It’s a woman. A very beautiful woman, with curly dark hair, flawless skin and cherry red lips. Her exposed gown is made of shimmering fabric a similar shade to the robe she wore, but it flows around her legs and clings to her bosom. She’s standing on a raised platform that, combined with the large robe, created the illusion of preternatural height.
After the initial shock, the crowd starts to murmur and turn to each other in disbelief.
“My children,” the woman says, her voice projecting over the din. “I am your Prime Klerick. I am not only your spiritual leader who speaks for Othrix, I am also your mother.”
“Women cannot be klericks!” shouts a voice in the crowd. “It’s blasphemy!”
“Silence,” the loud male voice from earlier booms. “Behold Vanora the Great, the incarnation of Othrix here in the Light!”
Fire erupts from the mouth of Othrix, as well as from several places around the arena, lighting the room and shooting flames over the crowd. People huddle together in fear and awe.
“Vanora has served Othrix since the Great Separation,” the disembodied voice booms. “In exchange for her dedicated service, I granted her longevity.”
Vanora holds out her arms toward those kneeling before her.
“Good children of the Light,” she says, “Othrix has unveiled my identity, so you may witness my sacred marriage.”
My father strides toward her. Holy thrix! Father is going to marry this Prime Klerick woman—this mage.
CHAPTER 67
Rosomon
The cloak’s coarse fabric digs into my knees and chafes the raw skin on my back when I breathe. Tynan’s actions may have saved me from a whipping last night, but it didn’t save me from a harsh brushing this morning.
After we brides soaked in hot water, for so long we turned bright red, the mistresses scrubbed us. I caught a glimpse of another woman’s back, and her skin was dotted with specks of blood. I expect mine is too.
Apparently, the abuse to our skin rendered us clean enough to be strapped over rails and fucked by men who claim to be holy.
I’ve always had doubts about our religion. None remain. The Tenets of Othrix are not only hypocritical and based on fallacies, the leaders are barbaric.
The hood of my burlap garment is so big it hangs over my face, but if I lift my head slightly and blink through the coarse weave, I can make out grainy images.
The Prime Klerick is apparently female—that was a true surprise—but I haven’t seen her yet. She’s standing atop a platform that makes it impossible for me to see her without fully raising my head. The last time I did that, I was roughly pushed forward.
With my hands bound behind me, I nearly landed face first on the marble floor, saved only by my shoulder, now undoubtedly bruised.
My initial shock at learning the Prime Klerick’s identity has worn off. The worship of Othrix clearly uses Darkness and magic to manipulate its followers, so it makes sense that the religion’s leader is a powerful mage. Zogar has told me that the most powerful rootbound mages are typically women.
Saxon, Xendus and Surath are kneeling not far from me and the other brides. Zogar isn’t with them.
They have no way of knowing I’m here. No one but Tynan even knows I went into the temple, and I haven’t seen him since he left me last night—both of us exhausted and sexually spent.
As the Prime Klerick speaks, fire streams from the mouth of Othrix, and the entire image shifts, its expression turning fiercer. If it looks this real up close, I can understand how others in the temple are fooled.
While everyone’s distracted by the fire, I shift my head’s position to better see.
“Prepare the blasphemers and aspiring brides,” a deep echoing voice calls out. I expect it’s meant to be the actual voice of Othrix. “Their tribunals and ceremonies will occur immediately following the royal wedding.”
Pulling up on my hood and my hair, someone yanks me to my feet, and fabric digs into my throat to choke me. Strangled sounds from the other women confirms that I’m not the only one being lifted this way.
“Present yourselves, all those who seek an eternal union with Othrix!” the booming voice echoes through the space.
Are they really implying that any one of us came hereaskingto be wed to Othrix?
The other two women are dragged toward devices identical to the one I was folded over last night, but instead of taking me to the third one, my captor drags me to the left, toward where Saxon, Xendus and Surath are kneeling. Have the klericks discovered our connection?
The other two women are roughly stripped, bent over the rails, and strapped down in the same position I was last night, minus the padding under their hips. One of them screams, and a klerick roughly straps his hand over her mouth.
