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When she nodded, I eased from the bed, pulling my favorite sweater from where she’d left it draped across the settee. “Let me complete my morning prayers, and then we’ll go.”

“Can I…” She trailed off.

I twisted until I could see her, pulling my hair out from the sweater’s neckline. Her cheeks were a deep pink, and her teeth bit into her lip. Her entire body screamed of embarrassment. I crossed the room and crouched in front of her, circling her wrist.

“What is it?” I kept the words a croon.

“Can I join you? For your prayers, I mean.”

Emotion clogged my throat, and I swallowed around it. “Of course.”

40

AMETHYST

The basilica was so quiet it was nearly haunting. There was none of the charged expectation that had accompanied the dark space with the equinox. Callum quietly closed the main door, the wood shutting with hardly more than a whoosh of air, and the darkness became more profound. Nerves climbed my throat, instant and overwhelming. Energy crackled along my arms, my magic already out of control. I breathed through my nose for several seconds and let loose the breath for even longer, trying to ground myself.

Callum circled my wrist a moment before a flame flickered to life in a jar set beside the door, a strap attached to it like those we’d used while traveling. He guided it over my shoulder like a crossbody bag, the glass resting against my opposite hip, and then lit a second flame. He kept this one in his hold, the strap much smaller. Then he offered his arm and guided me to the left of the large hall and through a door we’d not used before. The stained glass in this hall didn’t depict any kind of story. Instead it was a pleasing mix of purples and blues and pinks that felt almost like a kaleidoscope.

I couldn’t help but ask, “They won’t be upset we are here so early?”

Callum shook his head. “The disciples that follow Medea are prepared to have a Diviner respond to a prophecy or dream at any time of the day or night. Their scribes are always willing to welcome someone to the abbey.”

“You know a lot about all of the traditions.” I kept the statement a bit leading rather than asking yet another question.

Callum moved my hand from his forearm, guiding my hold until his fingers were laced with mine. “I told you I was raised in the Temple of Persynthia in Embercrest.” When I nodded, he squeezed my hand. “My mother was a Diviner, one of the most powerful our kingdom has ever known. I’d intended to take the vows to serve as a scribe for the rest of my life upon my maturity when the Mark of the Mantel appeared. The temples and their traditions are my lifeblood as much as the crown and its responsibilities.”

He pushed open the door at the end of the quiet hall and stepped through without hesitation, opposite of that day with the Votarists.

The room was similar to the one with the Votarists with benches facing a statue at the center of the room resting atop a square base nearly three feet tall on its own. The statue in the center here, though, depicted Medea. She was in a sheath gown, the skirt pooling around her feet and the sleeves as wide as the dresses popular at Ren Faires. Her hair was cut blunt to her chin, the same as the book’s illustration I’d nearly memorized at this point. In her hand was an open book and at her feet was a basket full of scrolls and ink and quills. The inscription on the base was in the same language I couldn’t read. Maybe Nyndrec? Something told me it was older than the court language, though. Like Latin in the Catholic cathedrals.

A man sat on one of the benches to our right, a book in has hand. He wore a cream tunic and pants, and his rounded ears had two piercings in the outer curve. The gold studs glinted in the low firelight from the fire jar sitting beside his hip as he glanced toward us. He rose at once, a ribbon bookmark sliding into place in the book without being touched. He closed the book and set it beside the fire jar then crossed the room to where we stood just inside the threshold. He bowed to Callum and then to me.

“Your Highness,” he murmured in a reedy voice. “How may Medea help you this morning?”

Callum squeezed my hand again. I cleared my throat and then felt the flush spread across my cheeks and down my neck.

“I had a dream,” I said, my voice cracking.

It was impossible to dismiss the blood draining from the young man’s face.

“Let me waken one of the disciples,” he said. Then he left the small sanctum through a door on the right wall nearly at a run.

Callum led me to one of the benches and helped me arrange myself on it before settling beside me, the fire jar beside his leg in a similar set up to the scribe we’d interrupted. Like always, it seemed, my attention was pulled back to the marble statue. Her face was less serene than Freia’s, an understanding that managed to convey a level of resignation despite her hopeful demeanor.

Medea. The Goddess of Wisdom.

If prophecies were truly a thing, it made sense that they were housed and guarded by those who spent their lives dedicated to her.

Footsteps echoed on hard stone before the disciple or scribe were visible. Surprise lit through me as the disciple walked through the door and into the sanctum.

I’d expected someone dressed similarly to the Votarists with robes and a sense of otherness that was intentionally cultivated to create an aura of reverence. This woman was garbed in a simple sheath gown not unlike the one depicted in the statue. Hers was a gray similar to the acora’s feathers and with a subtle sheen that caught in the fire as she approached us. Belatedly, I realized it must be made of organza for it to drape like that and yet shimmer in the firelight. Her hair was left loose, cut blunt to her shoulders. A tattoo spread across her chest just below her sternum: a horned owl in flight, the tips of its wings just brushing the edges of her shoulders. It was the first I’d seen done in true color, the artistry as stunning as any masterpiece I’d seen done in Arizona.

“Your Highness,” she murmured as she stopped several feet from us. Her curtsy was even more precise than Kalise’s. She turned her attention to me. “My lady. Isaac says you had a dream.”

I kept in mind the quiet coaching Callum had given me as we’d ridden into the city.

“Yes. Earlier this morning, though I don’t believe it was the first to hold significance.”