Page 2 of Caelum

Though I wanted to raise my arms and let the wind cling to me, let it cool down my overheated body that was still wrestling with the panic I’d felt at being enclosed in the small schoolroom, I didn’t. Couldn’t. If I did, and someone saw me, it would be noted. Everything was noted down that was out of the ordinary, and I couldn’t afford to be anything other than a dark stain amid the shadows.

The reminder was exactly what I needed. I didn’t have the luxury of freedom. My brain clicked into gear, making maintaining my blank faceeasy. Since I’d learned to shield everything—my thoughts and feelings—from ever showing in my expression, I had become a blank canvas by choice.

Two months to go.

The four words were a prayer of my own.

Two months until I’m eighteen.

Until I could leave this place. Until I was free.

I wanted to shudder but didn’t. There was no relief to be found just yet.

The gravel crunched under my feet, but I tilted my head back as a sunbeam drenched me in its warmth. After the sharp cold from the wind, it was a delicious sensation that made me want to curl up like a cat in a ball.

“If that isn’t the prettiest picture I’ve seen in a long time.”

The words had disgust whispering through me, and though I swiftly tipped my chin forward to stare at the man whose interest was becoming unavoidable, I allowed one emotion to bleed through my expression.

Embarrassment.

I knew Father Bryan would take that for chastity, for humility, for self-deprecating shyness in the face of a man of his stature’s interest.

I allowed myself to catch and be held by his gaze for a second, but I quickly ducked my head and dipped into a curtsey. It meant my glance grazed over his light blue shirt which bulged against his belly, his pants too, with only the belt keeping things proper. I forced my eyes lower, flinching away from the sight of the leather belt that had whipped me far too many times for me to count, and studied his matching black leather shoes.

“Thank you, Father,” I murmured softly, keeping my voice low-pitched. Today was not a good day to talk. I wasn’t sure why, but certain days, when I spoke, the words or the pitch did something to men around me. It was unnerving to find myself the center of their attention when I did my best to blend into the background.

To my left, I could see Sister Josephine peering at me through her cabin window. I didn’t like Sister Josephine. She was Father Bryan’s latest wife, and our dislike was mutual. She would often glower at me when she saw me around the compound.

I knew that if she ever became aware that I was unusual, even to a small degree, she’d make me pay for the break in my control.

A whipping wouldn’t be the result, however. If they knew the true extent of my situation, they’d bestow the ultimate punishment upon me.

Death.

I didn’t even have it in me to tremble as I ignored Father Bryan’s wife and focused on the man himself. His wrinkled skin was loose about his faceas he studied me like I studied the roast chicken on my plate at dinner time—with hunger.

But his variance of hunger? It had my stomach churning.

“You’re welcome, child.” He called me that, but I knew he was thinking the same thing I had been a few moments before—two months to go.

Father Bryan liked me. I knew because he complimented me often, and though my parents were low in the compound’s ranking, these past two years, since I’d blossomed from teenager to woman, he’d taken to speaking with them, dealing with them more frequently. They’d gone from pews at the back of the church to the middle, and everyone knew what that meant.

Most might think me simple because I remained quiet, demure. But I wasn’t. I was no fool.

He wanted me.

I was to be wife number seven.

“May I serve you in any way?” I asked quietly, trying to contain my voice once more.

“No, child. But, are you well?” I believed he was the reason my need for naps was accepted, so I knew what he was asking.

“Yes, Father. I just need to rest a little.”

He tutted then reached forward to cup my cheek. I wanted to flinch but didn’t as, with his thumb, he rocked my head backward. The movement dislodged the stiff headdress that covered my dark brown hair, allowing a thick clump of rich, chestnut locks to be whipped away in the breeze.

All the while, Sister Josephine was watching, her gaze making the tiny hairs at the back of my neck stand on edge.

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