by A. S. Etaski
“Choose a face, Sirana, and do not tell me who it is.”
I chose and nodded. D’Shea came closer to me, her gaze drilling into me.
“Imagine this face as a wide tapestry at the fore of your mind,” she instructed. “Make it as clear as you can. Do not resist, and do not change the image.”
I was tempted to do exactly that, because the face I chose wasn’t clear, anyway. I had only seen her once, hiding at the top of a set of stairs I’d once known well. But, no. I kept it consistent, thinking about Natia, the unknown cait my Mother seemed to have adopted sometime after I left. She was too old to have been born before, so where had that child come from?
My Elder shook her head, her mouth beginning another lovely smile. “Nothing. I see nothing.”
She was excited at this. I drew breath to ask.
“Now,” she said, “set down the pendant on the other far side of my workbench, if you please, then come back here and picture the face again.”
Alright.
I obeyed, returned to the bed without the stone, and focused on Natia. I felt a subtle pressure pushing at me now, coming from D’Shea’s gaze. I tensed.
“Do not resist,” she commanded, frowning in disapproval.
Reluctantly, I submitted. The spell felt like a writhing worm working into my ear, and I grimaced in disgust, fisting the blankets as I waited for it to end. D’Shea blinked in surprise then, taking a few extra heartbeats to be sure.
“Natia Thalluen’rith?” she asked. “The Matron’s handmaiden?”
I nodded, my jaw locked in my tension.
“Hm. I did not expect that. Are you jealous, Sirana?”
I unstuck my teeth. “N-No, Elder. Just curious.”
“Interesting. What are you curious about?”
“Sudden appearances at any House are always suspect,” I said. “Even more when they are close to the Nobility. I reported on exactly this detail at House Itlaun with the First Daughter’s return.”
“Ah. Reasonable.” D’Shea thumbed the Headmaster’s ring. “I could tell you that Rohenvi Thalluen obtained the child in an orphan bid. Those happen from time to time, when a head of family is executed and she has multiple children and grandchildren, as this one did. The Sisterhood is always aware of where those children go.”
“Yes, Elder,” I acknowledged, somehow feeling impatient with the explanation.
“Retrieve the sapphire again, Sirana, and choose another face. I will try harder.”
Joy.
I was tempted to go with a familiar, pleasant face since I expected more unpleasantness but chose Raegal, the wizard too cowardly to be in the same room with me. The Sorceress stared, drawing upon her significant power while the very edges of my ears tingled in the closed space. I clutched the Dwarf stone, now transformed and unrecognizable as such. It would blend in with the pieces in any Noble’s treasure box, and I enjoyed the cool, calm center of it.
I was aware of the Sorceress trying to break into my mind, and I wanted to retreat as she kept trying, especially when she moved beyond subtlety. Once she clasped me by the ears, bringing me close to peer into my head through my eyes, I ached to lash out. To pull away.
“Stay,” she whispered intensely.
I didn’t blink. I expected something to explode, some backlash to what vibrations I sensed in my jaw. But, deep inside, it was quiet.
Finally, with a gasp, D’Shea deflated, and whatever spell for which she had used the Headmaster’s ring fizzled. She released me and stepped back, looking at the ruby on her finger. Again, she was excited at the failure. Elated. Tilting her chin up toward the low ceiling, she laughed in a way I’d never heard.
“Elder?” I asked.
“Sirana!” she cried, still laughing. “Oh, Goddess, that motherless mongrel!”
I was only further confused so I stayed quiet. I waited as D’Shea hurried to a standing chest, opening a lid and then a small drawer inside it, searching about. She returned with a strongly woven black cord, her empty hand outstretched.
“The sapphire,” she demanded.
I handed it over, watched her thread the cord through the pendant’s metal loop with nimble fingers, and tie the ends before casting a quick cantrip to seal them. My Elder handed it back to me sooner than I expected; in fact, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the blue stone might have gone straight into her own specialty chest.
