Page 53 of The Garnet Daughter (The Viridian Priestess #3)
Chapter
Thirty-Six
T he Estate temple is eerier than the last time I snuck in to retrieve the spell book.
It has been cleaned up, broken pieces of furniture arranged how they were prior, but somehow even with the light of the candles bringing the space to life again, the air raises every hair on my neck.
The hole Omnesis rose from has been boarded up with planks running across the top and secured in place.
It’s far from where it was originally, at least what I noticed, but enough for a large group of order members to congregate.
They have forcefully summoned me and a few other order members who have been selected for the next highest priestess. Most are older and wearing the same fine grey temple gowns as the others. There is only one woman who is similar in age to me adorned in a very worn, black temple gown.
They assemble us together in the front near where the stone altar once was, now tucked away out of view as Ferren said it would be to keep the number of stones a secret.
The group of order members seems to be higher ranking. They sit on the pews, staring with such scrutiny, it makes my skin crawl. Selene is among them, my only comfort in a sea of unfamiliar faces.
“We begin now,” an order member with heavily creased cheeks and lips announces.
“In the absence of a highest and the eldest-born priestess, who in her loving power protects the city at the cost of her life force, we proceed orderly and without lead. Among us today are the most powerful in our ranks, the eldest, and the members who impart exceptional wisdom to their priestess sisters. We will hear each of their selections to gauge the fitness of each.”
My skin prickles as if I’ve been addressed directly and not the group of women subtly being ushered together. I awkwardly follow the women next to me, walking closer to the altar and facing the rest of the order.
Viewing the temple from this angle again makes my stomach churn with the memory of August holding the temple doors shut with the other commanders.
My body urges me to fold anywhere else. It’s torture to stand here with images of the ritual so vividly echoing off the cold stone walls.
How Ferren could ever find such a place beautiful, I am not sure.
It’s rigid and the very air is suffocating, even without the incense billowing around us.
“Elder Priestess Rita, would you please step forward and name your selection?”
A sturdily built old woman with delicate features rises from a pew and gazes around the room she has been asked to address.
“Elder Priestess Berget is devout. She has resided in the Estate since her birth, as did her mother, and her mother’s mother before her.
Her gifts are from the original lineages, hereditary and strong.
Her ward would protect the city and cast out any evil that wished to harm us and the sacred stones.
First Mother has blessed her three times, among them the gift of prophetic dreams.”
The elder priestess who the other speaks of stands a little straighter, but as soon as her gift is named, she glances back at me.
It’s long and intentional. Not one of them looked at me since I walked in the temple, disregarding me entirely.
But this doesn’t seem like she’s glaring at me because I don’t belong here. Her gaze seems pointed.
More order members speak, naming each priestess selection and her gifts, what she has achieved within the temple, each more terrifying than the next, some even heartfelt and pleading.
After each, the nominations are asked various questions about the kind of highest each woman intends to be, how she would benefit the order.
The way they speak is unnatural, robust for little reason, simple words spoken in a cadence as if each is sacred.
I survey the room full of these women, dressed in fine clothes and jewelry as the city around them prepares for the conjunction, slowly prostrating their opinions as if time is not running out
When it is High Priestess Ursa’s turn to stand, her eyes connect with mine, a smile slashing her face, and for some reason my body steps forward even though I have not commanded it to.
“I selected a divine child currently outside the order, but whose mother was within our ranks.”
Judging eyes poke the sides of my cheeks, followed by whispers murmuring in a low hiss as I stand paralyzed. It makes me feel like a child for reasons I cannot understand, but more than that, it makes me want to go home.
“Calliape of the planet Frith.” High Priestess Ursa continues, “Conceived within the order but raised on the sacred mountain. Where she lacks in knowledge of our traditions and ways, she makes up for in one of the strongest hereditary lines our order has known. Her mother was High Priestess Juno.”
My heart tightens when I hear her name spoken, and then punches forward in my chest. The murmurs turn from assessment to intrigued, some even sucking in breath as if familiar with my mother’s name.
“Calliape is the only living divine child with the gift of traveling across worlds in many generations. She would thrive with the right guidance in the position she was meant to be in.”
Selene ducks her head, looking down at her lap in discomfort.
She felt the same slap with the last sentiment that I did.
They look down on my mother for taking me away from here to be raised on another world, yet she evokes her name to prove my worth.
My molars ache from clenching and sliding across each other as High Priestess Ursa basks in the poised uproar she has started with the older women in the rest of the pews.
She smiles at me again, satisfied she has successfully rooted her opinion in each of them firmly.
I shouldn’t be here. This demonstration is not of First Mother.
This is . . . pretend. First Mother would want a ward placed regardless of all of this, one held by all of us.
I’ve wondered what my life would be like if my mother did not flee, and this single taste is enough to sour those flowery thoughts of my youth.
I do not belong here. This is not the part that is missing from me. I am thankful I never knew this life.
Another elder priestess stands and assesses me, dramatically tilting her head in inspection and then turning to High Priestess Ursa.
“If we move forward with this one, she will need to take the vows, a timely ceremony. We would need to see a fast assimilation into the temple before the votes are cast.”
“I will oversee her introduction into the order. I am confident she will take her vows and rededicate her lineage to our temple and right the connection that was broken.” High Priestess Ursa nods smugly as she speaks.
Again, she insults me, Selene, and my mother.
I may be forced to be here, but no one can make me take vows I do not believe in.
