“Anderz warned you–”
“You said it would be harsh. I thought you were speaking metaphorically, not literally,” I grumbled.
“Would that have swayed your decision?” he asked, scrutinizing my expression.
I returned his gaze with a furrowed brow. “Perhaps.”
“Hmm,” he grunted, limping forward.
“I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you, Sainte. It wasn’t easy for me either,” I confessed, anxiously twisting the folds of my dress. “I didn’t know what to do, or how to make it stop. And I hate it. I wish I could’ve–”
“Elspeth.” He stopped me, flinching when he tried to press his lips together. “Princess, you did what needed to be done. I knew what would happen. I was ready for it.”
With a scoff, I turned on my heel, continuing without him. His readiness to endure abuse didn’t mean I was fine with standing by and letting it happen. “You could’ve worn a steel plate beneath your tunic or something,” I muttered. “Prepare better next time.”
“Yes, Princess,” he replied, tone light.
I side-eyed him and scoffed, a small smile gracing my face for the first time since I approached Adastrus that morning.
He guided me through the streets, creating the illusion that we walked side by side rather than him leading the way. The slush underfoot squelched with every stride.
Our path took us down a broad street, spacious enough for several wagons. The road had been cleared of snow, unveiling the intricate patterns etched into the wet cobblestones. Few travelers ventured down its length, lending an essence of solitude to the scene. Large temples flanked our path, the ancient architecture casting long shadows in the fading light. The faint, rich scent of incense drifted along the breeze, blending with the crisp winter air. Ahead, a statue snared my notice. A girl with flowing hair, frozen in a spin within a shallow pool of ice.
Nellie.
“Suiting that you take note of that temple,” Sainte commented.
My gaze wandered over the structures, each adorned in intricate designs, possessing an ornate, distinct style. “You said she marked me as chosen. What does that mean?” I asked, pulling my cloak tighter to ward off the chill.
“The priests fashioned those circles using melted frost. They chanted their incantations over it and waited,” he explained. “It’s been observed in past ritesthat one combatant might endure longer than the other,” he broke off with a hiss, clutching his side for a moment before resuming his stride as if unaffected, “but only a few instances are documented with Nellium’s design within the ring. To her followers, her touch upon your ring signified you were chosen by the gods.”
“Or Nellie simply thought it was pretty.”
Sainte turned to study me, prompting me to clear my throat and glance down at the damp pavers. As if sensing my hesitation, he refrained from probing further.
As we neared, our pace slowed, bringing us to a temple hosting a statue of a woman in its courtyard. The statue portrayed a tall figure, clad in a flowing apron dress with pockets brimming with flowers and herbs. Atop her head sat a scarf, caught in an invisible breeze. Her gaze was fixed upwards, her expression filled with wonder and curiosity. One hand held the scarf in place against the wind, while the other gripped a sickle and a handful of freshly harvested herbs.
“The Temple of Togamar.” Sainte unlatched the clasp on the small iron gate. The metal squeaked as he eased the way open.
“She seems nice,” I said, stepping into the courtyard.
I ascended the steps alongside Sainte. Priests and priestesses wearing thick green wool nodded in acknowledgment as they moved about. This place seemed more active than the others I had visited, with a larger number of clergy present.
“Our Lost Princess!” a raspy voice greeted.
I offered a warm smile to the elderly woman, her gray hair peeking from beneath a vibrant green scarf. Despite her cloudy blue eyes, she observed me with a keen gaze that seemed to take in every detail. I curtsied to her, as I felt I should, and she laughed, delighted.
“She, who would rule, bows to me!”
A priest with dark hair approached her and gently quieted her. “Hush, Edne,” he murmured, placing a comforting hand on her shoulders. His irises, a striking emerald hue, sparkled with warmth as he smiled. “Not everyone holds the same sentiment,” he explained.
As I glanced around, I noticed a mix of reactions among those present. Some greeted us with warm smiles, their eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine welcome. On the other hand, a few wore furrowed brows, their disapproval evident in their tense expressions and clipped movements.
“Are you here for your wounds?” the man asked, reaching out to examine Sainte’s cheek.
Sainte pulled away before his touch could land and looked at me expectantly.
“I’ve taken him as my Valahant,” I said, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “We just sealed the velebond.”