“Wear that every moment in your next audience, Sirana,” my Elder said. “Do not allow it to be removed under any circumstances. In fact, keep it hidden when possible. Whether he knew it or not, Phaelous just gave us the means to keep you alive and free for a little longer.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. I stared at her, then put the pendant over my head, flipping up my frazzled braid to let it settle around my neck to hang in front of my pounding heart.
“Your audience is at the Sanctuary,” my Elder elaborated, folding her arms beneath her silk-covered breasts. I could tell she was pleased with my choice to shut up and listen. “Priestess Wilsira has asked you to stand before her without me. Without any of us. Alone. The Prime has overridden both Rausery and me and granted the Priestess what is owed.”
“Owed?”
“From your trials. The one using Wilsira’s Sathoet son, specifically.”
I risked a glance toward the pieces of shattered wine glass near the wall, and D’Shea followed my gaze. She harrumphed.
“It seems your instincts about Kerse’s intents toward you at the last Worship Ball may be correct, unfortunately. If Kerse has spoken your name to his Mother even once, then I fear Wilsira is jealous and wants to inspect you. She has the right to ask, and now she has. After you’ve been with us barely more than a turn.”
I slipped my hands underneath my ass so they wouldn’t quiver, getting to know the new weight of the pendant as it swung gently between my naked breasts. “What is the significance of the timing, Elder?”
D’Shea nodded smartly; it was a good question. “Short enough that the Prime believes you won’t compromise the Sisterhood spilling anything Wilsira doesn’t already know, thus is likely to agree. Long enough that the Priestess has likely confirmed I have investment in you, making her doubly curious.”
My bare shoulders prickled with unease. “A rivalry between you?”
D’Shea’s smile was humorless. “Immense. She dislikes Lelinahdara, as well, who rises in stature within the Priesthood and may threaten her some cycle to come.”
“Do you think she knows about Auslan as well?”
My Elder made a face. “No, I do not. I’d expect you to keep your ears open for any such hints.” She glanced down at the sapphire. “With this Dwarven sapphire shielding your thoughts, Sirana, that Consort may stay hidden as our informant if Wilsira does not yet realize it. Although if she learns what I do not want her to know about you, then ‘Auslan’ is far from your primary concern.”
A scenario had come together in my mind. Again, I looked at the wall, the spatter marks, the glass. Imagining the mixture of fear and anger it might have taken to cause my Elder Sorceress to pitch her final glass of wine at the wall rather than guzzle it.
“The Cloister received the request from the Sanctuary,” I said, “and despite your opposition, the Prime will still send me, as is ‘owed.’ You believed I would walk into the Sanctuary with no defense, and…?”
“Be broken by the Priestess, first,” she answered harshly, “to give up all you’ve even begun to understand about yourself. Then either be imprisoned or sacrificed while Wilsira tells the Prime, and both of them come after me for hiding something like this.”
I felt the cold down to my marrow as I stared up at my Elder. “And…Rausery?”
The Sorceress smirked, her mouth twisting bitterly. “With any luck, depending what was wrung out of you, she might pretend ignorance and evade the same fate. Or she might not. And the Sisterhood is culled according to the Prime’s preferences.”
Tears
came to my eyes, surprising in their abruptness. I swallowed a hard knot in my throat. “I-I am… this dangerous to you, Elder? Because of what happened with Kain?”
Why does she dare keep me?
Reading my expression, she leaned down and took my shoulders. My eyes flicked down the front of her robe then back up to her face with a silent chiding.
“Listen, novice,” she said.
I did.
“Each of us still living began where you are. None of us lived through our first five turns in the Sisterhood on our merit alone. There had to be something worth protecting in the eyes of another Sister. Someone had to fight for you. That’s why we’re the Sisterhood, not the Priesthood.”
My mouth was dry. “The Prime doesn’t teach that.”
“We know,” D’Shea said. “Our Cloister was different at the beginning, and the gap between her and the younger Red Sisters only grows. Rausery and I will protect you, Sirana, because you are a path to further change for us. But you in turn must protect all of us by never revealing your mind’s wounds to anyone.”
