Though it made her stomach churn to pretend, her efforts paid off, and she was released from the tower. On the day of her release, an entourage of priestesses arrived with a tub and buckets of steaming water. She limply let them wash her with scalding water, scrubbing the last of the impurity from her body. She saw the fingerprints of humiliation and control in the ritual. It reminded her of the pure-white goat they’d sacrificed during her initiation. Liane was meant to be like that goat, livestock passively led to slaughter. She’d let them think her broken if they’d release her.
They needed to plan their escape. Walking out of the temple wasn’t an option. The Midnight Guard wouldn’t let them, and if she tried, she feared the fervor of the pilgrims. Whether the attack on the dock had been intentional or orchestrated, she feared for her own safety out in the open. Ludwig wouldn’t be enough to protect her. She’d need Erich, but she wasn’t sure where to find him.
If anyone could find him, Luzie and Ludwig could. They were her right and left arms. Without them, she felt cut off and adrift.
The priestesses pulled Liane out of the bath, and the gooseflesh on her arms rose. The fall equinox was fast approaching, and at sunset, the air was starting to have a touch of chill. They braided her hair and brought a pure-white robe and veil for her to wear. She let them dress her, sitting as still as a doll. Though her fingers twitched in agitation.
She had to show restraint. Rushing in was what had killed Sylvie, arrogance over her own ability. She was surrounded by enemies, and she had to be strategic about her next moves. She still wasn’t sure what they were preparing her for, but she suspected it would be public, when they placed the ceremonial headpiece on her head, with its many chains and radiant beam crown.
It felt heavier than the last time she’d worn it, but maybe it was the weight of the church’s plans for her that made each step heavier. The equinox was still two weeks away, so they wouldn’t be attempting to seal her power, not yet.
They led her to the balcony, where she’d greeted pilgrims and performed with her light power numerous times before. She didn’t ask questions but let their flow be her guide.
As she climbed the steps, she heard the soft hum of suppressed conversation. They’d gathered a large crowd. And she felt their expectations like a buzz against her spine. In the same way as when the Avatheos had insisted she be purified in the tower, something felt discordant about their expectations, and she felt a cold hand grasping the nape of her neck.
When they reached the anterior staging room, the Avatheos was waiting for her.
Seeing him made her stomach clench, and that feeling of wrongness washed over her, as if she were going to be sick.
“You’ve proven your faithfulness and endured your isolation. Now it’s time you displayed your power to heal the people,” the Avatheos said as he approached her, palms upright.
Liane’s mouth fell open. This must be a cruel joke. “But I can’t heal anyone.”
“They merely need to believe you can. Word got out about poor Sylvie’s untimely death; doubt has crept into their hearts. And with a dragon attacking the city, they need assurances that Cyra is with us, that she has chosen her vessel, who will purify the darkness.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, and she felt as if a boulder weighed her down.
Erich had attacked the city. Had he survived? If he had fallen… was there any hope?
“Are we in danger?” she asked, the real questions caught in her throat.
“Everything is happening according to her plan. You’ve been tempted as Cyra was, but you are still a part of the light, aren’t you?”
That familiar smoldering rage that had gotten her through confinement threatened to consume her. Liane bit down on her words and nodded.
The Avatheos let go of her, but she still felt the fizzle of his hands on her, as if a film clung to her that she couldn’t shed.
A priestess came forward and thrust a gold-plated blade into her hand. It was the same replica her mother had used at ceremonies and official functions.
“Play your part,” the Avatheos warned before stepping out to greet the crowd. And her stomach churned. Did he see through her facade? She swallowed past the lump in her throat. She had to get through this and speak with Luzie and Ludwig to make a plan.
The curtains parted, and the Avatheos exited first to the sound of a roaring crowd. Liane held her breath for a few beats before following him.
An excited murmur rippled through the crowd as she stepped out to stand beside the Avatheos.
The Avatheos raised his hands, silencing them. When they’d settled, he said, “The avatar has finished her time in isolation and purified her body. I have read the bones and runes and determined that she shall fully ascend during the fall equinox. And she shall unleash the healing power of Cyra across the city, ending the scourge of corruption that plagues our great empire!”
“Hold it up and glow,” the Avatheos instructed under his breath.
She did as she was commanded, like a puppet on strings, and the crowd roared their approval. To them, she was holding out the true Golden Blade. Liane’s stomach was in knots. They didn’t know the sword was in her back. They didn’t know she couldn’t do much more than glow. Her back ached from holding up the false sword, and the light coming from her burned. This was wrong.
As she looked out at the starved and dirty faces of the masses, she thought of Sylvie, who’d put her faith in her. This wasn’t right—giving these people false hope. It was cruel. Liane couldn’t be what they wanted from her. And maybe she was never meant to be.
The Avatheos saved her from further torture by raising his hand, and she lowered her sword. The crowd fell silent.
“Today, you shall witness a miracle. Watch as she heals the corruption of this withered man.”
He gestured to his right, and the curtain pulled back. Liane could see the black lines of paint snaking over his body. To the crowd below, it’d look like he was withering. But she’d seen the effects on a person up close when it’d consumed Elias and Sylvie. This man wasn’t sick. But leaning heavily on his cane and with enough stage makeup, he was a convincing fraud. Just like the sword clutched in her hand, this was another part of this play, and Liane was the star.
Guilt stabbed at her, but at least no one else had to die from her lack of power. If he wanted a show, she’d give him one. Liane sheathed the golden blade in her belt and knelt before the pretender, cupping his face. He looked up at her, eyes wide, as he trembled slightly. What had the Avatheos threatened him with to make him play a role in this farce? She’d probably never know.
