The spectators swarmed through double doors, the scent of roasting meat beckoning. Most of the guards in attendance followed the crowd, but the two next to Martin stayed, one focusing his gaze on Dmitri and lifting a brow before turning away. “Are you coming with us, Captain? The feasts are worth the wait.”
Martin clapped the guard on the back. “No, you go ahead. I have other business to attend.” He found an opening and made his way outside with Dmitri.
Cere. An oracle. Never again to sit on a bench on a warm day and chatter about nothing. Martin’s heart ached. Though he could never return Cere’s deeper affection, he did care as a friend.
Martin followed Dmitri into the temple across the street, into the comforting gloom of the familiar training area. The brightness of the temple had hurt his eyes. At the back of the chamber, they stopped. Dmitri stepped forward, tapped his fingertip against the stone surface, and continued tapping out what appeared to be a random pattern. The wall glowed, and the spots took on a meaning: Dmitri opened a…door? Portal?
The stones shimmered, dissolving into nothingness. Martin eyed the doorway with wary eyes. What magic was this? Pulling in a deep inhale, he braced himself and followed the priest through the opening.
Dmitri threw his arm out to the side. “Well, Martin, welcome to the real temple.”
The real temple?
Priests shuffled from several directions, forming a loose circle around him, men and women he’d hunted with, talked to, learned from—but whose faces he’d never seen.
Dmitri swiveled his hood from one side to the other, pausing for a moment on each of his number. Fourteen in all, like the Chosen.
All nodded. As one, they swept back their hoods.
Martin’s breath caught. What was this? He jerked back, heart pounding, and spun. Around and around. Nothing made sense.
Every priest in attendance had skin like porcelain, gleaming white, even under low light. Their eyes were much larger than his; their ears rose to pointed tips. Their hair fell around them in waves of nearly transparent white silk.
“You’re… you’re not—!”
Dmitri stepped closer, but didn’t crowd. “I told you before. We’re not from your realm.”
“But… But…”
In his usual calm, Dmitri stood stock still, no emotion showing on his face. Another of their number stepped forward. Dmitri shook his head. “It’s all right, Gaveth.”
Dmitri had spoken of other realms, said he wasn’t from here.
That Martin’s mother had been from Dmitri’s world.
For all Martin’s wondering what Dmitri looked like, nothing could have prepared him for the reality. He would have guessed Dmitri to have been old, yet his appearance said otherwise. Then again, what did Martin know of other races?
For a moment, he stared. His mother. His mother was of these people? His breathing came in harsh gasps. No, she’d been an ordinary woman. Hadn’t she?
Dmitri’s eyes were two shades darker than his skin. Martin might call them pretty if he wasn’t staring at something that shouldn’t exist. One thing to be told they were from another realm, another entirely to have all doubt removed.
Dmitri sighed. “While I understand this comes as a shock, we have much to teach you and not a moment to waste.”
Martin grasped the priest’s—or whatever he was—hand. Hey! No claws. Just long, slender fingers, though the nails formed a point. He searched Dmitri’s face. Mum had looked nothing like this man. How could she have been one of his kind?
The others hadn’t moved. Hints of leather peeked out of their robes. Tooled leather, similar to Martin’s.
Their skin and eyes varied in hue, though their skin glittered like pearl. After the shock wore off, he realized how stunning they were.
“What… What are you?”
“We are what you’ve known all along. We are guardians.”
“But you look so different from me.” The robes and gloves suddenly made more sense. Not only could the guardians not show how different they were and be taken to the Lady’s temple, the sun likely wasn’t kind to their pale complexions. “You said my mother was one of you. She didn’t look like you do.”
“You have so much to learn.” Dmitri shook his head. “Yestereve, I visited the docks. I saw a man easily two heads taller than you, with dark skin and tattoos covering most of his body. He wore three golden hoops in each ear. He doesn’t look like you, but can you deny he is from your world? In the mountains of Adulas, all manner of creatures live who don’t look like you. Increased magical ability shapes the appearance of my kind. Your mother was less powerful and appeared more like those of your realm. She also used her powers to further disguise herself and ensure any offspring would not stand out.”
Thinking back, Martin remembered flickers of images, for a moment seeing his mother differently when she let her guard down. “Was my father one of you too?”