“But h-how can I?” I stammered. “Lelinahdara… a-and Phaelous just made—”
“Let me deal with them,” she said, her face pure determination as she lifted the sapphire pendant off my chest, displaying it in her palm. “You protect yourself, your mind, from the Daughters of Braqth. You do this at all costs, understand?”
I could hear my blood rushing, throbbing in my ears as I nodded. “Yes, Elder.”
“Good. Now get into your full uniform with all equipment. I’m going to teach you such that a novice Red Sister might visit a Priestess alone within the Sanctuary and come back out on her own two feet.”
I nodded then gave her an odd look. She saw it.
“What?” she asked.
My mouth rose at one end. “Is that why you fucked me in such a drunken heat, Elder? You thought it would be the last time?”
Some of the familiar, haughty confidence returned as my Elder lifted her chin. “If you knew all I do about that venomous place, Sirana, you’d take all private moments as if they were your last.”
Private, huh?
And she wanted to keep me that way.
I bowed my head. “I’ll bear it in mind, Elder.”
Although, ever since the moment I had almost died on Jilrina’s altar, I was certain that I already did.
“Queen’s Grace, Sirana. You are looking well since last I saw you.”
I smiled, stepping inside the boundary. “And you shine with Braqth’s faith, Priestess, as always.”
Tarra paused from where she had just closed and sealed the small, camouflaged door in the dim, long hallway. She turned and planted hands on her hips as if she didn’t like my tone.
“No Court-inspired lip service here, if you please, Red Sister.”
I bowed without hesitation. “I’ve forgotten the Court, Priestess. You healed me with that faith. Could I not be sincere?”
The Liaison glanced down at my crotch and back up with a smirk. “As long as you’re not wearing that thing, I suppose it may be possible.”
I smiled. “I am not wearing it, Priestess.”
“I can tell.”
“I did not even bring one,” I added. “I am repentant about what happened last time.”
“Yes, so your Elder informed me before your arrival.”
Tarra’s green eyes trailed over me again, narrowed in the heatless torchlight. She also scanned the space around us and seemed satisfied with her own privacy.
“You still insulted me greatly, novice,” she said.
I nodded acknowledgment. “Yes, Priestess, I recall it. I dug at a reopened wound. It was a stumble back, but it’ll not happen again.”
“Yes, so your Elder claims.” The four-century-old Priestess paused, studying my face. “Given why you’re here, do you realize, at last, that you need me, that your Elder needs me? Don’t forget, she knows me better than she knows you, and I know her better than you ever will. I am not her enemy, I am her Liaison, and for good reason if the Sanctuary and the Sisterhood are to continue working together for the Glory of Braqth. I am the only one who sees this clearly.”
“Yes, Priestess.” I bowed again. “She has corrected my behavior. I beg your tolerance.”
Tarra weighed this with the expected suspicion but protested no more. “Enough for now. Still your tongue and follow me.”
I maintained a smile and a bounce to my gait despite being required to admit all fault. It was easy, given the mental image of the Liaison’s tongue most certainly not being still at my Elder’s netherhole while I had fucked her.
With a longer stride than the Priestess, I kept up with her down the long path, my cloak flowing out behind me. The Sanctuary was enormous, central to Sivaraus compared to the hidden Cloister of the Red Sisters. I held genuine interest in the various internal spaces I would see which I had no access as either Noble or a novice Sister.
Anyone on a Palace balcony outside could see the Sanctuary looming next to the Palace, attached both in architecture and policy even though one would never mistake one for the other. The Palace had used a darker stone, and although both were curvaceous more than square, the Valsharess’ space overall contained more straight edges and stately vertices than the softer molding and swirls in the view of its bigger sister.
Both were covered with ornate, carved decoration with many spider and web motifs, of course, but also entwined with our most common objects of beauty: crowns and religious headpieces, long flowing hair, perfect bodies wrapped in silk and armored in balance, jewels and gilding enhanced some of the more abstract designs. Upon my arrival at Court, I had seen more sets of piercing eyes than any other interpretive pattern.
