For long moments, no one spoke. There was nothing but the distant buzz of the temple’s daily activities, and the ringing in my ears that only came when the Glaith touched my skin. Worse still, this particular bit of Glaith had never tasted ki, was unlike the ring or my pendant in its stark absence, for virgin Glaith washungry. And the High Priestess had chosen me to feed it.
“What now?” my father asked, pale eyes fixed to the mess I’d made of my Flourishing.
The High Priestess cleared her throat. “Now,” she murmured, shifting, one hand keeping the virgin Glaith pressed to my nape, the other reaching for the lotus intertwined about my fingers and snaking up my wrists. “Now we have a hard conversation.”
“Just what does this mean?” my father hissed, helping her untangle the vines from my clenched fists.
But the High Priestess didn’t respond, instead redoubling her one-handed effort to free the lotus from my clenched fingers. Under their manipulations the pot fell away, for the lotus had outgrown that dusty prison at my command, showering my lap in dirt and shards of clay. Both of us left poised on the cusp of true fulfillment, robbed before completion.
When she succeeded, and the lotus was torn from my hands, the High Priestess replaced it with that hateful ore. “Keep that close. Understand? No matter how uncomfortable, you’renotto be separated from the Glaith until I say otherwise. Until I’ve had a moment to think.”
I nodded, without the energy to speak or tear my eyes from the dark, moonlit petals of my Truth. From the debt owed and the song of my people now hidden from my ears. I could do little more than watch as she placed my lotus in the center of her desk, her veins standing out on skin gone utterly bloodless.
At length, the High Priestess reclaimed her seat, hands folded atop her desk doing little to hide a tremor that hadn’t been before. “You heard that foul Caledonian general accuse Priestesses of going ki-mad, yes?” When I nodded, she leaned forward, cupping the lotus between both hands. “The general has his facts right, I’m afraid. Our history depicts a tragic tale of the very first Trila-Glís and her twin sister, from the time before the Blood split and men and womensharedthe worship of the Goddess. The sisters were identical in all areas, but one. The firstborn was Trila-Glís, destined to wield the might of the Divine and become our first High Priestess. Her sister, however, was Triloth, powerful in her own right, yes, but not the match of her elder sibling.”
“The difference being?” my father asked, collecting my cold, limp fingers.
“With a single touch, a Triloth Priestess can sense everything about their subject. Down to the most subtle of emotional motivations, or lurking illness. But they are limited. They cannot manipulate ki, yet they are vessels for it. The Triloth contain ki in a manner similar to that of the Glaith itself.” She paused, laying her palms flat, eyes tracing dark petals. “It takes a Trila-Glís to do both. It is our burden tousewhat the Goddess gave us.”
Nodding, my father said, “The Trila-Glís are what bind them together?”
“That’s right,” she said, lips twitching. “And so it’s been since the very first. In spite of the vast difference in their ki, those twin sisters of long ago were devoted to one another. They created the foundation on which the faith was built.”
The High Priestess stood, pacing toward the panoramic glass wall overlooking the Planeth and the courtyard beyond. “The eldest, Glísel, was said to be able to commune with the Goddess herself, and at Milithia’s behest she began to gather the Blood, scattered as they were across the continent. But neither sibling was prepared to deal with the ki of so many gathered in one place. It eventually drove Glísel mad.” The High Priestess stroked the shining silver petals of the flower before her. “When Glísel met one such as herself—those named the Trila-Glís in her memory—the powerful ki was enough to break her mind. She was overcome with an insatiable hunger, and slaughtered more than half of Milithia’s children in a single night.”
I swallowed, tearing my gaze from the lotus sprawled out before me… reaching… “That’s awful.”
“Yes, I rather imagine it was. But the tale does not end there, my dear. Glísel’s Triloth sister, whose name has been lost to time, sacrificed herself to stop her sibling from destroying everything they’d built. She used their bond, and when Glísel attacked her own blood in a blind rage, they were both swept away in an instant, ferried into the Void on Milithia’s great, silent wings. It was the link between them, you see. Built over a lifetime, it was enough to destroy even the might of a ki-mad Trila-Glís such as her.
“When the dust settled, the Blood who remained rose from the rubble, and among them was the young Trila-Glís challenger who had unintentionally triggered the catastrophe. Shaken, but alive, she plucked this very flower from the ashes and, in returning it to hibernation, showed herself worthy to claim Glísel’s throne. But she knew in her heart there would come a time when she would face another such as herself. Another Trila-Glís who would challenge for the throne. And since that day,” the High Priestess continued, once more gathering the lotus, “the Priestesses have trained. We use our power to heal. Torestorelife. To change it to our whim—” she grimaced, then commanded my Truth to retreat back into its shriveled brown shell. Muting the music calling out to my heart. “But that doesn’t mean we’re immune to failure.”
My father’s fingers tightened on mine. “How so?”
The High Priestess cleared her throat then turned toward the overlarge bookshelf behind her. In the center, set behind thick glass, was an ancient book cracked open to a blank page. “This book contains the account of every High Priestess to rule the Blood over the centuries. It contains the history of our people, recorded through the eyes of the women who saw it happen. In this book,” she continued, returning her attention to us, “are tales of triumph—of which there have been many—and the tragic stories of those powerful Trila-Glís like Glísel who lost their way.”
Hardly daring to breathe, I did nothing, said nothing… terrified for what came next. For her to damn me.
“Without the proper training, a Trila-Glís will slip into madness, Mila. They become Empaths. Ki-hungry, mindless creatures of impulse. They are drawn to the ki of any living thing, and will kill without discrimination or remorse, trying to fill a bottomless void. They are doomed.”
I blinked, pulling my fingers from my father’s grasp, for without the flames of vengeance bubbling in my gut, I couldsee.
She was right. The only viable option was to stay, to learn from the best of my people, or become the worst. But how was I to forget the whisper soft rasp of bearded cheeks—or the betrayal of rough hands turning on me? Pushing me to a life absent the freedom he’d claimed for himself?
“Not once,” the High Priestess continued, reclaiming her seat, “in all those pages, is there mention oftwochallengers for my throne.”
“There isn’t now,” I whispered, meeting her eye. “I have no interest in—”
“Yet here you sit, five yearsafterthe emergence of my challenger, a young Trila-Glís named Carly. My protégé.”
“One must wonder,” my father said, straightening his robes with a snap, “if this Carly of yours can compare to Mila.”
I flinched. “Dad,no.I don’t—”
“You saw what she did to that flower. Can Carly do the same? Is there any competition?”
“The difference, Senator Tannovic, is that I don’t worry for the safety of those closest to Carly.”
“Nor do I. With the Glaith—”
