"Temp." Naima's voice cuts through the chaos in my head. "The welcoming ceremony. It's happening right now."
Right now. Which means Margot’s visions start tonight.
Chapter Twenty-One
The welcoming ceremony has always been held in what was once Sulara's temple. That knowledge used to comfort me. I told myself that even though the Council erased the goddess of rebirth from history and built the House of Truth over her sacred ground, something of her remained. That she was still here, guiding new residents toward their own rebirths. Their freedom.
Now, as I reach the door to the hidden passage within the temple walls, I wonder if I had it backward all along. What if she's been cursing us? What if every rebirth has been a new cage?
The door swings shut behind us, and darkness swallows everything. My hand opens instinctively. Fire blooms in my palm, casting dancing shadows on the ancient stone. I use the flickering light to guide us to the nearest latch—a small iron hook set into the wall.
I've only witnessed the ceremony twice, both times from this exact vantage point. Mother insisted on it. By the time the Council departed and I was allowed to descend, everyone had gone. Only the stones remained. The stones always remain.
I hold my breath, slip my finger into the hook, and extinguish my flame. The brick slides into the hollow beside it with a softscrape of stone on stone. Orange light floods my vision. I blink against it, eyes adjusting.
Below, three figures in dark green hoods sit in a semicircle. A fourth stands beneath the open dome at the center of the rotunda. Two more figures in maroon flank the table. Veritas healers, here to perform their part.
The table holds the instruments of transformation. A small vial of clear elixir, and two green velvet pillows. One cradles a memory stone. The other, an amulet.
My stomach twists. Part of me hoped I'd witness a Veritas ceremony —gentle, respectful, the version I've always believed in. But Margot's vision brought us here. This is exactly what I'm meant to see.
I hadn't yet learned to make the elixir when Mother first brought me here. I was too young to understand what I was watching. I'm not too young anymore. I close my eyes as Malachi moves closer, his presence steadying me.
Then I open my serephony gift and let the room's emotions flood in. I find Anala immediately. Her familiar warmth, her steady resilience. I almost tune her out of habit.
Then I feel something else. Something that doesn't belong. Guilt. My eyes fly open. I can't see her face from here, but I search for it anyway. The Sages carry many emotions. Guilt is not one of them.
Movement below pulls my attention away. A hooded figure approaches the table and lowers their hood. From this angle, I can only make out short black hair. Warm brown skin.
They're instructed to turn. To face in our direction. I stop breathing. The resemblance is impossible to ignore.
The same skin tone, the same arched ears peeking out of the mop of brown hair, the same pillowy lips and sharp cheekbones. A younger version, but unmistakable. He looks exactly like Cas.
They instruct him to kneel. He does, slowly, as if the motion costs him something. And then I see his hands. Scarred. Trembling.
My gaze snaps to the Veritas healer beside Anala. I wait for her to ask the question that should come first.Are you here by choice?She doesn't ask. No one does.
I turn my gift toward the boy and let his emotions in. The agony hits me like a blow to the chest. I stagger backward. Malachi's arm around my waist keeps me upright. His presence steadies me enough to breathe. But I don't close the connection. I need to feel this.
Constantine's voice echoes through the rotunda. "One drop of blood, freely given. All memories surrendered. The price of sanctuary is trust."
The words are ceremonial. Sacred. They should mean something. And I guess they do. It’s just not what I always thought they meant. One of the Veritas healers steps forward.
She carries the vial, the blade, and both stones on their velvet pillow. Her approach is slow. Calm. The same way I approach injured animals at the clinic.I won't hurt you. Trust me. I want to help.And like those injured animals, this boy doesn’t seem to have a choice.
She kneels before him. Sets everything down with gentle precision. I don't know what I expected. Something violent, perhaps.
Something that matches the horror coiling in my chest. But her voice is soft as she begins the incantation, too low for me to hear. The words the healers speak are never written down. Never shared. The only text available to read is Constantine's. I'm beginning to understand why.
I focus on his emotions again, forcing myself to stay open. The sadness. The grief. They pour through me like ice water.
This is what the ceremony promises to remove. I just wish I could take it from him without him having to surrender anything in return. But beneath the grief, I feel something else. Resistance. Defiance. And anger. Gods, his anger burns through my sigil as if it were my own.
He takes the vial with a shaking hand. The damned elixir. He drinks it in one swallow and sets it down so hard the glass should shatter. His hands stop trembling.
His emotions begin to dim, but the defiance is still there, clawing at the walls closing in around it. Something clicks into place. A realization so heavy I can barely hold it. I push it down. I can't afford to fall apart yet.
The healer takes his hand, turns it palm-up, and draws the blade across his skin. The boy flinches but doesn't make a sound. Blood wells in the wound, dark and gleaming. The memory stone is pressed into his bleeding palm.
