Page 4 of Insolence (Eisha’s Hidden Codices #1)

One thought runs through my mind, stark and irrefutable: all right, so I’m attracted to women. This one in particular, it seems.

This is highly inconvenient.

Suddenly overheating, I fidget in my cloak, tugging at the clasp.

“If you’re uncomfortable, I can take that.”

My skin tingles at the soft brush of her fingertips when I hand her the garment.

“Sit.” With her free hand, she indicates two chairs across from a settee. An etched cuff bracelet glints at her wrist. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you.” Unable to peel my eyes from her, I sink down on one of the chairs.

“Are you sleeping all right?”

“As well as I can.”

“Good.” When she turns to set my cloak aside, the unnerving pull between us enters my awareness again. “Keeping food down?”

I swallow, bewildered. “Yes.”

“We’re at a high altitude, so you’ll need to drink plenty of water until you adjust.” She lowers herself to the adjacent chair. “How are the headaches?”

I must have been in a state of shock yesterday not to notice the heavy amount of jewelry she wears. Silver rings accent almost all of her fingers, including two slim bands on her pinky—one snugged above her second knuckle. A band of polished hematite encircles her thumb.

Multiple silver earrings adorn each ear, including tiny hoops through the upper cartilage. Small, tunnel-shaped wooden plugs stretch her lobes, and leaf pendants dangle from silver wire threaded through their centers.

“The headaches are horrid,” I say. “And yes, I’ve been drinking water.” I’m not sure what I expected from this meeting, but her bafflingly clinical questions aren’t it.

“The worst of it should be behind you in another day or two. In the meantime, I can make a cold compress with herbs. If you’d like.”

“Ah.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I don’t mean to be rude, but this is why you had me summoned? The way I was brought here, I thought I was in some sort of trouble.”

Something flares to life in her eyes. Rings flashing, she slings one elbow over the back of her chair and dips her chin to fix me with an intense glare.

It cuts right through me.

“I barely stopped you chasing merry hell yesterday. What else have you got up to that warrants such a guilty conscience?”

“Nothing!” I sputter. “I’m wondering what I’m doing here, is all. I already know this audience is unusual. If this is about yesterday—”

“ Look ,” she bites out, then catches herself. “If you don’t want to answer my questions, then say so. But yes. I thought we should formally meet after yesterday.”

“All due respect, priestess,” I say slowly, “I don’t want to answer your questions.”

Her arm drops. “There. Easy, right?”

Confusion mingles with the pain ringing in my head. “Right,” I murmur, staring. For gods’ sakes, fifteen minutes ago I was preparing to jump off the roof.

“Well. I’m sure you’re overwhelmed enough without me ambushing you. Is there anything you’d like to know? Any questions I can answer for you?”

“ Yes . You can tell me what in the world happened in the gardens yesterday.”

There’s a pause before her low tone sends a ripple through me. “I’m only going to say this once, Tiss, so pay attention.” She spins her thumb ring against the adjacent finger. “There isn’t anything to tell because nothing happened yesterday. Get that fixation out of your head right now.”

Suddenly, she’s every bit the hostile greenhouse woman. And since she’s made it abundantly clear she won’t tell me anything useful, I settle on asking about the lottery business next.

“Its formal name is the Ceremony of Induction. The nuns have a formal name for just about everything around here.”

“Nuns?”

“The sisters.” She rises from her chair. “The other high priestess and I call them nuns due to the vows they make us all take.”

I’m riveted to my seat, watching her fluid movements as she paces around the room.

In contrast to the jewelry, she’s dressed casually: a crisp button-down peeks from beneath a sleeveless cable-knit sweater.

Her brown tweed skirt hits below the knee.

“As for the ceremony, it’s when Eisha decides if you’ll belong to her and become betrothed to her service, or if you’ll be an acolyte to the temple instead. ”

“What does ‘betrothed to her service’ mean?”

