Page 43 of The Shadow Sanctum

This morning when I baked bread for the Dregs, the lid was secure. Perfectly in place.

I’m sure of it.

I would never be so careless.

How could I⁠—

A sharp breath skitters past my lips as I remember the scones. Father must’ve had the help make them here.

I set the glass down and press the lid back into position. It seals with a quiet click.

Better.

I exhale, shake it off, and turn away.

I’m outside before the horn ever blares. Rain pins my hair to my neck and ears as I make my way toward the ceremonial platform where a dozen or so people have gathered, my father included. He stands beneath two umbrellas that the Seraphs on either side of him hold, both of them shivering in their white dresses with only modest cardigans covering their shoulders.

I’ve always been told the Seraph role was the most admirable. To live your life committed to serving others is an act more selfless than most are capable of, so to be chosen for such a task is an honor bestowed not just on you, but your entire family.

The Keepers’ food is rich in protein needed to build muscle to protect the people.

The Cultivators’ food is mostly plant based, their bellies filled with the fruits of their labor.

The Nurturers eat the well balanced diet and portions of the children.

But the Seraphs… The Seraphs are permitted delicacies. Karo. Sugar cane. Pastries and breads and even wine fermented on the property. Apart from the Keep, their home is the most magnificent, designed for comfort and luxury to celebrate their divine purpose.

I’ve always believed they’re the happiest among us. Now, staring at the faces of the shivering women, I search for that happiness. That gleam in their eyes.

One must sense me staring because she meets my gaze. Her teeth stop chattering as fear widens her eyes and sinks her shoulders. She quickly looks up and adjusts the umbrella to ensure it’s covering Father properly.

It’s rude of me, especially considering the discomfort it causes, but I don’t stop staring as people gather in clumps around the platform. Usually there’s conversation, but all I hear is the patter of feet and slap of mud.

Aiden’s words to me sit heavily in my mind.

Fear doesn’t command loyalty… It just makes people whisper.

Time passes, and the crowd grows large enough that Father signals to a Keeper to retrieve the prisoner.

My stomach clenches. I don’t take my eyes off Father to watch as Aiden is led up the platform and forced beneath the noose. Father takes one of the umbrellas and goes to step toward the platform as the noose is secured around Aiden’s neck.

He’s going to give a speech. We’ve heard it all before.

The same words, rehearsed again and again, brandishing my brother’s name for all of his lineage.

I don’t think I can hear it.

I almost walk away.

But then I meet Aiden’s eyes.

My breath catches, rain pouring down my face while doing nothing to blur the image of him staring directly at me with a pointed look I read in an instant. It’s a reminder of our conversation earlier. A last wish. A demand.

I scan the crowd for his wife and find her at the very front, her face twisted in pain as she holds their youngest child to her chest. He should be looking at her instead of me. He should be saying goodbye.

I curl my fingers into my palms. Squeeze tight. “God help me.”

As my father steps onto the platform, I stride after him. I take the stairs in two swift jumps and nearly land on his toes as he turns. He rears back as he startles.