Now, I entered the Priestess’ home through a backdoor to which I’d been directed, stepping into a near-empty, oddly straight passageway which conflicted with all the public areas. Something told me I was on a floor below the surface, in the deep foundation. From this one place, I could not gauge or sense the same vast space that one could see from the outside.
The farther in I walked with Tarra, however, the more the halls and stairs curved like our Cloister; there were no straight-shots which lasted longer than two-eights of running strides. The ceiling was less high than the Cloister, however, the walls not as wide. I might use a weapon the length of my forearm, but nothing which was most effective in a spin or full swing.
“Why the good mood, Sirana?” Tarra asked, her hips swaying slowly in her silky, purple gown. I noted the same ornate black belt and ceremonial dagger she’d been wearing at the altar of my final trial.
“A rough ride upon waking,” I said, keeping it simple.
The Liaison snorted delicately, her mouth widening in some humor. “But your Sisters seek any and all holes nearby, with high frequency. Is it still such a lift for you, then, after a turn of being the youngest?”
I grinned. “It is, Priestess. Another notch in my bedframe. It’s become so thin it may crumble and send me to the floor one of these cycles.”
Of course, I had no such bedpost, but I also knew Tarra didn’t come to the Cloister except to visit D’Shea, who did. The Priestess seemed surprised, perhaps tempted to be amused as I hoped she would be. She gave up the topic with a shake of her head.
“Well. Wilsira wished to meet you at once upon arrival. Do you need anything first?”
“No, Priestess. I came prepared. Even my bladder is empty.” Her eyebrows crawled up at that, and I winked. “You know, in case she’s as frightening as they say. I won’t soil my uniform.”
Tarra relaxed. Just a little. Again, she seemed tempted to smile. “Very well. Come.”
Thanks, again, Jaunda.
Starting just one floor up, the walls and open rooms of the Sanctuary now looked like the Sanctuary. They were colorful and decorative, lined with a tasteful amount of tapestries, banners, metal sculpture, and murals. Small tables existed for no other purpose than
to display a figure or fine design, and there were quite a few more sources of water with regular, small fountains for washing and probably blessing, though I wouldn’t drink from them.
The sconces held either smokeless torches or delicate candles with real flame, depending on burning hazard or some other significance I didn’t know. As we went up three additional flights of stairs, each floor had a dominant color I would be blind to miss. Purple, gold, blue. Red was either missing or I hadn’t found the level yet.
I was accustomed to dealing with less light given the sparseness of the Cloister’s torches or no light at all as we crawled around outside. The Sanctuary was very well-lit by comparison, all the better to show off the beauty of its aesthetics. It brought back more memories of the Court and of my House, how accustomed I’d once been to candles and decorations just being there without my really thinking about them. Now, my mind cataloged them all as possible impromptu weapons or tools; as disadvantages or advantages depending on where I stood in any given room.
How quickly some things change.
I anticipated the blue-themed floor, the third above the ground, and heard the subdued voices of children and a few low wails of hungry infants as we passed through. D’Shea had warned me children were being raised within the Sanctuary itself, adopted Davrin who did not leave in their lifetime until a Priestess bid it, always for a particular purpose.
These Davrin were unknown to almost all of society; they belonged to no House and, like the Consorts, found it impossible to have any identity or status outside that which the Priesthood gave them. D’Shea would not tell me the how and why, but I’d correctly guessed at least one purpose: the breeding and raising of the Consorts.
“Yes,” my Elder had granted. “Not the only purpose, however.”
“To raise and train more Priestesses?”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps, Elder? But, to get Consorts, do they not need a place and function for the caits as well?”
D’Shea had shaken her head. “Their rituals are powerful, Sirana, you know this. They prefer males for better control. They select for buas.” A pause. “I cannot do that with my arcane magic. No one can.”