Page 3 of Caelum

He reached up and tucked those wayward strands of mink hair behind my ear, and the tender skin reacted to his touch in a way that had me forcing an unnatural stillness to my expression.

If he sensed my revulsion, that was it.

My life was over.

I must have succeeded in hiding my disquiet because his thumb carried on tracing over my jawline, tilting me this way and that until I was looking at him square in the eye. There was a heat in his gaze that belonged in no religious text I’d ever come across, and in this place, there was only one that counted.

Still, Father was the head of our people. I knew my mother would slap me if another man touched me like this, if another man looked at me this way, but it was Father Bryan, therefore I should be proud to hold his attention.

Especially if it meant they’d be seated closer to the altar upon our marriage.

Feeling sick to my stomach, I stared back at him, aware that the blush on my cheeks was blooming brighter than ever. How I’d even come to his attention, I had no idea.

“We must pray together, child,” Father Bryan said gently. “Would you like that?”

Did I look like a fool?

“To pray with you would be an honor,” I rasped out the lie.

“I will arrange it with your parents. Prayer and God’s will shall ease your suffering, child.”

“I’m not suffering, Father,” I quickly told him, not wanting him to think I needed a doctor. “I just need to rest before I overdo things.”

“There are ways of building your stamina.” He licked his lips. “In time, I will teach you these things.”

Things of the flesh.

“I’d be—” The words sounded flatter than I’d liked so instead, I gushed, “Honored.”

His smile made my skin crawl like a million ants were scurrying down my limbs. “I’m sure you would be. Now, run along. Get some rest. The Sisters informed me of your fatigue, and I wished to see for myself that all was well.”

To make sure I wasn’t defective.

Even though he wanted me, I’d never survive the day if he viewed me as a threat.

I dipped another curtsey, and although I wanted to flee, I didn’t. I kept a regular pace as I stepped further down the path, processing the fact that the Sisters had already spoken of my continuing need for naps with a Brother who had informed the Father himself.

This time, I felt like my heart was about to beat out of my chest in panic. My skin felt flushed and dizziness hit me, but even as I contained the terror that filled me, I knew on the outside I looked normal. Sister Margaret smiled kindly at me as I passed her on the gravel path. Brother Jacob nodded at me, as did Brothers James and John.

They were all I saw though, and I was thankful for it.

With our low status, my cabin was far from the central properties on the compound. But with each step, I felt as though I were heading deeper into the spider’s web, and that was my home—but it was most certainly not my haven.

I was trapped here, stuck until my eighteenth birthday. That was theonly day I’d be allowed off the compound, to sign on for something the Father called welfare, before I was returned here and would live and die here.

That was my only chance to escape.

The terror I lived with was a constant companion, wrapping me so tightly in its confines that I felt its chill like an embrace, until, that is, I was about a hundred yards from my house.

That was when I heard it.

The voice.

The trees on either side of the compound whistled in the air, but the voice seemed to entwine with the wind itself, forming a kind of poetry I’d never encountered before. The branches swayed as they danced, making me wish I could move with them, lose myself to that timeless beat.

I stepped closer to the house, knowing that was where the voice came from. I needed to hear more. To be nearer to it.

What on earth was it? Who among my family had a voice like that?

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