“Blood Demands Blood,” I dutifully mimicked, turning away. I envied her, if only a little, for how sweet those words must taste on her tongue. On mine, they soured like cud, bitter as rue.
“Too much honey spoils the wine, darling girl.”
Indeed.
My gaze swept the atrium, unable to spot a curled crop of chestnut hair. Or the tent of Osric’s shirt.
Instead, a paxiam, helm decorated with a long white plume, mounted the raised platform in the atrium’s centre. Heads turned when his gloved hands cupped over his mouth. “To the doors, laurels!” He repeated the command four times, addressing each corner of the atrium before gesturing to the redwood archway opposite the dais of the First. “The Last Rites are concluded. Onwards to the Grand Templum’s Chamber of Offerings. Make haste and form an orderly line!”
“Together?”
I startled, having forgotten that another body knelt beside my own. The acorn-haired laurel extended her hand, eyes crinkling into a placating grin.
I didn’t take it.
“I wish you well, sister, but I will go alone.” Always alone. I half expected Demetri to part through the bodies, Osric long forgotten, and entwine our fingers together once more. But he didn’t. So, I stood.
She nodded, letting me step past her without a word.
Alone it was, then.
Steeling myself, we funnelled through the doors single file, sandwiched by paxiams to our front and rear. They opened onto a tight, winding staircase, its narrow steps a corkscrew. Down we went, the laurealian white of our gowns and shirts glowing like moonlight under the sconces. I gathered my skirts into one hand, lifting them as I fixed my eyes on where slipper met stone, praying I wouldn’t trip. One misstep, and we’d go down like dominoes.
It would be easy to lose myself here, in the dark. Easy to give in to my lungs, which longed to drag in hard, desperate breaths; easy to allow the pooling tears to finally spill.
One step at a time, one foot before the other, and it would be enough.
It would have to be enough.
Countless steps later, legs cramping, the corridor levelled, an archway spilling light onto the dark walls, painting them the colour of tangerine peel.
The Chamber of Offerings was how I had imagined the inside of Dendra’s Grand Templum would be, rather than the dank, dismal space of the corridor. Upon the floor lay plush cushions and thick woven blankets, all in tones of red: crimson, scarlet, pomegranate. Like raw dough, they sank under my weight as I used them like stepping stones, taking me deeper into the room. Laurels plonked themselves upon them, some alone, others in couplings or small groups, but none of them were Demetri. A few huddled by the tapestries adorning the circular walls, likely stitched with silk from the way each thread glistened like liquid. He wasn’t there, either. I made for the arched windows, towards the last of the light, the sun now near-set behind the mountains.
Ahead, framed by the central window, Mount Garnet towered above its peers. A red smear carved down its face, the eternalscar from the first plague. I thought of the First, now alone. Her little hands exposed to the chill. Pressing my nose to the glass, I wiped at the condensation spreading from the heat of my breath. As with the atrium, the chamber sat lower than the templum Cor’s peak, despite rearing high above Dendra. We were still in the westerly tower, only now blessedly out of the wind, a large fire crackling in the hearth to my left. A small mercy to spend our final turns warm, and with a view no less. I wondered if my mother had once stood here, looking out at this same view. If Adelaide’s breath had misted the glass, as mine did now. Did they both strain for one last glimpse of their homes before their blood returned to its Maker?
I had wept for an entire phase when Adelaide left, bedbound to my cot as though I’d caught a bout of the pox. But when my mother was offered… I sniffed, swallowing the knotted lump of sorrow back down where I kept it—in the deepest, darkest pit of me.
The Cor Tower loomed to our right, its dark, needled spire nearly piercing the clouds. It blocked most of the view of eastern Dendra, but if I leaned towards the last of the windows, I could just make out the spire of Capriche’s chappellum and the outer rim of our enclave—infamous for forge smoke, textiles, and a rat problem.Home.
Lost to the view, the sky bled red, then purple, then blue, my last day as living, breathing flesh dimming like a fire’s last ember. The sounds of the chamber congealed into one cacophonous blob: mutterings, sobs, the clink of armour, the puffing of cushions, a squeaking hinge, the thud of a door.
“Admiring the scenery?”
I gasped at the low, familiar voice in my ear. Pawing at my chest, I checked to see if my heart had managed to stay sequestered to my ribs instead of splattered on the parquet, bleeding at my feet.
“By the pits, Demetri.” The growing sense of dread loosened a little, despite the small scare, a cool splash of relief tempering its ache. Demetri was back…just as he’d promised.
Hands knotted at his back, he approached my side, the warmth of his arm pressing into my own.
“You always were a jumpy little thing,” he remarked with a sidelong grin, his profile fixed towards the barbed shadows of the mountains, the red wound of Mount Garnet now black against the horizon.
“You would be too if an irksome boy found pleasure in scaring you.” Hiding in the cubby under our stairs was his favourite haunt. So much so, it was instinct for me to check every morning, long after he and Adelaide had stopped coming. Did the ghost of me follow him, too?
A large hand skimmed across the arc of my cheekbone, shattering the memory. I turned into its touch, its heat.
But he did not stay there, and instead, clasped a section of my hair between thumb and forefinger, the slate grey stark against the soft tan of his skin. Gliding down the strand, his hold remained loose, as if taking care not to tug.
“Gods, I used to pull this rather nastily when we were young, didn’t I?” He chuckled as he rubbed it with the pads of his fingers, just like one does to check the quality of thread. The glass unmisted in the absence of breath, for it appeared my lungs had forgotten how to work.
