Callum brushes a hand over my lower back, guiding metoward the temple. I don’t drop my chin as I enter. I want to take in every detail.
The walls are painted in pastels and muted tones, depicting the battles of the gods.
It’s said that before the Realm War, the priestesses would sit before the Mantle in the Ley Court to hear the secrets of Nym and Nyxia, two ancient Fae who went mad hearing the voices of the gods, so they sat on an obsidian cliff long enough that they became a part of it.
There they remained, telling stories through centuries. Whispering with the wind.
Only, they spoke in riddles worse than most Fae, leaving their words up for interpretation. Priestesses sat in groups, desperate to understand them. Apart from individual written accounts, Nym and Nyxia’s stories make up most of the old texts. Which is why it was so concerning when they went silent after the Collision.
The Mantle is now a place of quiet solace. A place to reflect and hope that someday Nym and Nyxia will wake again.
As we’re led through the temple, I follow the story of creation. Of sacrifice. Of war. The history of the Fae condensed onto a single wall. Near the end is a small etching showing the Arch to the Mortal Realm. A place I’ll never know, even if that’s where my ancestors came from.
King Malachi and Wilder walk at the front of the group, refusing to look at each other. Selia is a few steps behind them, dressed in what could only be considered royal garb. The gray fabric is thick yet iridescent. The light paints a rainbow across her skirt with every step.
She wears a jeweled diadem with a single sapphire resting over the center of her forehead. The gem of the king.
The gem of Lyrichia.
It’s a bold statement as she walks behind her brother. Making it clear she’s turned her back on Vaelier and her people.
As I watch Selia’s golden-brown hair sway over her shoulders, I wonder if it is more than King Malachi’s crown that made her fall for him. What did Wilder do that is so terrible that Selia would disown her family and her kingdom?
My father spent my entire life lying to me, and yet, I’d give anything for another moment with him. I’d tell him I’m sorry that I wasn’t strong enough for him to trust me with his secrets. I’d ask him if he’s at peace now.
My fingers clench around the handle of my dagger, and I remind myself I’m stronger because of what I’ve been through.
I survived.
At the dais, Greer stands beside a priestess wearing all white. The priestess’s lace dress hugs her body. It covers her from the top of her throat to her hands, with a tie binding the sleeve to her middle finger. A white cloak rests over her shoulders. It has a fur-lined hood that reminds me of the ones I wore back home, although hers is thicker.
The priestess’s ebony skin is painted with gold markings at her temples, and her white hair is braided and bound at the back of her head.
My attention moves from her to Greer, who has the same nose and chin. The priestess looks so much like Millicent that they must be related.
“Lady Reah.” King Malachi reaches for her hand, kissing the back of it while the rest of the room bows.
I dip low, waiting until Callum stands to do the same.
King Malachi doesn’t bow or dip his chin. But Wilder nods in respect.
The high priestesses of Tempest are centuries old and wise beyond any others in the kingdom. They read the stars and tell the history of the Fae. They are the seers of fate.
“Priestess.” Wilder takes her hand next, kissing the back of it as well.
Lady Reah’s expression remains emotionless. Her gaze sweeps the room with little regard for anyone. The color of her eyes changes like an opal tilted in sunlight, swirling as they search. They’re so pale they are almost white, but when the light catches them, they twist with threads of green and blue. A streak of pink.
Wilder releases Lady Reah’s hand, and she folds them in front of her. Her gaze moves from Wilder to the king.
“Much has changed,” she says to King Malachi, looking back to Wilder. “On both fronts. The caged bird finally sings.”
Wilder nods, but I have no idea what she’s referring to. There are no birds here or in the rituals of the Rite.
Lady Reah hums, her gaze lifting to me. “She will be disappointed. But that is the humor of the fates, isn’t it?”
“We’ve come for the blessing of the Rite.” King Malachi steps forward, earning him a frown.
“You’ve come for more than that, my king.” Lady Reah steps between King Malachi and Wilder, walking straight toward me. “But I will speak to her alone first.”
