“Thank you.” Arkenn—no, Martin—tried not to stare at the temptation before him. The image blurred, becoming sun-bronzed, with light brown, shoulder-length matted hair instead of shimmering copper waves.
“You know, you don’t look too old. If one of the Chosen saw you, they might make you a novice. That’s how I got picked. I was playing out in front of my house one day. Two men passed by and spoke to me, then went in to talk to my father and mother.” Cere flashed a grin over his shoulder. “And here I am! If I’d stayed home, I’d be working in my father’s shipping business, but now“—he spun in a circle, arms wide—”I’m here. Not expected to do hard work or—”
“What do you do here?” Curiosity got the better of Martin.
“Me? I study, dance, and hope to be picked for a higher position one day. I want to be a Chosen. They have all the fun. Everyone looks up to them. They have the best clothes and their own suites. Not just a room, but a suite. Can you imagine?”
Martin couldn’t, having slept in the corner at Gran’s, shared a bunk with Petran on theSeabird, and been assigned a cot at the barracks.
Cere turned, walking backward while keeping eye contact with Martin. They passed statues of scantily dressed men and women, and polished flagstone led them through flowering shrubs. The orange, red, and yellow blossoms brought to mind flames. “We get great clothes. The food is better than we ever had at home. Not that it was bad, mind you—our housekeeper was an excellent cook—but the food here is so much richer. Only the best is ever brought to the temple.”
As amusing as the young man was, Martin hadn’t time to waste. “Speaking of, I need to get this message delivered, or I might not make it back to dinner tonight.”
Cere stopped, face scrunched in question, then brightened. “Oh, right. Well, hurry up, then.” He turned back toward the path but kept talking the whole way to the rear of the temple, the door far less ornate than the front entrance. “Here you go. Hey, come see me again sometimes. Just ask for Cere. Everybody knows me. Now, I have to get to lessons. Bye!” The colorful bird of a young man trotted off.
Martin stopped him. “One moment, Cere. When I arrived, I saw a well-dressed woman enter the temple. Another novice?”
“No.” Cere grinned. “Aworshipper.” He waggled his brows.
“What?”
“You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
Cere laughed, a musical sound, also likely practiced. “Above all, the Lady teaches pleasure. Worship means the highborn lady will take off her fancy gown, lie down on a bed off the main sanctuary, and wait for a Chosen to fuck her.”
Wait for a Chosen to fuck her?With effort, Martin clicked his mouth shut.
“If I become a Chosen, I’ll help you worship anytime.” Cere winked again.
Time to finish the errand and get out of here before Martin died of shame. Sex with someone back home without being bonded ranked close to magery for stoning offenses. Then again, the villagers only honored the Lady when her edicts suited their goals.
Despite saying he must go, Cere opened the door and skipped along a short hallway, forcing Martin to keep up. Cere led him to a spacious office, though far less luxurious than the grounds or outside of the temple. A woman dressed in a blue satin gown stood from behind a desk. “You have something for me, guard?” She held out her hand.
Martin handed over the package.
“Novice Fiona.” Cere bowed his way out of the office and all but ran.
“I don’t think he’s quiet even in his sleep.” The woman tutted and handed Martin a small parcel. “For your trouble.”
As he turned to leave, a man and woman entered. Martin froze. They might not be the same faces, but the robes were similar. White, gauzy fabric, crisscrossed over the heart and heavily embroidered.
The Chosen. The ones who’d come to his village and taken his parents. Had Mum and Da come to this very temple to face judgment? Fucking worshippers aside, this was what sweet little Cere wanted to become? Martin held his breath.Please, don’t let them notice me.
The Chosen brushed right past without acknowledging his presence, speaking in low tones to the woman in blue. Taking advantage of their distraction, Martin fled.
Once safely outside, he opened the package and found a coin, unlike the ones he’d received from Petran. What was its worth? Were messengers allowed to keep any coins received?
His heart gave a lurch. Was it too much to wish Petran’s father would leave him behind? The thought buoyed Martin, and he paused to enjoy the beauty of the gardens. Tomorrow he’d go to the docks to look at the ships. If theSeabirdwasn’t there, he’d search for Petran.
He returned to the garrison to find several men his age chattering away and gesturing wildly with their hands.
“Martin!” one called, who he recognized from his earlier tour of the grounds. “They caught a whole bunch of pirates and are gonna hang ’em in the lower city square. Every one.” He grinned. “We’re off duty and heading down there. Want to go with us?”
One man shook his head. “My mate’d have my head if I missed supper to go to a hanging.”
A hanging? Pirates. A hard swallow didn’t clear the lump from Martin’s throat. “All of them?”Please, please let Petran be all right. Let it be different pirates, another ship.
