Page 7 of Unlikely Omega

“What’s this? Oh, an acolyte.” The priestess sounds bored. “With a broom. Here to clean, I assume.”

“Yes, priestess,” I mumble.

“She was eavesdropping!” Kaidan growls.

“Really, councilor? Your paranoia is reaching new levels. She’s just a neophyte, probably sent here on penance to sweep my rooms. It’s not as if we were talking about anything forbidden. Go now, I have to prepare for the night rituals.”

“But Arleth—”

“Go.” She rises from her perch on her throne-like chair and glares. “Don’t waste any more of my time with this nonsense. There isn’t and won’t ever be any Fae omega to awaken any Fae alphas. That race was doomed and it will not rise again.”

A shiver dances down my spine at her words. Ominous, and yet aren’t they the truth? Why does it feel like a warning or a malediction? And what does it have to do with me, anyway?

“Clean up and close the door behind you,” she says, not even glancing at me as she smooths down her black dress and heads to the door, followed by a splotchy-faced councilor Kaidan. “Don’t touch anything, do you understand?”

“Yes, priestess,” I whisper, watching them go, leaning on the broom. “I understand.”

If only everything else was so simple.

3

ARIADNE

“You started your ritual late last night,” Artume’s High Priest, Elegos Turim, scolds me the next morning at dawn when I scramble to my knees in front of Artume’s statue to pray before starting my dance. “And now you’re late, too. Care to tell me why, acolyte?”

I bow my head. “I beg for forgiveness. I was cleaning High Priestess Arleth’s apartments—”

His stick comes on my back, a flash of pain, startling a small cry from my throat. “You don’t speak a High Priestess’s name in public, neophyte. What is wrong with you?”

I catch a hissing breath. “I’m sorry. A blind priest was here last night, told me to—”

Another crack of the stick and I find myself prone on the floor, stunned, my ears buzzing. The base of my neck burns.

“Shut your mouth and get moving,” priest Elegos says, his voice deceptively calm. “And wash yourself. You stink.”

“Yes, High Priest,” I breathe, slowly sitting up. “Apologies—”

“Shut up, I said.” He lifts the stick again, and I raise my arm hoping to stop the blow, thinking that it’s strange—because he hasn’t beaten me in a while, and where is all this anger coming from?—when someone grabs the stick and stops it from falling.

“High priest,” a smooth male voice says, and I gape at the blind priest from yesterday. Priest Finnen. His long pale fingers are wrapped around the ceremonial stick, holding it right above me. “That is surely enough.”

Elegos gapes at him. “What did you just say?”

“It’s enough beating to discipline her. I am taking her under my protection.”

“You what?” Elegos lets out a huff of a laugh. “Listen, young man, you’re new here. A first-rank priest. What makes you think you have such a right?”

“I have been chosen by two gods,” the blind priest says quietly. “Blessed Briareus and Exalted Nyx. So I have the right to choose an assistant.”

This time Elegos’ laugh is incredulous. “You can’t be serious. You’re new to the ranks, surely you can’t—”

“It’s the rules,” priest Finnen says in that same tone as before. “The rules of the Temple.”

I’m gaping at him. An assistant? But…

“And as my assistant,” Finnen continues without missing a beat, “she is under my power and protection. Only I can discipline her, should the need arise. You can’t raise a hand or stick on her without my permission.”

“You…” Elegos’ hand shakes. He’s gripping his stick so hard his knuckles are white. Red splotches his cheeks. “You have to file the paperwork for such a thing. You can’t just walk in here and make such demands of my acolytes! We’re Artume’s, and only Artume decides unless—”

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