But he thrust his hand through the hole in the door; his hand was covered in scales. The dragon was taking over. He recoiled, but she grasped onto his hand, cupping his rough and scaled flesh in her soft, pale hands. She wasn’t repulsed by him as she should have been.
“Have they hurt you?” he gasped. He was fighting every single urge he had to rip the door from its hinges. But on closer inspection, he saw runes moving through the wood. Any attempt to break her free would result in an alarm at the least, but he wouldn’t be surprised if there were reinforcements on the hinges and wood that made them impossible to destroy. He couldn’t get her out even if she asked him to.
“I belong here; I killed a girl because I am impure.”
“You’re perfect.” And he meant it. She was radiant. Even these dim and dreary surroundings hadn’t dimmed her luminousness. He couldn’t fathom the circumstances in which she’d take a life. It couldn’t have been intentional. But he also knew the weight of that might crush her, and more than anything, he wished he could hold on to her, provide her comfort for the shadows in her eyes.
She squeezed his hand. “You’re saying that because you’re corrupted and want me to join your side,” she said, but there was no conviction in her tone. He could hear the doubt ringing between them.
His hand flexed. The dragon wanted to tear down the door with his teeth, but he held him back from doing that. He wouldn’t take her against her will, not in this condition. He feared what he’d do if this door weren’t between them.
“You have to leave this place, Liane. They’ll destroy you if you let them. They’re already stripping away your humanity. You weren’t one to be caged before.”
“I’m doing this for the good of the empire. I have to let go of you and all vices in order to become pure.” She released his hand, and he felt cold in the absence of her touch.
The tone of her voice, the shame in it, it felt as if they’d dimmed all the light from her. And that was what they wanted, wasn’t it? To strip her of her humanity, to make her another faceless creature of their own design.
His anger and helplessness, and the closeness of the full moon, were having an effect on him. He felt the tethers on the dragon snapping one by one. His muscles strained, fighting back the change. It wasn’t the full moon yet, but time was running out just the same. He couldn’t save her, not yet. But he would come back for her.
“Liane, when you are ready, I will come for you.”
“Forget about me. Please, Erich, for your sake.”
His claws curled against the door, leaving deep gashes. He needed to get far, far away, so far that he could never reach her again, for both their sakes. And so he fled.
21
The warmth of Erich’s hand lingered on Liane’s palm. As the night passed and sleep evaded her, it felt more and more like a dream. The right thing to do would be to try to wake the guards, or shout for help. One thing was for certain—A pure vessel for the goddess’ light wouldn’t long for a man with scales and claws. Instead of sounding the alarm, she’d watched him flee and then returned to her bed to stare at the ceiling. Maybe it’d all been a dream, and rather than purifying her, time in isolation was driving her insane. Or maybe the corruption of her soul had been sealed the moment she’d killed Sylvie. The thought of it sat on her chest like a boulder. Her arrogance had killed the girl, and her obsession with Erich would doom the entire continent. The Avatheos had sent her to the tower for quiet reflection, to help cleanse her of the darkness creeping at the corner of her thoughts, and even that she couldn’t do right.
She bunched up her bedding into a fist and then pulled. Why had Cyra chosen her? Why not someone beautiful and good like Aristea or brave like her brother, Mathias? Why her? She was selfish and arrogant and refused to obey authority. Rather than chase her circling thoughts, perhaps she should ask Cyra directly. She was her chosen after all, and the Avatheos had said she was the closest to Cyra of them all. She knelt down beside her bed. Resting her elbows on the edge, she upturned her hands in prayer. She never prayed, apart from during religious ceremonies and sun rites rituals. She hadn’t seen much purpose in it. But maybe that was the missing piece. Maybe she’d been so determined to carve her own path, she hadn’t stopped long enough to hear Cyra’s voice.
But where did she begin? Should she confess her sins to the goddess? Was she listening? If Liane was the vessel, she supposed she was.
