Oriana’s gaze was firmly fixed on her fidgeting thumbs in her lap. She had done the same thing when visiting him the previous evening. It was a nervous habit, he could tell that much, but why was she doing it now? An ebbing suspicion grew that she was hiding something important from him, but what? For now, he would allow her to keep her secrets. It was late, after all, and they both needed rest.
“The demon has always been thought to be female,” she said, pushing up to her feet and turning from him to shelve a few more of the books.
There was definitely something different about this woman. It was driving him crazy attempting to figure it out, piecing the puzzle together. Her outward demeanor and features just didn’t seem to fit. It was as if she had placed some sort of spell over him, which only drew him in more. He thought back to how his mind oddly singled her out in the village streets. Somehow his gaze had locked on her in the sea of people, as if she had called out to him. He was quite certain that if he had fallen asleep in this dungeon and she had left him in peace, the absence of her presence would have awoken him instantly. But why?
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she said, and it was only then that he realized he had scrunched his brows together and narrowed his eyes at her.
“It’s nothing,” he said, clearing his throat. “I was thinking of another matter. Come, let's head back to Haldis’s.” He gestured for her to join him on the long climb back up the spiral staircase.
“Do you plan on coming back soon?” Oriana asked, as she looked down at the pile of texts and handful of scrolls he had left to rest on the table.
“I do.” His voice echoed up the passage as he began his ascent back to the monastery. He heard Oriana’s quick shuffle of footsteps behind him as she tried to catch up.
A soft milky glow illuminated the worship corridor as they continued in silence until finally, they reached the circular room, stepping underneath the skylight and into the light of the moon. In the center of the room was a stone font, carved to resemble a tree with its branches spread to hold the basin of water.
Oriana went straight to it, and Garren watched as she began splashing her face with the water and scrubbing at her skin.
Garren tried not to laugh. “I’m fairly certain that is holy water meant for use in prayer to the Gods.”
Oriana, still leaning over the font with water dripping from her face, looked back at him with an unamused scowl.. “My mistake.” She stood up, clasping her hands together and raising them toward the hole in the ceiling. “Oh, please Gods, let my hens lay two eggs instead of just one each day. Thank you ever so kindly.” She went one step further by aiming a lewd gesture at them, spinning in a circle to make sure she bestowed it upon each and every one of the Gods’ statues lined around the corridor before turning back to him. “How was that?”
“I take it you aren’t religious then?” He raised both eyebrows at her.
“You could say that,” she scoffed. “Are you?”
“No, not particularly,” he said. “But I certainly don’t think I would do what you just did.”
She snorted. “Most wouldn’t. Too afraid, I suppose, thinking the old bastards will kill them where they stand.”
A ghost of a smile played on his lips. “How do you feel about leaving this place?”
He was graced with a small smile in return, dimples burrowing deeper into her cheeks. “That would be lovely.”
They walked side by side down the passageway shrouded in darkness until finally reaching the front of the monastery.
Oriana practically threw the doors open, drawing in a deep breath. “Ahh, alas, fresh air.” She closed her eyes, tilting her head up toward the night sky and spinning, her blue gown fanning out around her like a flower in bloom.
Garren couldn’t hold in his amusement at her sudden change in demeanor. “You really don’t like it in there, do you?”
She stopped and looked at him. “Is it really that obvious?”
He chuckled. “Tell me, why do you hold such animosity toward the gods?”
“I’m not sure we know each other well enough for that conversation just yet. It seems much too personal.”
“Well, let us get to know each other better then.” He wanted to find out all he could about her and the mysteriousness that followed her like a shadow. “Do you have family?”
“No,” she said, almost too softly for him to hear. She suddenly looked as if her mind was miles away, lost in a past memory. Was it grief?
“I’m sorry,” he consoled. “I lost my family, too. Many years ago, now.”
Visions of his parents’ brutal deaths shoved into the far reaches of his mind. The cloying memories haunted him wherever he went, like a heavy weight that sat on his chest, rendering him incapable of drawing a full breath. He had come to terms with their deaths long ago, but the heartache of their loss would never truly leave.
She looked up quickly, sorrow painted across her face. “I–I am so sorry for your loss.” She grabbed his hand, squeezing gently before releasing it. “Mine are not…what I mean to say is–” she stopped mid-sentence, obviously searching for the right words. “My family is not dead. They are just gone.”
Garren narrowed his eyes down at her. “Does that mean they made it through the Phantom Wood? Was that during the time you made it through? Did you all go together?”
He recalled what the young boy from the market square had said. Only one person goes in and comes out again.
