Page 53 of Spark of Madness

He doesn’t show me the same gentleness.

His gloved hand lands on my shoulder and firmly grips me, twisting my body before shoving me down. I drop to my knees beside Delle and land hard on gravel, tiny rocks pushing against the fabric of my burgundy gown and pressing into my kneecaps.

I try to ignore the way Arlo broods at me as he backs away. He hasn’t said a word to me since we...since we sinned together days ago.

I glance over my shoulder and spot Ellary and Cambria in the row behind me. I press a small smile through my lips, but it’s not returned. They quickly avert their eyes, Cambria bowing her head and Ellary looking forward. Pieces of my soul crumble and fall with how they turn from me.

Though, I understand why they turn away. I understand what they think of me now. I’m no longer their friend; they can only see me as a sinner. They think I’m wrong, that I’m bad, that I’m going to hell. They think I betrayed their trust and sullied our friendship with my actions against service. I can accept why they would believe that, and I don’t fault them for it, yet the evidence of their swift detachment still cuts through my chest like a blade, piercing my heart.

I could cry right now for the way it hurts me, but I don’t. I don’t want to give everyone the satisfaction of a sinner’s tears. I take a deep breath that hitches with a begging sob, but I swallow it down and force my gaze to Ivy’s dead body, reminding myself that if I hadn’t run—if I hadn’tsinned—I might’ve been lying beside her right now.

Worse, I might’ve been alive, suffering excruciating pain for the burns Hyatt Price had threatened to inflict upon me.

Ivy’s once smooth skin is red and blistered, and she’s been embalmed to preserve the sight of horror—yet surrounding the horror is beauty. Her body is laid flat on a raised platform that’s covered with a pure, white cloth draping down the sides and delicately dusting the ground. Wildflowers in shades of violet and garnet have been plucked from the meadow and laid around her body, encircling her form on the platform. Her beautiful ebony hair has been brushed and pulled out around her head, creating a halo. She looks angelic in her white gown, aside from the tragic burns and blisters that mar her skin.

The gloomy day surrounds her with appropriate melancholy, and though I wasn’t close with her personally, sadness for the loss of her swells within me all the same. She was a servant—a sister—and she died the way I was meant to.

Wesley steps away from the rest of the Control, who stand in a line behind the platform where Ivy’s laid to rest. A breeze whips around us, kicking up the black skirts of servants in a dark, ominous way.

Somberly, Wesley begins, “We’ve gathered in remembrance today. Ivy Jane gave her life in an act of service, and she deserves our honor, our praise, and our gratitude. She served the Impulse with dignity and grace. She served willingly and with pride for her God-given duty. She was honorable in this life, and though we will find peace in knowing she’s found paradise in the afterlife, she will be missed. She’ll be missed by her fellow servants. Remembered by the villagers as they go about their peaceful days—peaceful because of Ivy’s sacrifice in serving the Impulse. She’ll be held in reverence by the authority of Ember Glen. Her life will not be lost in vain. Let us take a moment of silence in her honor.”

Silence settles quickly and uncomfortably, amplifying the sound of the wind as it rustles through the trees at the outer edge of the village square. I look beyond the Homestead in front of me to the mountains behind—I wonder if heaven is found at the peak.

My hair tickles my cheek as the wind catches it, blowing it sideways across my face with an unusual chill that makes goosebumps prickle up my arms. I turn my gaze and find Arlo’s brooding expression—he’s staring right at me. His gloved hands are clasped in front of him. I hold his stare as my eyes narrow, confused by the attention when his head should be bowed and he should be thinking of Ivy.

Perhaps he is thinking of her as he looks at me. Perhaps he’s thinking how lovely she is for her sacrifice...how wonderful and honorable it was for her to step into the fire and ask to be burned. Perhaps he’s thinking of how much I disgust him for running from the same flame, for refusing to serve when service meant pain beyond comprehension and almost certain death.

I sneer as I stare back at him, wondering why I haven’t told anyone about our indiscretion yet.

Because I’m a sinner,and no one would believe me.

Because I don’twant to tell anyone.

Because I want it to beour secret.

A heavy sigh escapes me, and I tear my gaze from him. Bowing my head, I turn my eyes to the ground.

“Malo mori quam foedari,” Wesley says, ending the moment of silence.

“Malo mori quam foedari,” everyone repeats in a chant…except for me.

I only mouth the words we use to end our prayers. They roughly mean death before dishonor, and Ivy Jane took them to heart. There’s a pinch of shame in my stomach because she died to evade dishonor, and I was unwilling to do the same.

Wesley steps back into line, and Killian steps forward. He holds his arms behind his back and paces in front of Ivy. “Ivy Jane’s remembrance comes at a time that forces further reflection on our lives here in Ember Glen, on our doctrine, the Impulse Edict, on God.”

I lift my head as he speaks, feeling indignation rise at the tone of his voice. There’s something about the way he keeps his hair long, pulled back into a knot at the back of his head, that makes him look pompous and arrogant. Perhaps it’s just because heispompous and arrogant that I think he looks that way, too.

“As Ivy stepped forward and offered her body to the service of a man’s impulse, another servant fled from the very same fate. As we revere Ivy Jane’s strength and pride in her role, we must reflect on the dishonor and shame Mercy Madness has brought to our community. As we mourn the loss of an honorable servant in Ivy Jane, we must equally mourn the choice of Delle Carter to dissent from the will of God.” He points an outstretched finger at us. “These two have brought dark days upon Ember Glen. They’ve brought anger, sorrow, and reminders that demons lurk within the shadows, able to overcome anyone of us. But we will not let that destroy us. We will win this fight against sin and the sinners who commit them.”

Against my will, my gaze lifts, seeking Arlo, though his gaze is already upon me.

“The Trials of Dissension will purge them of their demons, grant them absolution from their sins if they prove themselves worthy, and will rid Ember Glen of the darkness they’ve brought upon us.”

I force a breath out through my nostrils, my chest sinking heavily, anger making it rise again sharply. Arlo’s tongue slips out to wet his bottom lip before his brow furrows, narrowing his stare on me.

I want to look away from him.

I don’t want to look away from him...I can’t.

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