Page 81

CALLUM

Amethyst’s eyes were wide as she took in the basilica, her fingers light where she had placed them on my offered forearm. Phoebe and Amaria settled in behind us as we passed, their small conversation cutting off. The weight of attention of those who had not dispersed was an itch between my shoulder blades. I made sure my steps were even, my head held high, even as that intrinsic nature was clawing its way through my chest, splitting open my ribs and trying to get out and to Amethyst. It didn’t want to give her up. That wasn’t all that surprising. Those instincts had no morals, no distinction between right and wrong. They only craved and coveted and claimed. My scent lashed out from me, the pine so incredibly strong with an acerbic edge to it. My hands trembled with the restraint it took to keep the roiling dread from breaking out of me like the instincts.

As we approached the door, Phoebe murmured a small phrase, the power in them raising the hair at the nape of my neck. The large wooden doors opened without aid, swinging out into the wide entrance. Amethyst tensed and missed a step, and Amaria carefully took a half-step closer, ready to offer her additional stability. Her trepidation morphed into wonder as we stepped into the basilica’s foyer. The room was large enough to hold over five hundred people. There were preparations being made for the equinox celebration happening in less than a week, ribbons draping across the various hallways that diverted off the sides of the room and the dais and altar already arranged where the sun would shine its first light that morning. That light now was pouring in through the stained glass along the eastern wall. The colors splashed onto the marble floor, bathing the large room in a rainbow of colors that was welcoming even when the stark white of the various stones were not.

I carefully guided her through most of the room as she quietly took in the space. Phoebe and Amaria stayed near the entrance, settling into a small bench just inside the door for visitors who only wished to sit in the presence of the gods.

“Wow,” Amethyst whispered. She tilted her head up, taking in the intricate rib vault ceiling that soared a hundred feet above us. “It’s like Cologne and Canterbury were blended together with way more stained glass… which is saying something.”

“What are those?” I couldn’t help but ask, needing any small piece of information to hold onto after the next half hour transpired.

Her gaze flashed to me, her cheeks flushing a rich pink, and then over her shoulder toward the women. Her throat moved with a swallow, and my scent pulsed, more wisteria in it this time.

“They’re cathedrals,” she admitted after a long moment. “Built hundreds of years before I was born in honor of that god I described.”

“The one who said he wanted peace but allowed his followers to enact violence?”

That dichotomy sounded like none of the gods I knew. They were honest in what they valued, in the ideals they esteemed. Valyn made no notion that he held peace more important than vengeance. They both existed, and he stewarded only one of them.

She nodded. “This looks like some of those and yet… not. I don’t know that I could explain the differences, though. Some of the window shapes, maybe.”

I had no good response, so instead I guided her through the second-to-last door on the right, letting the heavy wood close behind us. This hallway had similarly high, arched ceilings, but the sun did not shine through the much smaller stained glass windows. Instead, bowls of fire—larger, more unrestrained versions of the jars we mostly used—were mounted as sconces every few feet, their flames burning brightly.

Amethyst took in the various panes of glass, the story they told of Freia’s blessing and the abundance she gave to Avicourt. From children to food to joy and fulfillment. Abundance in all things, to the best of our abilities, was what Freia offered any who was willing to beseech her. Her steps grew more hesitant as we neared where the hallway led into another grand room, its ceiling adorned with gold and paintings that reflected the same motifs as the glass. In the center stood a marble statue of the Goddess adorned with the robes worn by the Votarist, her face tipped toward the sky, a smile tilting her lips giving her a peaceful demeanor. The large square base was engraved with the ancient language, flowing from one side to another with unbroken strokes.

Two rows of benches faced the statue in every direction in line with the base of the statue. On the bench nearest us, a Votarist sat, their head tilted down. Several rows of the black dots trailed up their throat and circled their ear. At least fifty years of service.

I didn’t take a step into the sanctum, pausing on the threshold where the marble tiles changed color and pattern. Amethyst grew more uncertain, her body tightening with stress and the flush draining from her cheeks as we stopped. Her gaze grew more wary, tempering the wonder she’d felt in the grand foyer.

After nearly a full minute, the Votarist rose, turning toward us. Their eyes were a soft purple that grew more sharp as they took in Amethyst.

“Amethyst Webb,” they said. “Daughter of Ephraim. Your sister has left a message with the Freian temple of Whiterock. Would you desire to hear it now or after the more permanent reconnection is established?”

“N-now, please,” Amethyst said, hesitant.

The Votarist raised a single eyebrow, and I cleared my throat.

“We’re grateful for the opportunity to reconnect with her sister as Freia wills, Honored.”

It was enough to appease them. They turned without a word and crossed the sanctum, touching the small stone basket at Freia’s feet. This door was smaller and led into a study with no windows, dark and warm. A worktable with little flare sat nestled against the wall to the side of the door, papers, an oil lamp burning with a small flame, and a few simple boxes atop it. Two bookshelves filled to the point of overflow lined two full walls. The other wall was dominated by a large stone fireplace, its surround climbing fifteen feet—all the way to the much lower ceiling. The Votarist gestured to the seats flanking the hearth.

Amethyst sat on the edge of her seat, her back straight, her fingers twisting the hem of the sweater. The strands of hair framing her face lifted in a sudden soft breeze. Automatically, I circled her wrist, giving her the touch she’d needed the last week to keep her magic calm.

The Votarist carefully closed the door.

“If you desire,” they said, gesturing toward the unlit firebox.

It took me a minute to reel myself in enough to focus my magic. Even then, I didn’t create much more than a few moderate flames, sufficient to bathe Amethyst’s face in their warm glow but not so much that it made the already warm room unbearable.

Without a word, the Votarist took one of the boxes from the table and handed it to Amethyst. There was no missing the way her hands trembled as she carefully took it and set it on her lap. My scent wrapped around us, the wisteria strong enough to overpower the smells of paper and leather. Her breathing steadied, and she cautiously undid the clasp keeping the box closed.

Before she opened the lid, the Votarist said, “Sloane Webb and Jacob Armand completed the Freian marriage ritual four days ago.”

Disquiet surged through me. I’d known it was a possibility her sister would be in the process of finalizing the union, but I’d hoped to handle the business of their illegal participation before it was actually so. Now the process would be just that much messier to untangle. Likely, the resultant damage would be more widespread, too.

“This,” the Votarist pointed to the box, “was sent by a mage employed by the Armand family from Whiterock a day later along with proposals from Senona’s leadership regarding methods to maintain your relationship in a way that does not cause undue hardship for either nation.”

They offered me an envelope with an unmarred wax seal. I didn’t bother to open it as it would be obsolete in a matter of minutes. I wet my lips, breathing in the calm before my confession shattered it.