I take another step forward and glare at the two women speaking about how I will dedicate my life to their order, as if I should be honored and follow their wisdom without question.
Selene’s eyes connect with mine, her words about staying true to myself ringing in my ears.
I’ve walked on every world and in between.
The soil of Frith, the sand of the birthlands, and the rubble of this temple is in the soles of my boots.
The only vow I will take is never chaining my gifts to their desires and with it, my freedom.
“I will not take your vows, priestess,” I say with as little respect as possible.
Every whisper hisses to a ringing silence, not even a single gasp heard. I step out of the group I was forced into and judged with. “There are factions within your priestesshood that are corrupt in ways I did not think possible. You are blind to it, protecting stones that do not matter.”
Gasps finally fill the space, feeding me and urging me to continue.
“I will not help you. You know very little of the world outside your temples and the stories you have spun. I’ve seen old gods, been granted wisdom you could not even imagine, seen into the eyes of the creatures on your ancient tapestries. ”
“Enough! Leave this temple if you do not wish to continue, but we will not tolerate blasphemy in our presence.”
I stride down the aisle away from the order member scolding me like one of her lesser priestesses.
“Calliape,” High Priestess Ursa calls with disappointment unproportionate to the number of times we have spoken.
I lean over the capped end of her pew. “My mother foretold this was not my path. I grieve that I ever questioned her. You cannot use my gifts for the order’s bidding, no matter how high of a cost.”
I continue down the untidy temple aisle, focused solely on getting to Selene at the back. I reach out to her before she is within reach, her smile steady as she nods and comes into the aisle to embrace me back. “I love you, Selene, but I have to go.”
She holds my face, her expression creased with pride and even amusement. She wipes away the tears staining my cheeks. “I am so proud of my girl, and yes, you must go.”
A surge of freedom flows through me, the last piece I did not know I needed. I love Selene and always will, but I know now that my place in this world is not a place; it’s a feeling.
The others know what my gifts can do, what problems they can solve, yet I have never felt like my help was expected.
At every turn, I have been trying to prove my value to our group, searching for a reason why I had the desire to leave Frith with them, but I’ve never needed to.
I have kept a wall around parts of me I thought they would not accept, yet every time those flaws spilled out, creating mistakes I assumed would give them evidence as to the reason I am withholding, I’ve been proven wrong.
August is protective, yet was willing to teach me to fly, the version of self-discovery and freedom he knows best, even if it meant I went forth without him.
He loves me, proclaimed it like a pent-up confession when he thought he may never get the chance to express it.
It scared me at first, but I’ve slowly realized I love him too and he deserves to hear it back.
I force myself to wait until I fully exit out of the temple to fold, fighting with my own anticipation and the thought of their prying eyes on me, witnessing my gifts.
The moment my feet step forward onto the metal floor of the Viathan fleet ship, I call out his name, frantically searching the mess hall I left him in.
“August!” I bellow again, making my way toward the rooms of the living quarters and catching the attention of the commanders guarding the entrance.
Ferren runs from her chamber, dress kicking out in a swishing motion. “Calliape, what’s wrong? What is it?”
“Where is August?”
“He and 99 just stepped out. Are you alright?” She reaches for me with perplexed hands.
I can’t think straight. It’s as if I can’t wait another moment without speaking to him, like a physical sickness deep in my diaphragm that churns my insides. “Everything is fine. I just need to talk to him. Do you know where they went?”
She points out the entrance, sending me into an ungraceful turn before she even speaks.
But before I can dash toward the exit, where the stiffly alert commanders watch me, August turns the corner of the corridor ahead, 99’s form appearing just behind him, a dark shadow of armor as they backtrack.
“Calliape?” He strides in, pupils blown out and chest heaving.
I can’t compose a single word, the nauseous ache in my insides finally soothed, but my expression must need more time to recover from my admittedly hasty search because his twists in concern.
His hands are on me, traveling up my body, wrapping around my neck, and cupping my face as he pleads for me to speak and answer him.
“I—”
He winces slightly at the crack in my voice. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I shake my head and laugh at how different I am coming across than I intend. “August, I heard what you said on the ship. I said I didn’t, but I did.”
His shoulders ease, his brow softening, and I could swear I see a tiny line of water filling his lower lids as he waits for me to say more.
I swallow hard before continuing. “I heard you say you love me. I love you too.”
My words are cut off a blink later, smothered by his mouth on mine.
I melt into his strong hold, as without it my knees would surely give out.
I lose all concept of time and space. I wrap my arms around his neck, needing him closer as his tongue brushes against mine, kissing me so deeply it transforms into something entirely new.
He breaks away with a small gasp and heart-squeezing grin. “I love you, Callia. I have for a very long time.”
I laugh freely, a warm, static energy flowing all over my skin, and lean to kiss his palm where it gently holds my jaw.
The sound of someone shifting behind us sobers me finally, and when I look over my shoulder, I find Ferren’s mouth gaping in frozen surprise. I clear my throat and straighten my hair, utterly embarrassed I got so carried away in front of her and 99.
In contrast, August practically puffs out his chest; he’s so proud to have witnesses.
Ferren bursts into a joyful laugh and exchanges a dreamy glance with 99 before he strides off to slap August on the back as if to congratulate him. The flare of embarrassment fades away, and I instinctually reach to hold August’s hand, and the dimpled smile he sends down to me is contagious.
They are all so happy, delighted even, and suddenly the only thing that seems foolish was waiting so long to feel this way.