“Ashara.” He edged closer, and my instincts roared to take one step back, conscious of the rest of the atrium. But I held my ground. We’d not be punished for impropriety here, not so near the end.A mercy of the Blood God, as Capriche had promised.
His face, earnest and open, became imploring. I didn’t look away, though nothing good ever came from looking.
“I never said it. I told myself I never had the chance, but really, if I wasn’t such a fucking coward, I could’ve found a way to come to you.”
Tears threatened to spill.No,I wanted to beg.Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“I am beyond apologising for what happened, for it would never be enough. Not for what they did to you.”
Examining the floor, my vision bled red as the tiles warped and blurred.
“I should’ve known better than to put you in that position,” he continued. “I should’ve heeded our mothers’ warnings… but I was so fucking selfish. I couldn’t let you go…not until I was forced to.”
Gods, please don’t talk about the acolyte.Please. Please. Please.Anything but what he did. If faced with a choice, even now, I’d choose Druid Capriche’s whip over the acolyte’s fingers. Brutality over shame. Public penance over a privateinquisition.
“We both paid the price for a debt that was mine, and it cost you more than it did me. It was I who asked you to meet that day.” He spoke as if we were at confession, and I, a druid who could somehow grant him forgiveness. I’m not sure why, but something uncomfortable wracked through me, jostling my spine.
“What’s done is done—it was both of our choices to be there. What does it matter now? We were destined for the block,regardless.” I straightened, ensuring his amber eyes saw what was burning in mine.
“What they did to us that day was wrong, Ashara,” he reassured, eyes darting to our left, to the dais lined with red-armoured paxiams and the few laurels still waiting.
“We committed no great sin.” He spoke to the First, gaze fixed where she loomed above us—the pinnacle of the templum, hands upstretched, body glowing red in the sun.
“We kept our promise to never go beyond a touch or two.” His voice dropped, hand twitching towards me again as his eyes lowered to meet mine once more.
I gulped, something bitter caught in my throat.
“I have…I have thought about you every fucking day since they hurt you,” he admitted.
They’d hurt him, too. So,somuch.
“Nearly eight cycles, Ashara. Eight cycles stationed overseas in the crusiax. I’ve journeyed to countless lands, witnessed indescribable horrors, but nothing could chase the image of you, bound to that post, bloodied and raw, from my mind.” His tone was hoarse, stripped of his usual playfulness.
“It haunts me, too,” I confessed. Not just the pain, which I refused to admit out-loud, but theshame. Gods, it clogged my arteries like butter, thickening and congealing until it felt like my heart might stop. I’d never said goodbye. I couldn’t even turn to look upon his face one last time as we departed from the scaffold. He must think me a coward, a deserter. It was a surprise he could even converse with—
Every spiralling thought drained from my mind. All of them, like water down a basin, at the feel of it.
Demetri was holding my hand.
In the Grand Templum. In front of the paxiams. Under the relic of the First.
Demetri was holding my hand.
Chapter eight
Ashara
The Troublesome Greens
The Blood God is not jealous, nor petty, nor sullen. But, should thou not heed the renders of His demands, He will revengeth…quick to anger, and so very great in power. -60: 44-45 - The Book of Dendralis
I was back in the smith’s yard: bodice unlaced, heart hammering, hands roving, delicious waves of anticipation swirling deep in my belly.
Demetri edged closer, a charge hovering in the splinter of space left between us. Something wriggled in the back of my mind, but I chose to ignore it, savouring the fruit of his small touch instead.Penance,it warned.Whips and inquisitions and penance.
“By the pits, you are beautiful.”
My eyes snapped to his, the niggling thought vanquished by his sheer, godsdamned obstinance.
