I lie still for a long moment, listening–Idon’t want to take any chances.Oneof the acolytes who was moved in from another chamber snores softly behind me.Anothersighs in her sleep and turns over, rustling her blankets.Beyondthe narrow windows, moonlight spills in silver bars across the stone floor and catches on the edges of the cots, painting everything in pale blue and ghostly white.
This scene ought to feel peaceful, but it doesn’t.Maybebecause my nerves are so on edge.
My body is too tense to relax.Mynipples ache under the thin linen of my sleeping shift.Thereis a restless pulse between my thighs–a constant, swollen throb that no amount of squeezing my legs together will banish.Thecurse is there—Ican feel it, low and sly and patient, like a coal buried under ash just waiting for the right breath of air to blaze up again.
And whenIclose my eyes,Istill seeTheron.
His broad shoulders…his tarnished silver eyes…the way his big hands looked against my skin—so rough and dark and yet so careful in spite of their size.
The memory makes heat roll through me all over again andIpress my lips together hard, angry with myself.
No,Ican’t think like that–that way lies ruin.ButIcan’t get him out of my head–which is whyIhave to do this, no matter how dangerous it is.
Moving carefully,Islip out from under my blanket and set my bare feet on the cool stone floor.Itsends a shiver through me at once andIpause, wincing as the chill runs up my legs.Thetemple floors always hold the night’s coolness, even in summer.Igather my plain white robe around me hastily and begin to make my way between the cots.
I know every creak in this room–every place where the wind catches the shutters and makes them knock.Still, my heart pounds as thoughI’mdoing something ten times worse than sneaking to the library in the middle of the night.
ThoughIsuppose, in the eyes of theSisterhood, perhapsIam.
I pass the line of empty cots whereMirabellaand the others used to sleep and feel my heart twist in my chest.Evennow,Ican still picture them all so clearly—Mirabellatossing her long hair over one shoulder and laughing too loudly…Hortencerolling her eyes…Terylinwhispering after dark.
I hear whispers in town that they’ve all had their babies—half-breed babies.Templegirls carryingSatyrorOrcorMinotaurchildren on their hips before they’ve even learned what to do with themselves.Theirlives are ruined now–theFaedon’t accept half-breeds.Whichis no doubt whyIwas surrendered to the temple whenIwas just a baby myself.
The thought makes my stomach clench.
I knowIshould hateMirabellaafter all she did to me and honestly, some part of me does.Butanother part can’t help imagining her–frightened and sore and exhausted– trying to hush a crying infant in some shabby room in the next town over, while the life she thought she’d have slips farther and farther away.
I don’t want that to be me–ever.
I passSisterAgatha’sdoor on silent feet and stop for a moment, holding my breath.Herroom sits just off the main hall, closer to the front of the temple than the dorms, so she can keep an ear out for any nonsense from the younger acolytes.Normallythe soft glow of candlelight comes from under the door—she’s forever reading or muttering over temple accounts like a dried-up crow counting seeds.
But tonightI’min luck–there is nothing.Noline of gold beneath the threshold…no scrape of chair legs…no cough.
I breathe a sigh of relief.Good.Ifshe’s sleeping she won’t be coming to the dorm to check and be sure everyone is in their beds.
I feel a little less tense asImove on, quickening my pace now thatI’mpast the greatest danger.Thehallway opens before me, long and cool and pale in the moonlight that pours through the high arched windows.
The temple always feels different at night.Byday, it is full of voices and drifting incense and the sound of chanted prayers and sandals on stone.Bynight, it feels ancient—older than any of us.
The polished white marble walls glow softly, as though the moon has seeped into them over the years.Vinestrail from carved wall niches, their leaves silvered in the dark.Paleblossoms nod from hanging baskets and spill over balustrades, scenting the air with jasmine and moonflower.
TheTempleof theNatureGoddessis built to seem open to the sky, though much of it is enclosed.Treesgrow in great circular wells cut into the floors, their trunks rising through two and sometimes three levels of the structure before branching beneath the open domes above.
One of them grows in the central hall just beyond the staircase—a slender white-barked birch whose leaves whisper softly whenever the wind finds its way down from the open roof.Mosscreeps between some of the stones in the corners and flowering vines wind along the railings.Evenhere, even indoors, the temple is brimming with life.
During the day, sunlight floods every corridor and turns the whole place golden but at night everything is shadows and silver.
I mount the broad marble staircase to the library, lifting the hem of my robe so it won’t brush the steps.Thebanister is carved with curling leaves and tiny birds in flight, and cool ivy twines along it in a way no gardener ever entirely planned.Bythe timeIreach the top, my heart is beating so hardIcan feel it in my throat.I'mfinally here!
The library doors stand half open and beyond them lies the finest room in the whole temple.Evennow, with no lamps lit and the shelves lost half in shadow, it takes my breath away.ThePriestess-Sisterscare more for knowledge than for comfort anywhere else, and it shows here.
The ceilings arch high overhead, painted in faded greens and golds with scenes of forests and rivers and animals hidden among curling branches.Tallwindows line the outer wall, their panes thrown open to let in the night air, which smells of damp leaves and summer earth.Thefloor is not stone here but a deep carpet of living moss–cool and springy underfoot and threaded with tiny pale flowers that open only after dark.Theshelves rise in long graceful rows, packed with scrolls in lacquered cases, leather-bound books, rolled parchments tied in ribbon, and tablets of bark etched with old spells.
This is the roomIlove best in all the temple–this is whereIcome to breathe.
Tonight it feels like a placeIam betraying.
Guilt and shame rise in me but the incessant throbbing between my legs drives me on.IfIdon’t find theTimeWeavingspell and go back in time to reverse this curse,I’mgoing to end up just likeMirabellaand the rest.
