For a heartbeat, she wanted to argue. But deep down a quiet part of her knew he was right.
And that hurt.
“You do not need to kneel if it doesn’t feel right,” he explained softly. “Faith is not always a ceremony. Sometimes it’s a conversation.”
“I don't think I like gods,” she admitted without apology. “I don’t mean that as treason. I just… I’ve never liked the idea of being owned by something I can't see.”
Like a lack of control. Curse.
The priest hummed. “That’s fair. Many people feel that way. They simply don’t say it out loud.”
She turned her head to glance at him, half-expecting disapproval, but he merely smiled. His soft eyes creased at the corners, like he’d been smiling the same way for seventy years.
“I was told faith was a duty,” Evelyne went on. “That women are vessels for tradition. That Rhyssa blesses obedient wives with fruitful wombs, and the faithful with peace.”
“And do you believe that?” he asked.
She hesitated.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I want to. I want to believe there's a reason. That if I do everything right, the path will reward me. But I’ve done everything right my whole life. I’ve followed every rule, met every expectation. And still…”
Her breath caught, but she swallowed it back. She would not cry in front of him. In front of anyone.
“Still, I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff,” she continued. “And soon I’m meant to leap with a smile on my face.”
Keeper Halwen nodded slowly. “Marriage is not a leap, child. It is a bridge. They are built and maintained together. A bridge can be walked by two people—or abandoned if unsafe. But yes, even bridges can sway beneath your feet if you're the only one walking.”
Evelyne let out a breath that might have been a laugh, if it hadn’t tasted so bitter on her tongue. “Well,” she murmured, “then perhaps I should’ve studied architecture instead of politics.”
The old man smiled, but said nothing. He never interrupted when her sarcasm came.
Evelyne turned slightly. “Do you think I’m cursed?” she asked. “That Rhyssa doesn’t favor me? That what had happened… was a sign?”
She hadn’t meant to ask it. Not really. It had hovered at the edge of her thoughts for months, circling like a wolf inside the walls. The suspicion that maybe it had been her fault all along.
Keeper Halwen’s robes brushed stone as he rose. Some priests believed in blessings through hands. Halwen believed in space.
He sank down beside her at the base of the statue. “The gods,” Halwen said gently, “do not deal in curses, only in consequences. And even those are not always ours.”
“I was born under a lunar eclipse.”
“Yes,” he observed calmly. “So was Queen Virelle. She founded a dynasty.”
“She also died in her sleep at thirty-six as the last female ruler of Edrathen.”
“No, she died as afirstone,” he replied with a soft smile. “You’re not cursed. You’re not marked for tragedy. You’re simply walking a path few are prepared for. It is not your birththat others fear. It’s your strength. And strength, when not understood, is easily mistaken for danger.”
She didn’t respond right away. The flames crackled in the hearth, spitting tiny sparks into the dark. She watched one spiral upward and vanish.
“I’ve taught you not what to believe, buthowto believe,” he continued. “Because faith without freedom is just fear in prettier clothing.”
Evelyne looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
“I serve the Flame of Rhyssa,” he murmured, “not because Rhyssa is a goddess of fertility or hearths. I believe in her because she represents the continuity of creation. She watches the fire even when the house is empty. She waits for us to return.”
They sat in silence then, the statue of Rhyssa casting her soft shadow across the stone floor.
“I’m glad you’ll be the one to bless the wedding,” she confessed, shifting to face him more fully. “At least one kind face at the ceremony. Between the heralds, the foreign dignitaries, I was starting to feel like a decorative statue being shipped off to a warmer gallery.”
