Fine wines were hers to drink at her leisure in the Walled City. Any of the Harrows would entertain her. She could read books or watch the plays the Harrows put on for them. She could play games or listen to bards sing songs.
Every imaginable luxury was hers. Until she turned eighteen.
Thirteen years of living like a princess without ever having to know the toil of a plow or the pain of hunger. Thirteen years with anything she could want. Except love. Except a future.Except more time.
On this day, as she lay by the window watching the sunrise, she realized no amount of luxury mattered because she had never lived. Not only was she to sacrifice her body and life in a few hours, but her ability to truly live had been stripped from her when she was born. Life is not born of luxury. Instead, it’s created from the experiences which give life purpose. It’s hardship and success. It’s angst and joy. It’s fear and hope all tangled together. She experienced none of that.
Yet, no tears fell. No, she’d stopped crying a year ago because hope for something different is necessary for a woman to shed tears. This had been her destiny since the day she was born. Nothing could have changed it. Maybe if her parents had run, but no, the Caretakers would have found them. They would not have allowed a Sickle to leave the Kingdom of Morvaine.
The hours passed as the girl stared at the sun rising, and when the Harrows came to take her to the center of the Walled City, she didn’t struggle. She didn’t fight or cry when they stripped her bare.Even when the First Harrow drew the knife that had been carved from human bone from his belt, she stood silently.
The blade pierced her stomach, and he slowly drew it upward. The pain was extraordinary, but the girl only fell when the blade left her body, when her body no longer had the strength to stand. She screamed in agony, yet she did not weep.
What was there to weep for? Tears were for people that hoped for something different. She had always known this would be her end.
The only thought she had as her blood drained along intricate pathways to glass vials was of her mother. She wondered if the woman who’d given her life would remember her. She wondered if anyone would speak of her, if they would shed tears for her passing.
She knew the answer. No, they wouldn’t, because her destiny had been to die, not to live. And that didn’t stir sadness in her. No, for the first time in her life, she felt revulsion.
Chapter 4
Once, I was known as Adelynne. Countess of Light. Mother of two children. Once, I was Fae. Once, I was powerless. Then, I killed a god and took his place. Now and forever more, I am Adelyth, the Goddess of Hope and bearer of the Godhood of Dreams. I shall never be powerless again.
~Edicts of Adelyth
Fiona
I go directly to my father’s laboratory when I get to Stormhaven. He alone knows how to brew every Infusion, and he alone knows how to create the special ink that is used for our Marks, so he spends a lot of time in his laboratory. Secrets keep the Order of the Priests safe, and Rhaskar Thorne’s ability to limit information to new Priests is one of the reasons no one has infiltrated the Order in almost eighty years.
He’s exactly where I expect to find him. Standing in a gold-embroidered black silk tunic over his alchemy table, he’s slowlystirring a gallon-sized pot with a glowing blue liquid in it. Enough Infusion of the Eagle for close to five hundred doses.
Unlike the rest of the Priests, my father doesn’t hide that he’s part of the Order. He doesn’t wear a cloak unless we’re on a mission, something we do rarely these days. “You’re alive,” he says without a single emotion in his voice. “Why did you go to Averna without so much as a note?” He doesn’t even turn around.
I pull the ermine fur pouch from my cloak and set it on the table next to him. “I robbed Azric Cyrus of a god-touched item.”
At that, he turns to me. “What god?”
“Caeldra, I believe. It sounds like a tinkling bell. Have we ever had access to any objects touched by Caeldra?”
He sighs, his mind turning to the past for a moment. “One, long before you were born.” I look into his eyes, the eyes I’ve known for nearly my entire life. He cares about me. I know he does, even though he never says as much. The Mark of the Serpent that climbs from his collarbone up his right cheek is what most people focus on, but I’ve known that Mark forever. He’s the only Priest who wears the Twelfth Mark, the one that grants immunity to death. Instead of looking at it, I notice the dark circles under his eyes, the way they look heavy, as though he hasn’t been sleeping. He’s been worried about me. I’ve been gone for almost two months.
The man I’ve looked up to my entire life, whom I’ve trusted beyond what a normal child would trust their parent, is everything to me. He saved me from the gutter when my parents were killed. He gave my life purpose and trained me to survive in a world where humans are food for the gods and their creatures.
The only thing I’ve ever wanted is his approval, and he knows it. My punishments have only ever been disappointed looks or words, while my rewards were smiles and praise. “How did you steal this?” he asks.
“I climbed up the side of the Crimson Tower while he was away fighting Draeven’s troops.”
He glances down at the pouch and then back at me, his mind going through my story. “Who caught you? If you hadn’t been caught, you’d have far more than this one pouch.”
I bite my lip. “Azric,” I say softly.
Still, my father doesn’t show any emotion. “Then how are you alive?”
“I jumped out of a window, and when he flew down to catch me, I used the Mark of the Cloak and hid. I didn’t see him again.”
My father nods and picks up the pouch, not surprised by the story. “This is one of his birthing gifts,” he says as he opens it. “When he was presented to the gods, each of them gave him a gift, each as powerful as Mournfang, his blade. I do not have a record of what each of them was or what they could do, but I know that these are more valuable whole than anything I’d do with them. We must discover their purpose, but for now, we’ll keep them hidden in my vault.”
He turns back to the Infusion that’s bubbling more than it should be. “Why did you do this without telling me, Fiona? If you’d set your mind to going on a mission to collect relics, why do it in secret? Why make me worry?”
