Page 8 of House of Gilded Nightmares

This is the man I’m going to be bonded with for the rest of my days. I’m sure it could be much worse as appearances go. He isn’t cruel or uncivilized. But it all comes down to one simple fact: no one ever asked me what I wanted. I’ve been raised here like a piece of cattle to serve my purpose, quietly and compliantly. And his blithe expectation of that compliance makes every nerve in my body scream in rage.

When I don’t say anything, the High Priest’s brow furrows ever so slightly as he tries again. “Do you like the fish? I had it prepared for you.”

I know I must answer now, so I say through gritted teeth, “How kind of you.”

He smiles broadly and takes another bite, completely oblivious to my temperament. Fish. What a lovely gift in exchange for my eternal servitude. I take a couple more bites and then set my fork down on the plate, which he also doesn’t seem to notice.

The question pours from my mouth before I can stop it, willful like a wild horse. “Were you surprised it was me?”

The High Priest straightens, shock on his face at my forthrightness. He blinks several times, and something shifts in his gaze. “Of course, I do not claim to predict the will of the goddess.” His tone is a mild chastisement; clearly, I should know such things.

“Of course not,” I agree, my tone holding the faintest lilt of mockery, but I blink wide eyes at him and once again, my mood does not seem to register.

“The goddess does not make errors,” he adds. “So, you are no doubt the perfect choice to complete our union and bring abundance to Eldare.”

We eat for several long moments in silence. He’s waiting for me to say something else, to agree with his last statement, or offer additional words to show how contrite I am for broaching this inappropriate topic. But I’m not going to apologize for a simple question. He’d wanted to get to know me better, and yet the moment I’d said something real, he’d tried to make me feel guilty. The deep quiet stretches on, the only sounds the clink of our silver against our plates, and his atrociously loud chewing. If he thinks he’s going to out-wait me, to win this battle of wills, he’s about to learn the meaning of disappointment.

Finally, he sets down his fork, dabs his white cloth napkin against his pale lips, and leans back slightly in his chair. His too-bright gaze bores into me.

“Well,” he says, “I hope you enjoyed this special treat. As you know, we do not indulge often.”

I offer a slight nod that could pass as a thank you or as an acknowledgement of his second point. His eyes flicker as if trying to determine which. He rises slowly from his chair.

“I will see you in a short while at the ceremony, Sarielle.” He smiles, a weak twitch of the mouth. “There is nothing to fear…our union will be witnessed by the coriata and the goddess herself. Tonight, I will show you how to create true magic for the first time.” He pauses here, and his jaw flexes slightly. “We never know when the goddess might strip us of that magic. Be grateful for the time you have.”

The High Priest turns then, leaving me in the room alone. His ominous words linger in the air behind him, just as he’d intended.

Chapter Four

Light dusts the courtyard in silver tones when I cross from the palace to the cathedral. The moon is high in the sky, full and deep orange like a chunk of amber. The stone tiles are cold against my bare feet, and my purple cloak and white gossamer dress blow behind me as the mountains give me a farewell kiss in the form of a brisk wind.

They know I cannot return from where I travel tonight.

I think back to this time yesterday when I walked this same path. Everything was so different then, such a short span of time in the past. My life has never been my own, but it has also never been further from my control than now. It feels as if I’m watching someone else take slow steps toward the shimmering dome of the cathedral. As if I’m far, far above it all, as distant as the stars.

The coriata walk ahead and behind me. I feel Lilette’s eyes on my back from where she walks at my heels. When we reach the massive bronze doors of our place of worship, doors etched with the same astherium blossoms from the forests surrounding the Amethyst Palace, they open silently from the inside. Each of the priestesses passes by me and touches me on the forehead through the sheer gossamer veil that covers my face, two fingers lightly on the brow in blessing. Lilette is last, her brown eyes holding mine an extra moment. And then she, too, disappears within.

I step forward into the dim, candlelit interior of the cathedral. After a moment, the bronze doors shut behind me. The cool, crisp night air, scented with sky and mountains, is replaced by the overly warm hug of heavy incense smoke. A cough parts my lips as my chest spasms, a painful, panicked contraction. Through the dim light, I see two rows of coriata lining my path to the small chamber in the back. The closest one shoots me a concerned look.

My feet refuse to move forward for several long moments, but when the Vor Kyran steps into view at the far end of the row of priestesses, her gaze sharp, I force myself to move. My blood pulses through my veins, my heartbeat too loud, the pounding of drums. The long purple robe billows around me as I move beneath the translucent dome. Through the crystal, the moon watches me silently.

The High Priest is waiting for me when I finally reach the small antechamber on the far side of the main room. He stands in the center of the space, surrounded by a large circle of candles on bronze holders. My eyes drift behind him, to the small pile of furs on the floor. The incense in this smaller room is even more cloying, and mixed with the smoke from the candles, it makes my head spin.

A hum rises up from the priestesses as they begin to chant softly. The Vor Kyran steps up behind me and unbuttons my cloak, letting it fall to the floor behind me in a rustle of satin. Beneath it, I am wearing nothing but a thin white nightgown that barely covers my thighs. I fight the urge to cover myself, and I ignore the heated gaze of the High Priest across my bare skin.

Next, the Vor Kyran walks slowly to the High Priest and removes his robe as well, revealing an expanse of bare chest and loose silken pants. The room whirls again, the air choking me, the singing of the priestesses pressing in around me as if abrading my skin. The head priestess gestures for me to step forward, lifting a black cord with which to bind our wrists together in symbolic union. High Priestess of the Amethyst Palace for the rest of my days. Consort to the High Priest. Vessel of the goddess.

My feet carry me forward, though I can’t feel the floor beneath them. I step up next to the Vor Kyran, the High Priest on the other side of her. She wraps the black cord around his wrists first, and then she stretches it toward my wrists. The High Priest’s eyes are heavy on mine, bright and manic.

The cord touches my skin, and that’s when it happens.

Shadows swirl behind the High Priest and a figure emerges from the darkness at the back of the room. Dark as night from head to foot, even the blade he whirls in his hand. His silver eyes glow like the moon as he closes the distance between us with long, quick strides, murder in his gaze.

For a moment, I think I must be dreaming again, but then a scream cuts through the chamber, one of the coriata. The High Priest whirls and the head priestess yanks him backward out of the path of the dark warrior. I have only an instant to come to terms with the fact that he’s here—not a dream—before he’s upon me.

Any final doubts are quickly shattered as one gloved hand slides behind my back, and the warrior pulls me against him roughly. No, dreams are not as solid as this. Dreams do not have warm breath that falls against your cheek or a heartbeat that collides against yours. I stare up at him, the air rushing out of my body, my thoughts in absolute disarray.

And then I feel the magic.

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