“Ah. Hello, Cyra,” Liane started awkwardly. Talking aloud to the empty room felt silly, so she continued in her head, which felt just as ridiculous, but at least no one could overhear it. “If you’re omnipotent as they say, you probably know what I’ve done... but I have my doubts about your divine plan... What do you want from me?”
There was no answer, of course. Maybe she wasn’t praying right. Or as the Avatheos had said, she wasn’t pure enough. Maybe once she cleansed herself spiritually, Cyra would speak to her, but how, through visions? Or a voice? She wasn’t sure. No one told her anything. They only pointed out what she was doing wrong. She’d been in Basilia for nearly a month, and she felt no closer to mastering her powers than when she’d gotten here. The church had always been cloaked in mystery to her, and its mysticism was something that she hadn’t cared to wonder about. And even now, when she was at its very heart, she had more questions than answers. When they’d first met, Sylvie had mentioned to her how the church was meant to save her. If she had been suffering from corruption all along, were they all suffering in some way? Was it her destiny to save them all? What if she couldn’t?
The corruption was starting to take over Erich, too. He’d half transformed before the full moon; shouldn’t that be proof enough that she was better without him in her life? But why couldn’t she convince herself that was the truth? As guilty as she felt, when he’d told her she was perfect, she’d wanted to believe it was true—that there wasn’t something wrong with her but the systems in which she was bound.
“Tell me what I’m doing wrong. How can I be good enough? How can I be pure enough? How can I prevent another Sylvie...” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she pressed her head against the mattress. She sat there until her back ached and her knees trembled from kneeling on the cold stone ground. But there was no answer from Cyra.
Sylvie’s death couldn’t be cleansed by ritual, prayer, or isolation. It would remain like a stain upon her soul forever.
Liane sat back on her heels and gave up the pretense of prayer. There were stacks of holy books in her room. She’d been trying and failing to read them for days. Every time she opened one, she thought of Sylvie writhing in agony, screaming as Liane killed her. Reading religious texts wouldn’t change anything, and reading about the Nameless Goddess’ great betrayal only made her feel as if she were cast in the wrong part of the opera of the betrayal myth. She picked a book at random from the stack and flipped it open. It landed on a page about the end of times prophecy.
“A pure life is one without temptation. You should become as the goddess made you, nameless, unattached to this world, and a living vessel for her divine works.”
The words sent a stab of guilt to Liane’s gut, and she shook herself as she set the book aside. Reading wouldn’t help. Instead, she walked over to her open window. It wasn’t much wider than her arm, but it allowed a stream of light in.
The light of the waxing gibbous moon poured in through her open window, and she stared out at the moon. She hoped Erich was safe and he hadn’t been caught by the Midnight Guard half transformed. But it’d been quiet across the temple since he’d left, and she hoped that meant he’d left unscathed. She might have prayed for his safe escape, but it felt like sacrilege to pray that a corrupted intent on warping her mind escape.
The city was quiet. Curfew was in effect, and all the houses had their lights out. The moon cast silvery light over the landscape, giving it an eerie glow. In fact, the play of shadows, the light and dark, reminded her of the two-toned stag. She thought of how it’d lured her through the forest to the pool. It, too, must have been corrupted and trying to lure her down the wrong path. The Avatheos and the Church of Sol were meant to be the defenders of light. Anything that stood against them was evil, wasn’t it?
If only life were as simple, as black and white. Erich and the stag seemed to think there was some other destiny she was meant for. But who did she trust? The church and the way of light, or potential corruption and damnation? It seemed like an obvious answer. If a friend had asked her that question, she would have called them a fool.
But everything about the temple felt wrong. As if she’d put on a shoe made for a different foot. What if the Avatheos had misinterpreted his prophecy? Hadn’t scholars and priests argued about the meanings of the holy books for centuries? She’d read that prophecies were often vague and obfuscated in rhyme. It was up to the receiver of said prophecy to decide the truth.
If only Liane could discern what that truth was.
