I don’t even need to see their faces to know it is them. All eyes follow the intricate braids on top of their heads. Their eyes are a piercing blue set above sharp-boned cheeks. There is no missing the fact that Castor is Cardinal’s son. So much so that, besides the square of his jaw and his height, you’d never know that his father is the king.
Seeing Cardinal and Castor together is such a rarity that it draws everyone in the temple to the public receiving room. My unease kicks up to quaking levels, my mind churning at the prospects of this announcement.
I go straight to the possibilities beyond these temple walls, the unknown.
Pressing my hand to the harsh raised skin on my upper chest, I push at the wayward fear leaking out of my pores. I cannot go there. Not when the memory is alive and well every rhythm I look in the mirror, which I avoid at all costs.
Setting my sights on the front of the hall, the room waits in silence as Cardinal glides up the dais in her shining silver gown as if she were the Goddess herself.
Castor takes his place beside his mother, and the crowd pauses with bated breath.
“It is here, within the loving arms of the one Goddess herself, that I offer my son, Prince Castor, into her care and embrace to bless the union of his upcoming nuptials to the Priestess Kestrel in one moon’s turn.” Silence descends upon the crowd before an uproar of applause and well-wishes greet the royal on stage.
My heart sinks.
No. My whole body is nothing but splinters on the floor.
This is the turn.
I knew this was coming. He just celebrated his twenty-fifth birth, which means he is free to wed. Free to find his high priestess, the lady who will rule by his side in accordance with the Goddess.
And it is not me.
It is Kestrel. Of all people. The one priestess I have spent countless hours toiling away within the confines of my sacred greenhouse.
But how was Kestrel to know of my affection? We’ve never spoken. Well, she has. I just listened to her frustrations and musings. She never mentioned this to me, and I thought she told me everything. I assumed I was her secret keeper.
I was wrong. I guess we all have our secrets. Including Kestrel.
I cannot decide what hurts worse, her betrayal or my own for fantasising about a future that could never be.
There was and is no way such a dream can come to fruition for a girl like me. A lowly temple servant and the prince of the kingdom? I’m not stupid. It is the dream of a reckless girl, one who has barely anything left to lose. And apparently, I dreamt a bit too much, considering the hurt currently radiating through my chest.
I had only seen him at the rotation of the Primary, but that was enough to fuel my imagination beyond our first encounter. Enough to want more. Enough to desire a life where I don’t have to scrub floors and dust rooms all turn long.
When my imagination takes flight, I weave stories that have no place being sung.
Seeing Cardinal and Castor on stage smiling and waving at the crowd makes the cavern in my chest yawn open, and I push against the people beside me to leave my heart on the floor, a sopping bloody mess. I didn’t need it anyway. It has done me no use in the past unforgiving rotations, and it continues to be of no use to me now. Just another useless organ. Love is a fool’s errand, and I am done being a fool.
My throat balls up as I push through the inconspicuous side door and trail down the steps into the lower temple labyrinth.
As soon as I find my way into the stone archways, I breathe mossy, cool air. The hurt feels less down here, and I continue to take deep lungfuls of air as I follow the flickering wall lanterns that leave me recoiling at every turn.
Stupid girl.I repeat the mantra in my head as I place one foot in front of the other, taking turn after winding turn until I find the last lantern and pick it up to guide my way.
My light is not like the others, though. No, mine holds glowing, thick white worms that give off enough light to see just a step in front of me, a small safety in this world of sorrow.
A bruised wooden door chipped at the sides and slowly being overrun by decay comes into view shortly after one last turn. My other sanctuary. Myownroom.
No other servant is willing to brave the darkness of the winding labyrinth past the storerooms and bathhouse, so I am the only one who lives down here in solitude. Exactly how I like it. No flames hold power over me in this dark place. The glowing worms that live within the bathhouse and further within the maze walls are enough to light my way.
I lift the circular copper handle, and the door gives way to a small room. One that, to the untrained eye, might not look like much with its lack of sunlight and cold grey stone walls, but it holds everything I need in this world.
Blankets to rest my weary body after a long turn’s work, a small wooden desk to draw, a wobbly stack of thin book spines that hold stories of adventure and intrigue, and webs high up in the corners of my ceiling, spun of the finest silk that house thin long-legged spiders that make me feel a little less alone.
And the art. My creations plaster the crumbling walls in fine displays of faraway landscapes, soaring birds and unforgettable faces.
One of those faces is Castor’s.
