Page 52 of Insolence
Sadrie’s sphere drops into the channel. I close my eyes, the whole mountaintop seeming to freeze in time
“Another acolyte! Praise be to Eisha!” gushes Deirdre.
Oh, thank the gods.I sigh, going boneless on the bench.
Excitement ripples through the crowd as a glowing Sadrie practically bounces to the dais, dropping into a dramatic curtsy in front of the Five. Beaming, she returns from her pilgrimage and giddily takes her place by Cordelia.
I’m happy for my friends, of course I am. But also in partial disbelief. Despite their assurances, concern for my own fate constricts my lungs. We glance at each other as each new sphere is dredged up—all of them black as pitch. I have yet to see the Screamer in attendance, and I fear the worst for her.
The handmaidens huddle together in front of the Archive, looking on with fascination through the fog. Imogen bounces at the knees, her glossy ringlets springing against her shoulders. She waves when she sees me, grinning wide, and I wonder if it’s her first time seeing the lottery in person. Brigit stands behind her, a far more serious look fastened to her face.
Another initiate draws another black sphere. The number of us still waiting dwindles. Feeling especially alone, it’s a battle to keep from tearing my thumbnail clean off with my teeth.What am I going to do with no Sadrie, no Cordelia, and no Elodie?
Finally, I’m the only one left.
“Itissa,” says Mother Deirdre, turning her gaze on me. “I believe it’s down to you.” The kindness of her tone belies her cold eyes.
Sadrie gives me an encouraging nod.
Rising from the bench, I feel dizzy and weak-kneed and frightened. The trudge down the aisle seems inordinately long. The silver crank is so cold it stings my bare hand. My thumbnail is ragged and smarting at the quick.
The drum spins, the last remaining sphere tumbling around inside. Finally, it finds its way to the channel with a heart-poundingthunk.
Not daring to breathe, I slip my hand inside.
The metal sphere is smooth and ice-cold beneath my fingers. Squeezing it in my fist, I offer up a silent prayer to whatever deity may deign to listen and draw it out.
It’s the size of a small plum and surprisingly heavy. A long moment passes while I stare, trying to make sense of what I’m holding. Disbelieving what’s right under my nose.
There’s no way.
Deirdre’s clear voice rings out: “Praise to Eisha, we have a third acolyte!”
With her pronouncement, I finally acknowledge the white sphere resting in the palm of my hand is not some dubious machination of my mind. I lock eyes with Sadrie, a shit-eating grin on my face.
That’s when the sound of shattering glass fills the courtyard. Everyone's attention is on the Five, the newly designated betrothed girls shifting on the benches and craning their necks to see.
Clan Madoc’s man is on his feet. His wineglass reduced to shards on the dais, wine soaks his boots. Through wisps of fog, his face is ruddy, his eyes unapologetically anchored to mine.
The next thing I’m aware of is the screech of wrought iron paired with the frenzied cries of dozens of birds. A flurry of flapping wings explodes to one side of me, the finches bursting free from their ornate prison and nearly knocking me over.
I shriek in surprise—along with everyone else. My arms fly up to protect my head. Leaping away from the avian ambush, I narrowly avoid tumbling into the front row.
Elodie, Maida, and Deirdre are all talking at once. Pandemonium reigns in the courtyard as questions and raucous laughter erupt from the crowd. Several of the Five are on their feet now, talking back and forth, as baffled as the rest of us.
Meanwhile, dozens of mountain finches climb into the winter sky. Urgent in their newfound freedom, their red and black plumage flashes through the haze.
The collective shock gradually wears off as sisters manage to calm everyone down.
“Our sincerest apologies, ladies.” The prioress addresses us. “So much excitement for one day! You’ve all probably deduced that happened a bit sooner than we expected.” Her benevolent focus shifts to me. That too-warm smile creeps across her face, making me itch all over. “Itissa, you’re all right, yes?”
“I think so.”
I am beckoned to stand with my friends in front of the Waymark, where Maida takes my sphere and congratulates me. Ghisele mutters under her breath when I pass. Sadrie grabs my hand and squeezes, so excited she’s practically vibrating.
Cordelia says, “Didn’t I tell you?” And she did, so I really can’t fault her smug little smile.
The ceremony ends with a series of prayers and offerings of thanks to the goddess. Deirdre announces a celebration in our residence tonight, where we will apparently “revel in the benevolent joy of Eisha’s will.”
