Page 8 of Unlikely Omega

“You’ll have the paperwork on your desk by tomorrow.” Finnen inclines his head just enough to indicate a bow without giving one, insulting and yet proper.

What is he doing?

“We shall see about this,” Elegos mutters under his breath, casting me a venomous look as if I’m complicit in this strange turn of events, and yanks the stick out of priest Finnen’s hold. “I don’t know where you came from, boy, what godforsaken village Temple, but you’re in well over your head if you think this shit can fly here.”

I’m panting, fear and pain still skittering through me, making my teeth grit and my hands clench. I watch priest Elegos go, still unsure of what really happened.

And before I figure it out, priest Finnen also turns his back to me and starts walking away.

“Wait!” I shout after him, and he stops. “How did you do that?”

“I know the rules, as should you,” he says. “I’m twice-claimed so I have the privilege of requesting an assistant for the rituals of the—”

“No, I mean…” I wave a hand at him and slowly get to my feet. “You’re blind. How did you see to stop the blow?”

“There are more senses than vision.” He turns his head a little, as if he’s looking at me over his shoulder—but of course he can’t. “Now finish your ritual and come find me in the chapel of Nyx.”

Another question bubbles up, though I’m too late to ask, as his long strides take him away.

Why? Why choose me? Why protect me? Why bind me to him?

High Priest Elegos will surely hate me now. Just great. And why would I want the protection of the man who got me into trouble in the first place?

Going through the steps of the dance of dawn the next day calms my mind. This one requires no weapons, only balance and flexibility, the steps following the beating of my heart.

Stretching my arm out and bending the other over my head, I balance on one foot to form the stork, then put my foot down and bend both knees, taking the position of the hare. I am all the animals, and I am the huntress, too, ready to love them and kill them, kiss them and then eat them. I am death and life. I am Artume, I am—

“What do you think of him, huh?” a voice shout-whispers somewhere by my ear and I almost fall on my ass.

“Goddess!” I whirl about and find Ismere smirking at me. She’s an acolyte of God Atla, one of the few acolytes who talks to me and that I actually like.

Not right now, though. Right now, I’m ready to chew her head off.

“Spill,” she says.

“No idea what you’re talking about. And you shouldn’t interrupt when someone is in communion with the gods.”

“You can’t interrupt a priest of priestess,” she corrects, then takes a mock-dramatic expression, lowers her voice to a weird squeaky bass and intones, “I know the rules, as should you, young neophyte.”

“No way, Ismere. You were listening in?”

She shrugs and winks. “You haven’t answered my question. Isn’t he hot?”

“Hot? You need to get your eyes checked. The village physician should be coming up to the fort any day now, so take advantage.” I scoff. “Now go away.”

“You were staring into his eyes.”

“He’s blind, Ismere.”

“So what? And I bet you checked out his ass.”

“He’s wearing robes.”

“And you can use your imagination.”

God Atla is famous for his conquests and sex drive, unlike Artume, so I shouldn’t be shocked that Ismere is so open about such topics, but right now I’m trying not to think of priest Finnen and his ass.

Or any other part of him.

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