Page 26 of Unlikely Omega

“Yeah right.” She sniffs at me, then glares some more as she pats her pillow and puts it back on her bed. “And I’m supposed to believe that.”

I sniff right back, open my mouth to retort that I don’t get her attitude and why would I want her damn pillow in the first place, just to be contrary to her mood and fart in the face of evidence—when a thread of a scent burrows through my senses, like almonds, like leather and black tea.

I sniff again, trying to catch it.

It’s familiar, and it’s delicious. Hot. Mouthwatering.

“…enough of this,” Ismere is saying, folding her arms over her chest. “You’re acting weird.”

“I am acting weird?” That returns my attention to her. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve piled up everyone’s pillows on your bed. You’re asleep well before bedtime, and have you even gone through the evening rituals? I heard complaints that you didn’t clean or purify today, and more than one person has noticed you lingering in front of the unnamed god’s statue.”

A chill dances down my spine. “I’ve been under the weather,” I whisper. “You were right. I’ll be all better tomorrow.”

“Let’s hope so.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Are you sure it’s nothing else?”

“What else can it be?” I ask.

“I don’t know. But the new priest taking you under his wing isn’t normal, either. You should be careful, Ari.”

“I will,” I mutter, watching her leave the room.

I mean, she’s right. I can’t deny it any longer. None of this is normal.

Who can help me make heads or tails of it?

During the night my sleep is restless. I keep smelling that familiar scent and my body twists in the bedcovers, my belly cramps, and I think I feel touches on my body, touches that set me on fire.

I wake up again and again, gasping.

What is this torture?

At least there’s no more blood, and for that I’m grateful because I feel wet down there and it’s scaring the shit out of me.

“Tell the Temple about it,” Ismere had said.

But who can I tell? Who can I ask about this? My superior is High Priest Elegos and avoiding him has been my main strategy. Below him are three priests but I barely know them. They don’t like to fraternize with acolytes. In fact, all priests and priestesses keep apart, which makes Priest Finnen’s behavior all the more odd.

There’s a priestess who always seemed nice, priestess Alda, but she serves the goddess Zerene and going to another god’s priestess is sure to draw attention.

As I dance in front of Artume in the early morning, forcing my aching limbs to keep moving, I consider the pros and cons. Weighing my fears about the way my body is behaving lately versus making myself more of a target by seeking another goddess’s priestess, which way does the balance lean?

Is it safe to even ask anyone about it? Ismere’s reaction makes me think I’ll be treated like a freak, and with the political paranoia making the rounds, I’m not sure it’s the best idea.

I’d rather wait and hope it all passes soon.

But as I turn around, I swear the unnamed god is staring right at me, symbols flashing on his chest and his face. His eyes burn.

Words unravel in my mind—the same words over and over.

Sidde Drakai.

Trembling, I take a few steps toward the statue, staring right back. “What do you want from me?” I breathe. “I can’t do whatever it is you want. I have well enough trouble on my own without having you whispering inside my head. I’m Artume’s acolyte. Not yours.”

“Sidde Drakai!”

I clap my hands over my ears, as if that could help, and take a few steps toward the statue. The light from the high windows seems to hit it just so, lighting up the face, the corded neck, the muscular chest.

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