She cocks her head, gliding her body closer to mine. “You would’ve been such a pretty thing if it wasn’t for these scars.” Moving my hair aside, she runs a warm finger from my right ear along uneven skin all the way down my throat and to the top of my exposed upper chest. The trail she leaves feels cold despite the warmth of her finger and the bath we are immersed in.
I look ahead, my eyes off her ministrations, and she journeys back up my scarred flesh until she finds my chin. Gripping it in hand, she moves my head towards her, my earthen green eyes pouring into her icy ones. “Hmmm. Yes, you could have been a priestess, yet… A pity, really.”
Caught off guard within her gaze, a long-ago buried memory springs forth. Inhaling sharply, I face the rippling water between our naked bodies.
Releasing her grip, Cardinal gives a chuckle. “Always such a jittery little thing.” Compared to the rest of the priestesses, I am small. Maybe it is from my lack of nutrition in my formative rotations, or just my lot in life. A priestess is elegant, voluptuous and, above all, posed in her pursuit of eternal salvation. They are the keepers of the veil, the Goddess’s disciples. They are everything I am not. I am a tiny, thin, clumsy servant girl who cannot speak to others and is scared by the wrath of life. Not priestess material.
Gripping the stone step beneath my bottom, I focus on the outline Cardinal casts in the tiny ripples of water. Even in turmoil, she is beauty.
“Such a fragile little bird.” The water rushes beside me as Cardinal stands, grabbing her towel. “Blessed be thy Goddess.”
As her voice moves over me, I watch Cardinal drift away within the ripples of the pool. “Blessed be thy Goddess,” I whisper in a sigh, sinking my whole body into the warmth of the spring’s embrace.
Under the water, I close my eyes and focus deeply within. I am greeted once again with that strange tug where the rubbles lay in my centre. It fills me with peace, a feeling that nothing within this Goddess-forsaken temple can replicate. It is an understanding—one I should’ve grasped onto earlier in the night.
The tugging sets a small spark inside my chest that smoulders low, more present than ever before. Holding my hands to my heart, I set my rubbles to cinder with the anguish that cleaves my body, a certain beast standing to attention within the lining of my beating organ.
I wish I could be more for you, but this is all I have to offer.
seven
Rivern
There is that burnagain, fuming for attention.
Coaxing my weary body into action, I place my hand on my chest and push into it, a low ache that is not mine spreading through my limbs.
I have been riding for several rotations, and the muscle tightness in my thighs does not bother me as much as this growing pain. The further south I ride, the worse it gets.
“Again?” the voice rings out through my skull. I look up and find a large white bird circling me and myhorse, Mage.
“It’s getting worse,” I relay back to the winged creature above.
“Must be getting close.”
“Must be,” I mumble back to myself. I hear chipping laughter in my head and cut Solen off.The bastard isn’t the one experiencing bond pains.
With a light tap to Mage’s side, I spur him into a gallop.
I will find the source of my bond pain, and they will swiftly meet the end of my sword.
eight
Dove
Last night, after leavingthe springs, I made my way back to the darkness of my bedroom, slightly put out from my one-sided conversation with Cardinal.Last turn was a full moon, which means this turn the fairy’s breath is in full bloom, and tonight—
The last thing I want to think about is tonight.
Pushing it from my mind, I continue with my tasks. This morning, I awoke to my usual routine of taking in the dirty laundry, dispersing clean washing, tending to my garden, preparing the dining room for breakfast, tidying the priestess’s quarters and sweeping and scrubbing thefloors.
The list is truly endless. I am not the only servant here, but sometimes, it seems that way. Especially with Bridget—the untitled leader of my torment—looming, just waiting for any small misstep.
Wren also makes it her mission to make up for the lack of chatter in my life by being a constant pain in my arse and giving me her most helpful advice.
“You missed a spot,”the sweet but sarcastic voice filters through.
“I’m getting there,” I harshly sizzle at the ground. The voice of my heart is starting to get on my last nerve, and she knows it. Wind-chiming laughter springs to life.
