’s eyes, and the Maiden stared back. “Own your fear. Hold onto it. But do not let it own you. Take hold of it, and embrace it. Remember that darkness is only the absence of light, and you are made of light itself.”
There were no stars in her eyes at all today, the girl noticed. Only an endless darkness, as if light had been abruptly snuffed out, a curtain drawn.
It was a strange thing to say, the girl thought. Unease stirred again in her gut.
Perhaps it was a part of the ceremony. What did she know?
“Remember that you are always our sister.” When the Maiden spoke again, there was a tremble in her words. “Do not forget.”
The crowd was stirring. She could see Nyx, and Celeste, their faces pale as they moved toward her with uncommon haste.
In the distance, a bell began to toll.
“They are here.” Nyx did not speak to the girl. She faced the Maiden, her head bowed. And her hands—those hands that had always been so steady now trembled so badly that the girl slipped her hand into them and squeezed tightly.
“And we must be ready.” The Maiden looked once more at the girl, and in that moment, she looked remarkably like the Mother had, with her gaze heavy and sad. “Even if we wish we had more time.”