“There are two paths for new initiates to embark upon. That’s the path of personal, lifelong devotion to the goddess. As opposed to acolytes, who serve as liaisons between the temple and the people of the realm.”

“Do we get to pick?”

She halts near a two-person dining table, shooting me an ambiguous glance. “No. I told you. The goddess decides.”

“Oh.” My gaze travels over the curves of her bust and hips and her long arms and legs. “You mean… literally ?”

“Yeah. Literally.” The corners of her mouth twitch.

“When does this Ceremony of Induction take place?”

“The night of the winter solstice.”

The next question falls out of me before I can consider it: “And it’s true that we all came here of our own free will?”

She looks up, her piercing gaze pinning me again. “Isn’t that what they told you? That you volunteered?”

“More like won’t stop telling me. I’m not sure I believe it, is all.”

She shifts toward an archway separating the receiving room from her bedroom. “I don't know what to tell you, then.”

For the most part, her expression has been inscrutable since I stepped in here, almost as if she’s wearing some sort of… mask.

I sigh through my nose. “Is everyone who comes here put through the… the mind-cleansing?”

“Purification of the mind. And yes. All new initiates receive the ritual. It was done to me, too, when I first arrived.”

“But why? What purpose does it serve other than to strip away everything about our lives?” Overpowering and far too familiar, tears well in my eyes, and I slump in my chair. “Our families, friends, homes… All of it is just gone . I don’t understand.”

Her stance softens, sympathy transforming her features. Suddenly she’s nothing like the guarded, hostile woman in the greenhouse. Not that I want her pity, but at least it’s marginally better than the wooden mask.

“I know it’s a lot to take in. I struggled, too, at first,” she says, her voice gentle now.

Her resumed pacing brings her behind me, where she comes to a stop.

“Giving our lives over to the goddess is an act of selfless devotion. In doing so, we receive her blessings in kind. We gain her wisdom by relinquishing our individuality and ties to our former lives. In realizing our humility, we allow her to possess us completely.” She steps closer.

Every molecule of my body vibrates at her proximity. “It sounds like you’re reciting from some dusty old tome.”

“Love is sacrifice, Tiss.” Her breath falls to where I’m seated, caressing the back of my neck and sending sparks leaping down my spine.

It’s difficult to ignore the flash of heat low in my belly, the insistent ache between my thighs; I’m uncomfortably aware of the wetness growing there. Her presence carries a magnetism that’s both undeniable and unavoidable. I feel drawn to her, wrenched out of myself toward her.

The pulsing connection between us has only grown deeper and stronger since I’ve been sitting here.

Perhaps it’s the strangely withheld questions she began with, the way she protected me yesterday, or whatever is roiling beneath her perplexing facade, but I want to find out everything I can about her.

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” she murmurs. “Dinner will be served soon.”

Of course. The second I relax, she wants to boot me. But my body and gravity have other plans. As soon as I get to my feet, all of the blood drains from my head. The room slants wildly, and I cry out, lurching forward.

“Goddess, Tiss .” She’s at my side in half a second, one arm tight around my waist, the other gripping my elbow. “Steady there. Come on. Sit with me a moment.”

She pulls me with her before I can protest. Her hands are cool through my clothes, her touch firm, which isn’t helping with my unsteady legs.

Her fragrance drifts to my nose. It’s warm and lightly sweet but also aromatic, like amber mixed with cedar. The smell brings on the sharpest sense of... something .

Something I had. Something I lost.

I suddenly want to fold in half, right here, because the heartache of losing it is more than I can bear. But I’m not even sure what it is.

There’s something else there too, something disorientingly big that I can’t name, but it makes me want to laugh and cry at once.

My heart beating wildly, my vision clearing, I let her guide me down next to her on the settee. “I don’t know what came over me,” I garble, my tongue thick in my mouth.

“Elevation sickness.” She leans away, reaching for a side table. The sound of trickling liquid reaches my ears.

When she turns back, a brimming chalice is pushed into my hand.

