Page 58 of The Monster's Mate

“We learned from River. This time, we won’t ask,” he says.

The black scarf goes over my head and then the hat sits on top and the only light coming in is through the bottom of the veil, that ends near my chin. Two people take my arms and I’m led out of the room.

I can feel when we’re outside, the sun is warm. I hear the prophet’s voice congratulating Donald on being wise enough to cover my face. Donald doesn’t mention why, or the fact that it’s done because the prophet’s bride looks like a train wreck.

Then I’m slowly marched across the field.

Chapter Sixteen

Skiden:

Our procession marches through town to get to the church I helped Lucy clean every night. It looks different in the light of day, but of course, everything on this strange planet does.

I’ll never get used to a blue sky.

My teeth are clenched so tightly, I can feel a tic in my jaw. We set up in the reserved park area where River once waited—where she met her maman, Isabel, for the first time. Where she told her adoptive father to go to hell because she would stay mated to my brother. My eyes fall to the wooden block where she was once whipped, unconsciously seeking blood.

Lucy’s blood.

Of course, there’s none there, but I have to look away when my body begins to posture at the thought, like a teen without control of his hormones.

When we’d landed, Mikhail cloaked me long enough to hurry to the front door of Lucy’s house. She was nowhere inside. There were no signs of a struggle. Just… nothing. She’s vanished.

The townspeople are out and about with curiosity today, much more comfortable with us now that they attended the last function we had with River.

In fact, a few of the braver folk seek her out, eyes scanning over her as if looking for signs of violence. But as usual, River is smiling and happy, Tiran by her side.

The prophet approaches, ignoring River who’d once scorned him, and gets to Mikhail. He’s smiling and happy—probably because he knows he’s about to get payment for the ceremony we’ll hold on his property. With a nod, Mikhail hands him an envelope.

But River calls out loudly. “Make sure you share that payment with the people in the commune. After all, the property here belongs to everyone, not just the church.”

The prophet loses his smile. “The church iseveryone,” he sneers. “We are a community.”

But the damage is done. A small seed planted in the minds of the masses. Why should payment go into his pockets?

As if trying to be the better person, the prophet says, “We’re having a ceremony also.” He waves his hand about, as if he’s implying the people milling about, eager to watch ours are really only present because they’re waiting for their own function to begin.

“Have you set up?” Mikhail asks. “If you would like, you’re welcome to use our area. We can stick around and remove it once you’re done.”

He indicates the flowers, the arched monstrosity with more flowers and greenery entwined, and the wooden platform where the parties will decide whether or not they wish to make a match. River said it’s a mimic of a human marriage.

Considering most of the females are sold, I can’t imagine anyone ever saying no. And since the next female—Samantha—is a surprise, I know she won’t say no.

For a moment, the prophet looks worried, but then his greedy little eyes take in the overabundance of arrangements—which we’ll give to the people afterward to brighten their day in such a gray society. An almost gleeful expression flits across his withered face.

Somehow, the drone buzzing around never catches his eye. His ceremony will be televised also. The world will know what they’re up to here within the walls of the commune.

“Since you’re already set up, we’d love to share the abundance,” he says. “We are all of one God, after all.”

Mikhail smiles benignly. “We will begin on the hour. It won’t take more than a half hour. Long enough for people to congratulate the couple, or for the couple to speak in private about whether or not they wish to not go forward with the match.”

“I’ll go get ready,” the prophet says.

Get ready for what?

There’s no one I can ask, or discuss ideas with. We’ve been warned to not even whisper among ourselves because of the drones. But if it isn’t Lucy that he drags out, I’ll slip away and search every inch of this place.

Down from the beyond the church grounds, a procession of robed figures come. They park themselves politely on the outskirts of the park, waiting for our match to complete before they take the stage.

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