Page 13 of Unlikely Omega

“I see you’re as rude and imprudent as your friend,” I return. “State your purpose and go. Like I said, I have duties to attend to. I’m very busy.”

“Of course.” A pause, longer than it needs to be. “Prelate Nethun wishes to speak with you.”

My pause is also way too long. My throat has closed up. Annoyed, I clear it. “Where?”

“His office.”

I don’t ask if it’s urgent. A summons from the Prelate, provincial Temple or not, is not something you can ignore. “Thank you, acolyte.” Dismissing her, I turn my steps toward the convent. Better not to keep him waiting.

Even if I still can’t breathe fully. Even if the fear that has dogged my steps for years is finally catching up with me. What does he want with me? What has he found out?

Face it, I tell myself. You can’t run forever.

Face it all.

It’s not like you have a fucking choice.

Slipping on my sandals, I hurry into the convent. Unlike the sculpted marble of the Temple, this added-on section of the fort is crude and dark, built of bricks and iron, wooden beams supporting the thatch roof where swallows nest. My sandals crunch over the shells of broken eggs, fallen from the nests.

Smashed lives and undreamed dreams.

Firming my jaw, I enter the High priest and priestesses’ wing, crossing the sitting hall, decorated with borrowed statues and pieces of friezes, the floor composed of broken pieces of marble, surely from ruins littering the countryside.

Marks of the Fae everywhere.

I feel their shapes under the thin soles of my sandals, hear how they echo my steps. And I tend to explore spaces when I arrive at a new place. I have walked every room and passage, letting my hands follow the walls and touch everything standing in my way.

Sometimes I can sense things, too, especially when panic sets in. I see outlines, energy pulsing in shapes my mind can make sense of. It wasn’t always like this. This is new.

I wonder what it portends.

And I wonder, doesn’t the priesthood feel sick, surrounded by all the Fae pieces, reminded every day and night of the race who almost exterminated us? They burned and slaughtered, raped our women and killed young and old, and yet here we sit among pieces of the opulence they left behind, pretending it’s normal.

I feel sick, sensing all these objects. Even the statues in the Divine Circle make me want to throw up at times.

Even the statues of my two chosen gods.

Because they were monsters, and there’s something of them in me.

How fucked up can a priest be? Certainly not any worse than me. Which is why this meeting with the prelate has all my hackles up.

I’m so distracted, I walk past the door and only realize a ways down the corridor. Returning, I struggle with my focus to find it, trailing a hand on the wall, then almost miss it again.

Dammit!

Breathing out through my nose, slapping at the wall and letting the sting in my palm ground me, I try again.

Focus, Finn.

My hand knocks against the knob and I turn it with a brief-lived sense of relief. It’s that girl. She’s kicked my hard-won focus and calm upside down. I mean, I offered to take her under my wing.

Me.

The outcast.

You’re out of your mind, Finn, I tell myself sternly as I open the door and enter the prelate’s apartments. Get a grip.

The prelate is sitting at his desk, massive shoulders straining the embroidery of his gold and white robes. The metals glow in my senses, the gems stitched to the cloth burning like stars, so much so that I have to turn my face away. I’m blind, but I’m blinded by their light.

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