Page 3 of House of Gilded Nightmares

The priestesses know it, too, because I am thankfully spared somewhat from extra attention as the day passes into evening and the midnight ceremony draws closer. I find myself on a settee in the corner of one of the huge sitting rooms, propped up against several purple silk pillows. The voices of the others buzz around me, and before I realize it, my eyes have closed…

In the dream I am there, in our secret valley, the sun glinting across the water, astherium blossoms fluttering down around me like a million tiny white wings. I am there, and I am free, and there is no palace in sight, no ceremony to attend, no uncertain future. I am not Sarielle, priestess-in-training of the Amethyst Palace; Sarielle, the one who looks different from everyone else; Sarielle, who was left on the doorstep of the cathedral as an infant. In the dream, I simply am.

But then, a shadow falls across the valley. Darkness begins to eat along the edges of the light, sharp teeth and swift wings of inky shadow. In a matter of moments, everything shifts from brightness to deep twilight. A purple fog creeps across the ground, rolling toward me. The astherium blossoms pop out along the black branches of the tree like stars in the night.

I am not afraid, even though I know I should be.

Because I’ve dreamed this dream a thousand times. Every night for the past five years, since my sixteenth birthday. Even then, I had not been afraid. Something about the darkness feels…familiar. It couldn’t be further from the sun-soaked valley I’ve grown up in, yet something within me feels at home in this place of shadow.

And also, I know that I am not alone.

There is one who arrived in my dreams, along with the shadows. A warrior with dark hair and silver eyes, metallic eyes like mine. A man dressed all in black, from his boots to the dark gemstone strung on a braided leather cord at his throat. Even the blade strapped across his back is black.

He has never spoken a word, always silent in my dreams.

So, when the shadows roll in, I look around, eyes searching my valley for the warrior. A cold wind whips down from the mountain peaks overhead, raising goosebumps along my forearms. I shiver and frown. It is not usually cold in my dream.

A low growl reverberates through the valley, vibrating my heart in my chest, and I know then that something is definitely not right. I climb to my feet and spin, breath catching in my lungs. The air has turned icy, the heat from my mouth trailing white clouds. In the shadows hugging the walls of the valley, I sense movement. And I sense something watching me.

If only I had the dagger I practice with…

It appears in my palm before I finish the thought and I turn in a slow circle, scanning my surroundings—

The creature bursts from the night with a scream that shatters the sky. It is black wings and endless rows of fangs and serpent-like grace and speed. So fast…I have only enough time to raise my blade before me, to look into its red, ravenous eyes as it lunges.

And then he is there, the dark warrior. His black blade flashes, and the monster falls in two pieces of smoldering flesh next to the rippling water of the lake. Black blood mixes with the water, so much blood. I stare at it, and I can’t breathe.

I’ve dreamed this dream a thousand times. And a thousand times, it has been the same. Until now.

He turns to me then, my warrior, and his molten pewter eyes catch mine. He raises a hand, stretches it out for me as if in warning.

“Sarielle,” he says…

“Sarielle!” Lilette calls impatiently, shaking me by the shoulder.

I scramble backward away from her, and she recoils, just as scared by my reaction as I am by her sudden interruption of my dream.

“Are you okay?” she asks, blinking rapidly and staring me up and down.

“I-I’m fine.” I shake my head, trying to get my bearings and remind myself that this room, here in the Amethyst Palace, is the real world. My dream is just that…a dream. “I fell asleep.”

“Clearly,” Sarielle says with a small smile. Then she points across the room. “We’re lining up. It’s almost time for the ceremony.”

I nod slowly and climb to my feet. “Of course.”

She shoots me another odd look as she leads the way to where the others are waiting.

The ceremony to become coriata, priestess, is finally here. As well as the night of the Choosing. We will all become priestesses tonight, but only one of us will be the next High Priestess, consort to the High Priest.

None of that matters though, and none of it stays in my head for more than a moment. Because what I can’t stop seeing are those silver eyes. And what I can’t stop hearing is that voice in my head.

“Sarielle…”

The warrior has never spoken to me before. Not once, in all these years. I keep turning it over and over in my head, listening to it as if I can memorize the sound of his voice. Deep and dark, like the shadows he comes from. Hard as the steel he carries, with a hint of smoke, and of velvet, and of flame.

I don’t know how to describe the way his voice makes me feel.

All I know is that as we begin the walk to the cathedral, and what is decidedly the most important night of my life, a night of lifelong commitment and dedication to my order, I am not thinking about my High Priest.

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