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“High Priestess Ahelin, do you claim to know the Mother’s will better than I?”
Ahelin’s gaze lowers.
“Secondly,” the white-haired priestess continues, “you have cast a spell with the intention to bring harm to me, the First Disciple. This crime is great enough to warrant your arrest.”
“No!” Ahelin shouts, her voice shaking. “You don’t possess the authority to command such a thing! I’m a High Priestess. You aren’t the Grand Priestess yet!”
“Indeed, I am not yet the Grand Priestess, but I can assure you my position as the First Disciple is more than sufficient to place you on trial.”
Ahelin’s fists tighten, but she doesn’t dare to further argue.
“High Priestess Ahelin of Esterra City, on behalf of Grand Priestess Elunar, I am arresting you for the crimes of attacking the First Disciple, and for interfering with the Mother’s will.”
Shock plasters across Ahelin’s face. She struggles against the guards as they lead her down the platform and through the city square but doesn’t use her magic to save herself.
The First Disciple doesn’t watch Ahelin leave and instead paces over to me. Her lips pull upward into a warm smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Reyna Ashbourne, though I wish we’d met under different circumstances. The turn of events following the goblin ambush wasn’t the path I hoped the future would take.”
I can only stand there and blink, so many questions racing through my mind. How does she know my name? How does she know about the goblin ambush? What does she mean by the path the future would take? And most of all why did she, a devout follower of the Goddess Zolane, intervene with my execution at the hands of another priestess and save my life?
The question I end up blurting out is: “You know my name.” Though I suppose it comes out as more a statement than a question when it leaves my lips.
Her smile only grows. “I do. And I know a great many more things about you. I’m sure you must have plenty of questions.”
I nod. “You might know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“I am Taria Aram, First Disciple of the Grand Priestess.” She gestures behind to her two guards—first to the woman, and then to the man. “This is Caya and Juron.” Juron dips his head in acknowledgment, whereas Caya’s only reaction in the slight narrowing of her eyes.
I’m not sure exactly how to exchange pleasantries with my saviors, especially given the fact I’m in chains, so I opt to ask another question. “Why did you—”
Taria raises her hand and the elegance with which she does it silences me before I can realize. “I will answer all your questions, but I hardly think this is the right place to do so.” She gestures to the golden manacles around my wrists. “And I would much rather not have this discussion with you in chains.” She turns her gaze to the priestesses flocked around the base of the platform. “Is there a key to release our guests from their restraints?”
No one questions the fact that only a few moments ago we were prisoners to be executed and not guests. Yadira is the first priestess to answer, and she retrieves a golden key and hurries up the platform to Taria. The key she bears resembles the one which she used to unlock our cells this morning. Hopefully it’ll work on our manacles, as well as our cell doors.
Yadira stops before Taria but doesn’t draw any closer than two arm lengths. I can’t tell whether it’s out of respect or fear. Perhaps both.
Taria nods to her female bodyguard. “Caya, if you will.”
Caya takes the key from her and strides toward me. A scar runs across her cheek, trailing up to her dark, feline eyes. She lifts my bound wrists with her callused hands and slots the key into the manacle’s lock. A click sounds and the metal bindings fall loose. The light fades from the runes etched into their surface, and I slip my hands out of them. Immediately, my connection to aether rushes back in an overwhelming wave. All around me the air feels energized and tingles my skin, and when I breathe in, it smells and tastes sweet. I’ve grown so accustomed to living with my connection to aether that I’ve never noticed how potent the air is with it. This is by far the longest I’ve ever been shut off from my magic, and I wonder how long it will take before it stops being a novelty.
Once my manacles are off, Caya stalks back over to Taria. “And what of the demon?”
“Free him as well,” Taria replies. “He too is destined to play an instrumental part in Imyria’s fate.”
Caya doesn’t look pleased by Taria’s orders, but she doesn’t argue with her. From her hesitation to release Natharius, I expect her to approach him with unease like the priestesses did while entering his cell, but she saunters over to him and her hips don’t lose their sway. Her nose wrinkles, however, as she reaches for his manacles and slots the key inside. She had no problem lifting my wrists to more easily unlock mine but is careful to make no contact at all with Natharius. With the proud and confident way she holds her shoulders, I doubt she does so out of fear. It’s more likely out of repulsion.
As Caya slots the key into Natharius’s manacles, the Void Prince’s calculating eyes sweep over the crowd and settle on the High Priestess, who has almost disappeared into the streets beyond the city’s square, flanked by dozens of guards. From his expression alone, I can guess his intentions.
“Natharius,” I call over as the key clicks. “I order you not to lay harm to anyone here. Especially not the High Priestess.”
It’s a bold statement, especially if Taria and her friends end up being as zealous as the High Priestess and march us back here to our execution a few hours later. However, I’m hopeful the fact Taria claimed saving me was her goddess’s will means she won’t be smiting me down any time soon. And if Natharius maims a priestess or two, even if they’re deserving of it like Ahelin, I doubt it will earn me any more allies.
And I’m in dire need of all the help I can get.
Natharius scowls, but I’m more than used to his wrath, and now the imminent torture of my soul isn’t so imminent after all. Hopefully I’ve postponed that for at least a few more years.
Taria turns to me, her gaze trailing over my sullied robes and hair, which are splattered with rotten food. “Let us return to the Temple,” she says. “We shall talk after you’ve freshened yourselves. And eaten. I suppose you must both be hungry.”
I can’t argue with that, not when I’m ravenous. I follow Taria and her guards down the platform and into the surrounding crowd.