“Water.” She levels that cutting, nerve-fluttering gaze at me again. “The high altitude makes the ritual’s physical aftereffects worse for those of us not accustomed to it during our lives before. You need to drink fluids constantly until you adjust, or you will pass out. Ask me how I know.”

“Thank you.” I lift the cup, swallowing several mouthfuls. The metal’s solid heft is grounding. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I’m from, do you? I’m wondering if it wasn’t that little village at the base of the waterfall.”

“Karsyn. And I’m afraid the sisters keep that sort of thing confidential.”

Karsyn. I pause, waiting for the village name to strike a familiar chord. It doesn’t.

She watches me bring the cup to my lips again. Her eyebrows knit together, forming a contemplative crease that’s irresistibly attractive. “Better?”

“I think so. The room no longer wants to tilt out from under me.” She’s sitting close enough that her knees brush mine, the modest contact igniting fervor in my veins.

The echo of her touch still pulses on my waist and arm, throbbing to the point of distraction.

“Is it normal that I can remember general information about the realm and society and the gods and goddesses, but I have no idea who I am or what I was doing last week?”

“That’s quite normal,” she nods. “The ritual is designed to leave common knowledge in place while erasing everything about your identity, more or less. You do need to function, after all.”

“ Function is a strong word for what I’m currently doing.” I take another sip. “How long have you been at the temple, High Priestess?”

Now that I’m delving into personal questions, I expect the same wariness as yesterday, but she answers easily: “This winter is my fourth year. And please,” she murmurs, “don’t be so formal. Call me Elodie when we’re together in private.”

As if there will be more time spent together. In private.

When her irresistible fragrance hits me again, the air seems to thicken between us. I squirm in my seat and set my cup down, the place between my legs pulsing. My focus sharpens, blotting out our surroundings until Elodie is the only other person in the world, the only thing that matters.

With a shuddering breath, I imagine her crowding me back against the settee and crushing her mouth to mine. The very idea of kissing her is so enticing; every square inch of my body ignites.

Her nostrils flare, quivering as if she smells something I can’t. That’s when her features go soft, then darken into something resembling urgent need. Her lips part, and she leans closer as if in invitation.

My poor, degenerate heart betrays me, thudding so hard in my chest it hurts . Without fully knowing what I’m doing or why, I reach for her, framing her face between my hands. Her skin is warm velvet. Tilting my head, I lean in to meet her, brushing her lips with mine.

The softness of her full mouth carries a power I can’t articulate. There’s a sharp intake of breath before she surrenders, melting into me. She’s more delectable than I imagined, her soft heat and intoxicating fragrance utterly consuming. Elodie .

She drowns out the hissing fire, halts the endless questions knocking around my brain, overshadows my confusion, sadness, pain—all of it.

A second later, she stiffens and pulls away. “We can't , Tiss.” Her fingers cinch around my wrists, tugging my hands away before she moves backward on the settee. Reality crowds in, jarring in its harshness.

Oh, no. Please tell me I didn’t just do that…

“Goddess, you can’t just— Whenever you damn well please!” she blurts haltingly, breathing fast.

The pulling between us intensifies, nearly taking my breath away. So many half-formed questions fly through my brain it’s impossible to isolate one line of thought from the flurry.

“That was hardly appropriate.” She gives a stiff jerk of her head that sends the silver leaves jingling. “And you know it.”

“I’m so sorry.” Lips still burning from our kiss, embarrassment takes hold. Blood scorches my neck and cheeks as her gaze scours me. For shit’s sake .

When I woke up this morning, I didn’t even know I was attracted to women! And now I want to sink through the floor and disappear.

“Didn’t you take your blood vows?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. Do me a favor.” She rises to her feet, standing over me. “Keep them in the forefront of your mind if you think you can manage. Not only is indulging in each other forbidden, it’s also a very, very bad idea.” She crosses to the door, muttering something else, but I don’t catch it.

Brigit and Imogen file in, making a general fuss and offering to guide me back to my room. I’m so mortified, I can’t look at the priestess while I let them usher me out.