“It is a great honor to the people of Elemyr that the Trinity is formed of both royal line and common folk. In this way, it reflects the way the Gods transferred their rule to us.”
In the evenings, I join the sisters at the shrine for reflection and to give thanks to Naedra. My prayers are constant—that I’ll be a Queen who is worthy and that I will bond with these strangers in the Rite and trials ahead.
The most pressing lessons with Vestera have been about the trials. I have never left this island, and now I’ll have traveled the entire country in the span of weeks by the time I reach the capital in Ilyora. It's an incredible amount of information to take in, and my mind swims with it.
Each trial tests our partnership and grows our understanding of one another. Securing not just our bond with each other, but the bounty of the elements we are dedicated to. How does one bond to someone, two someones that they have never met?
Sometimes, on my way back to the novice's dwelling, I stop at the mirror pool and kneel where I did that first night with the Lady. I peer into the water's dark and glassy surface for what feels like hours, but no answers come.
On my walk home, I look to the north to see if the beacon has lit, but the sky is dark. The only light is that of the moon and the Lady’s dwelling, alone beyond the mirror pool.
CHAPTER THREE
Vonetta
I’m standing in the sanctuary.
No, no, this isn’t the sanctuary. At least, it's not the one I have known. There are shelves of books taller than I have ever seen, and the sconces in between emit a golden glow onto each spine. There are tables throughout, stacks covering them all, and the rich smell of parchment fills my head. This space feels sacred. The unmistakable sound of pages turning draws my eyes to the back of the space. Bent over a tome, a slight figure is there, in the shadows. There’s only one lamp near them, and they appear to be lost in their work. I step closer, but I make no sound as I move through the room.
Rich, sandy brown hair has fallen over his face, and I can see a shadow of stubble on his jaw.
“Wren?” A voice startles us both from the open doorway behind me. I look back; there is a robed figure holding a torch. He doesn’t appear to see me, but I still step to the side, placing myself behind a shelf.
“I am here.” The man at the table replies. His voice is quiet, but it echoes through the large chamber, and the resonance of it vibrates through my chest. Who is this? Where am I? The man in the doorway moves closer to Wren. Wren…it feels familiar somehow, but it's certainly not anyone that I have known.
“Wren Ashyr…” The man from the doorway is closer now, moving toward the table and placing his hands on its surface to steady himself. He hesitates, a deep breath echoing through the chamber. Wren looks up from his reading and rubs his eyes as if he’s been staring at this page for hours, and his vision needs to adjust. His face moves from curiosity to something else. Dread? I feel a pit open in my stomach, but this feeling is not my own.
“Brother Damon, why do you come?” Wren whispers. I squint my eyes to see him more clearly, but he’s more shadow than man to me. The man–Damon speaks, authority ringing through his voice.
“Caelestis has chosen.” Wren pushes his chair back and stands slowly.
“Who?” He says quietly.
The lamp at his table dims, like all of the oxygen has been sucked from this room. I hold my breath.
“Wren Ashyr—brother of the order of Caelestis, spirit of sky, you have been chosen.” Wren drops to his knees, hitting the stone with a crack. His head hangs low, hair fallen forward out of the tie that held it back.
“Choose someone else, my place is here. I chose here.” He pleads softly.
Damon lowers himself into a chair slowly and places his bony hands on Wren's shoulders.
“Child, this is your fate.” I can’t see them now; the room is dark, and all I hear is the sniffling sound that echoes in the chamber. Anguish bleeds through to me as I drift back into the night.
…
I wake with a gasp. My hands grasp my chest as if I had fallen. It feels as though I have been dropped from the highest peak into my cot. The air is so cold, the small fire has gone out in the corner, and it is still dark. The younglings stir softly. I am drenched in a cold sweat that has left my shift soiled and my skin icy.
I know that if I walked out of the novice house at this moment, I would see the beacon from the northern Isle is lit.
The grief the man in my dream, Wren, experienced this night weighs heavily on my chest. I am afraid, I have been afraid these last several weeks to wear this new mantle well. But grief? He is burdened in a way I cannot contain in my body, and I stand in the dark room for a moment, trying and failing to ground myself in the present.
A small knock sounds on the door of the dwelling, and I know it is a messenger for me. I slip quietly to the entrance and open the door. A robed figure, backlit by the night, is there. She extends a small, familiar parchment roll to me, and with a nod, slips back into the darkness. I step out and close the door behind me. I’m chilled to the bone, but the air in my lungs helps me adjust back into my body. I unroll the paper and turn so the moon can shine on its surface.
Caelestis has chosen.
I return to the dwelling,but not to sleep. I dress for the day and don my cloak once more. I have spent the last ten days in deep study, about the kingdom and about the Trinity. Somehow, I feel like I have been placed back to the first night when the Lady summoned me. I feel drawn to the mirror, and so I set out into the night toward it.
The walk to the mirror is quiet, and solemnity covers the land like a quilt. When I arrive, I feel more myself again. The cool night overhead and the soft ground beneath me have had the desired effect; I no longer feel him. I kneel by the waters; they are calm, and the moon shines brightly on the surface.
