“I thought blessings were only for druids. Have you heard of such before?” I struggled to piece together why the gods would grant me such a gift, knowing I had indulged in small sins, knowing I had blasphemed, allowed doubt into my heart…allowed Demetri between my legs.
A pause.
“No. But you must tell me if it happens again.”
“Very well.” Tasting me was pointless, for even I could hear the ring of truth in my words.
“Do you know who your parents are?” His last question struck me off guard, and I frowned. Surely he knew this? It seemed such a waste.
“Yes. My mother was a seamstress, she was—” My throat constricted, feeling dry and tight. “She was offered five cycles past, as I’ve told you already. My father was the son of a blacksmith and was offered a few phases before I was born.”
“Hmm.” It was a dissatisfied sound, as if despite being the truth, it was not the answer he’d sought.
With a playful nip, he let me go. As my hand returned to my side of the latch, I had a sudden, and hideous inclination, to bring it to my lips and taste him. Two days and a night in the templum had driven me to madness. Appalled with myself, I wiped the wetness over the skirts of my gown instead, watching the grey darken with a streak of his spit.
“My turn, Druid Vetrius.”
Chapter twenty-eight
Ashara
The Truth
If thou obeys the demands set before thee, thou shalt be accepted. If thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door, and thebloods that spill shall ne’er save thee from the pits. -40:6–7 - The Book of Dendralis
The small sound of a tongue wetting lips, as if he was licking the rest of me off him, drifted through the latch. I imagined his mouth, full and red, still stained with my blood. My throat tightened, dry as parchment.
“Three questions,” he reminded me, as if I were not already aware. “I am a busy druid with an endless list of duties this day, thus make them quick.” Metal groaned as he adjusted himself on the bench. I too started to squirm, fidgety despite the cushioned seats. I swallowed thickly, trying to return some moisture to my parched mouth.
“Monks to intimidate? Acolytes to inspire? Souls to save?” I asked, unsure why.
“Are those your questions?” he hedged.
“No,” I protested. “Do you struggle to tell the difference between conversation and inquisition? The two now one and the same?”
“That’s a fourth, and a fifth.”
“Vetrius,” I chastised, the syllables strange on my tongue like it was I who now held a thumb in my mouth.
There was but the ghost of an intake of breath, so quick, I may have imagined it.
“Ashara,” he returned, able to mimic my exasperation with surprising uncanniness. It was a small sin, the way my name tumbled from the druid’s mouth. So much so, it struck me silent.
“Ashara?”
I shook my head to clear it, threading my hands before me.
“I wish for a clean slate, Druid Vetrius. Those were not my questions – and you didn’t answer them anyhow,” I reasoned, ready to defend my case.
“I will indulge you three.”
I scoffed. “Six.” So many had piled atop one another, like flies upon honeycomb, that I struggled to narrow down the most pressing.
“We are not haggling over the cost of a loaf. This is a gesture of my good will and I have told you I will answer three questions with complete honesty. A rare offer for a druid to make. So, ask.Three.” From the gap in the metalwork, his knee bounced. Subtle, just a vibration, but enough to disturb the Unmantle.
“How will I be certain you aren’t lying, since I have not been gifted with the blessing of truth?” A fair question.
“Can you not simply trust me?” The telltale lightness of a smile seasoned his words. My mouth, however, was thinned to a line.Trust.
