Steely silence met her words.
"Waste is a sin," she tried again, juvenile in her stubbornness.
Grim expertly dodged. “Cleverness does not redeem disobedience.”
The path twisted beneath the dense canopy, roots curling from the earth like skeletal fingers. Sunlight speckled through the leaves, gilding the edges of Grim’s ebony veil. The trees were old here, their bark knotted like scarred skin. Somewhere in the distance, a brook sang over stone, its voice barely rising above the rustling of leaves.
Ilys fell into step beside him, matching his pace, sensing their verbal sparring had reached its denouement. Grim disliked it when she hurried. He disliked it when she lagged. Earning his favor felt impossible most days. And as she grew, his distance and irritation only deepened. She scolded herself for her immaturity, yet she still drove him away with her hunger for life and independence.
She bit the inside of her cheek, words escaping before judgment took its pass.
"You don’t deny it,” she began once more.
Grim exhaled, though whether in amusement or irritation, she could not tell.
"Deny what?"
"That Baron dares to speak to you so.Heis one of the Faithful."
His delay in answering extended so long, Ilys was sure he should never speak again. The wind sighed through the branches and from the distant castle on the hill, temple bells rang softly, the sound of the inevitable.
At last, he responded, "He is allowed such liberties."
"By whom?"
Grim turned his veiled face toward her. "By me."
"Why?" The young girl cowed at yet another set of escapee words.
"So curious today. Like a thorn in the ear." He stepped over a fallen branch, boots sinking into the moss-softened earth, glancing back to ensure she was following.
Beyond the trees, the castle loomed in the distance, its spires swallowing the sky. The sigil of the Veil watched them from above in pale banners that clung to the stone. The Faithful would be gathering soon, whispering their prayers beneath candlelight, their voices winding through the corridors like mist.
“Shall we play Fox and Geese tomorrow evening?”
Ilys grinned. Grim never offered to play. "Why?"
"By the unbound, you chit. Do you want to play or not?"
"I should like to play. Thank you," she replied primly, proud of such politeness.
"Rest your tongue, and we shall."
The priestesses awaited.
They stood in a quiet line at the Sanctum’s mouth, motionless statues carved to witness the passage of the divine.
Ilys stepped forward on her own.
Grim had already left. He could have stayed, could have followed her to the center of the room where they would have huddled in pious familiarity, but when the duty was hers, he often left.
Not from prohibition, but because it still felt strange to him. Grim was slow to learn how to be with Ilys. So much of what lay between them echoed a father and daughter, yet she belonged to no one. She only existed as a replacement, a successor. One day, all his duties would be her own.
Outside these walls, their relationshipwouldbe strange. Men commanded. Women obeyed. And for an unmarried man and girl to speak alone? Unthinkable. They certainly would not spar. Nor travel. Nor any number of the duties she and Grim did without question.
Ilys found Veilwalkers to be anomalies. Outsiders. Strangers to humanity.
The Sanctum yawned before her, its high ceilings lost to the shadows above. Stone pillars stretched toward the heavens, surfaces carved with the sacred script ofThe Book of the Veil, each passage a prayer, a command, a truth. A thousand candles wept light down the walls, their melted bodies hunched in devotion.
