Page 88 of Spark of Madness

Theo rakes a hand through his sandy blond hair. “Perhaps I should be.” His gaze fixes on her sleeping form. “I find myself overwhelmed with worry for her well-being,” he admits. “I know I should distance myself. She’s in the trials now, and there’s nothing to come from caring about her. She’s just so small and frail…so young.”

“Even if she weren’t in the trials, there’s nothing to come from it,” I remind him. “Even if she weren’t a servant, you know you wouldn’t be allowed to choose the domestic assigned to you at your retirement.”

I need the reminder myself, though admittedly, it shocks me with a sharp pang through my chest. The Shift happens every twenty-five years in Ember Glen. It happened a few years ago, when the previous members of the Control retired, and me and my brothers in God were selected to take their place.

Three of those retiring were elected to be the new Elders. The previous Elders and the other retired members of the Control were assigned domestics and sent through the caves to the Land of Kings. There, they would live out the rest of their days in blissful retirement, happy with their domestic women and the children they bear.

No one returns to the village of Ember Glen after going to the Land of Kings. It’s said the Impulse doesn’t exist there—it’s a holy land where no man is burdened by violent or sexual needs. And only those who have served Ember Glen as members of the Control become worthy enough to go there. Even so, they’re not granted their choice of a domestic partner—that person is selected for them. One day, domestics will be chosen for me and Theo.

“I know,” Theo whispers, and I hear pain in his words. I feel it, too. “The ache of compassion is a burden all men of God must carry.”

Yes, he’s right.

It’s written in the Impulse Edict.

True men of God may feel compassion for the people they serve, but it doesn’t mean that compassion has been earned by those who’ve sinned. It doesn’t allow us to ignore the sins of our people. They must still be punished, and their pain is a burden we must carry.

Mercy must still be punished.

Regardless of my compassion for Mercy and Delle, regardless of my attraction to Mercy, my desire for her, my overwhelming need to sin with her again—fuck—I must recognize my compassion is a fault of my humanity and not reason granted by God.

Even as I think of this, every thought pounds with the ache of dissonance through my skull. When it comes to Mercy, all my thoughts feel painful, aching, throbbing with discordance against the harmony I held in my soul, harmony I’d earned through a lifetime of faith and acceptance of truth as it was written in the Edict.

Delle rolls in her bed, an innocent whimper slipping out in her slumber, and the sound of it returns a memory of a girl named Luna who was once my sister. We share the same mother, the same eyes and smile. She’s five years younger than me, but we were always close.

I only see her in passing now. My place with the Control doesn’t allow me to recognize my family as mine. I’m allowed to speak with them if we cross paths in the village, but it’s rare. My role as the authority of Ember Glen requires disconnection and objectivity—the subjectivity of one’s feelings clouds judgment. I feel that cloudiness when I’m with Mercy, yet through the fog of her, I can see so clearly.

She’s a contradiction of my faith.

Mercy’s compassion for Delle mirrors the protectiveness I had for Luna when we were younger. I used to help care for her—not because I had to, as that was my mother’s role, but because I wanted to. Luna was always bright, kind, and playful. She was always laughing and joyful. I don’t ever see her that way now when we cross paths in the village. She has a permanent frown etched upon her face, always chasing after one of the three children she bore as a domestic. I think she’s about to have another.

As I think of it, I realize how there’s such a stark difference in the demeanor of the children of Ember Glen and the women that so many of the daughters grow to become. Their joy seems to have left them, but surely, that can’t mean they’re unhappy.

Maybe Luna would have been happier as a servant?

The image of it strikes me, a sixteen-year-old Luna bound and strung up for my brothers in God to defile in the first trial. My stomach lurches at the thought of it. I feel nausea tear through my gut and angry tension tug at my muscles. My fingers curl around the armrest, digging into the fabric.

What ifLuna had done something stupid when she was sixteen?

Whatif Luna were in Delle’s place right now?

Howcan I let this be done to her?

I haveto let this be done to her…don’t I?

“Perhaps we don’t need to carry the burden of compassion in this case.” The words escape me before I even realize I’ve opened my mouth.

Theo’s eyes narrow on me. “What do you mean?”

“Mercy pled her case to take on Delle’s burden.”

“And she failed. Delle must complete the trial for herself.”

“Yes, she must. There’s no way around that. But does that mean that you and I can’t find a way to…shift the burden if we can’t remove it completely?”

Theo straightens in his seat, turning and leaning toward me on his arm. “I’m listening.”

“Our brothers ache to punish Mercy, and for good reason. She’s older and more experienced in service. She’s the true rebel we worry could inspire others to rebel with her. She’s already the focal point of these trials. No one really cares about making an example of Delle.”

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