“Faster,” an acolyte demanded, pulling at my binds.
Paraded down the aisle, the empty pews framed our descent to the cells below, the holding place for those who chose to sin outside of Sermon-turns. The tall, curved ceilings of the chappellum were swamped in darkness. I drew a shaky breath,the stench of incense singing my nostrils, its heady perfume failing to mask the cloy of iron. By the candelabras’ glow, I spotted a dark stain in the straw, still tacky with the cobbler’s blood. Skirting its edges, I did my best not to recall the tongs and the blade.
Mother would be wondering where I was by now. It hurt to think of her, pacing the stove, worrying her hands, debating whether to take to the streets. She’d know soon enough—either when I returned a limb or two lighter, or from her place in the crowds at the Reach of Atonement. The pad of my footsteps on straw morphed to a light tapping as the ground shifted to stone, Capriche’s pulpit hanging over us like the head of an axe.
Demetri’s head angled towards it, the side of his profile etched into a sneer.
He’d protested at first.“She’s innocent, you bastards.She’s untouched! A seamstress, sewing my sleeve. You bald-headed cu—”But he was silent now, thanks to an acolyte’s belt, the fine curve of his cheek now pocked and bloody. The one to my left boasted a brutal appendage, which swung to and fro, nearly brushing my ankles. All acolytes had them—a knot in their belts, punctured with iron spikes that hung between their legs.“In lieu of a cock,”Demetri had reasoned. In lieu of a cock or not, he’d suffered it, regardless.
“Retrieve His Holiness from the rectory; we’ll need direction of penance,” an acolyte, slightly taller than the rest, instructed another, the glimpse of his gums flashing redder than blood. Behind the pulpit and dais stood a number of doors, where we came to a halt.
“Laurels, unless you wish to endure another correction of the belt, remain silent and heed our orders whilst we prepare you a cell. For Blood Demands Blood.” He didn’t bother to turn to address us but paused until the maxim was echoed.
The gnarliest door, one banded in iron, swung outwards with a creak, and my feet decided they no longer wished toheed. The stench of human waste, sweat, and damp wafted from its depths as I stared into the darkness beyond.
“Come, laurel.” A nudge to my shoulder. I winced as the acolyte retracted his hand, noticing the way his long, thin fingers flexed and splayed. He’d touched me, so why couldn’t Demetri? How was an acolyte’s hand worthier than his?
“Anon, lest this be another show of insolence to add to your ledger.”
I wouldn’t budge. Something was waiting for me down there, something I couldn’t turn from. No matter if I shut my eyes or held my breath, and by the Other, I didn’t want to go.
“Enough.”
Before the acolytes could drag me in by the ankles, kicking and screaming, Demetri chanced a small turn. Caked in blood, his warm eyes found mine in the candlelight. Exhaling, I held my breath, hoping to starve the flaming waves that roared in my chest. He inclined his head towards the door, as if to say,“Come, Ashara.”
He was right, of course, as refusal would only bring us more pain. Still, ithurtto know there was nothing Demetri could do; that he’d accepted our lot and the things they would do to me, tous.
I stepped forward.
***
It was damp, dark, and I was shivering, my shawl left abandoned in the smith’s yard. Cramped and padded with rotting, wet straw, the cells were chiselled, not from limestone like the chappellum above, but from the dark rock of Ovidus—a volcanic mineral, abrasive and rough. I ran my fingers over its bumps,knowing Demetri was on the other side. He shuffled through the straw, occasionally clanging against the iron of his bars.
“Druid Capriche will enact judgement when he sees fit, laurels,” an acolyte announced from where he sat perched on a bench, watching us, his crimson robes pooling like blood around his feet. “I would advise starting your penance now—prostrating on your knees—should you desire any mercy. Implore the Blood God for forgiveness, though you deserve none.” His thin neck swivelled towards me, where I crouched on the filthy ground. “You, Ashara Laurel of the Sewing Guild.” Free of my wimple, I could not disguise who I was. Most of the enclave knew of the babe born with hair the colour of stone. I removed a slate-coloured strand from my face with trembling fingers. “Do you understand the need for inquisition?”
“Are you dumb, deaf, or mute, Laurel? I asked if you understood?”
Demetri cleared his throat, the sound muffled by the wall.
“Yes,” I confirmed before he could answer for me. They’d take a belt to his other side if he spoke out of turn.
Inquisitioned.The word itself was enough for my mind to run wild. Capriche would probe and prod, hunting for an intact layer of tissue—the thin bridge where, had we not heeded caution, Demetri and I might have joined. Never had I been more grateful for the man’s stubbornness. Demetri’s restraint, rare as it was, would spare me my life, if only for a while. That, and my womb. I hugged my stomach, a pang of nausea swelling through me. Only a woman’s body, it seemed, could bear the marker of shame.
The acolytes lined on the benches stared at me as if I were already condemned, their beady eyes, like spiders, glinting under the sconces. It was as if they looked not at me, butthroughme, privy to something under my skin, able to see the bones and flesh underneath.
Skin crawling, I turned, folding into a crouch, knees pressed to my chest.
I was just stitching his sleeve.
But it wasn’tjustthat, was it? Not moments before, his lips had been pressed to my neck, hands roving, fingers tracing the curve of my hips. Then, I’d lowered to my knees. I could still taste him, beaded on my tongue, and feel the weight of his swell after I’d swallowed him down, down, down. It had feltgood, like it always did. But did anything feel quite as good as being tucked up in one’s cot, your mother humming from the larder as you drifted to sleep?
Perhaps…perhaps not.
I leaned back, head grating against the cold, hard stone. It was not enough for the Blood God to lay claim to our veins; He demanded the rest of us, too.
“Ashara.”
I stiffened, heart jolting at the sound of Demetri’s voice.
