Chapter 2
I fled that day and burned the illustration in silence, my breath trembling all the while.
In all my years at the temple, no one had ever spoken a word of it. Not a whisper had suggested that Princess Yseldra possessed the part of a man. It must be a most guarded secret. And yet… she had touched herself so brazenly. Was it a secret, then, if she wielded it so boldly?
A dreadful thought took hold of me. Had I seen too much? Was I now a danger to her? Would I be silenced? Hanged? And yet, far worse than fear… was the warmth that memory stirred within me.
Her manhood. That monstrous, glistening length. The way it twitched, so swollen with desire… it haunted me. Each time it returned to me I felt a pulse between my thighs. A soft ache. A dampness I dared not speak of.
She had corrupted me. Of that I was certain. But then… was the corruption truly hers? Or had something shameful and wanton always slept within me, waiting for someone like her to awaken it?
Distressing news arrived this morning, borne upon the swift steed of one of my father's loyal soldiers. He delivered unto me a letter from my dear parents, who declared their arrival at the end of the week. My heart fluttered in the most unladylike fashion, for they had written previously to inform me that they would be delayed a full month on account of certain grave matters. Their soon appearance felt most untimely, for I have not yet been forgiven by Ombrithar.
I paced back and forth within the confines of my chamber, my hands twisting together most frantically.
Sister Alethea, who had been hurriedly attempting to tuck her blue hair beneath her coif, paused to glance at me with an expression of mild exasperation. "You must desist, Sister Naevia, for your anxious energy is most contagious."
"I beg your forgiveness, Sister Alethea," I said earnestly. "I find myself quite unable to calm my spirit no matter how fervently I attempt it. Allow me to assist you." My hands reached for her coif, though they trembled so violently that I most regrettably prodded her left eye with an unfortunate force.
"Uah!" Sister Alethea cried out, recoiling with a suddenness that made her collide with her dresser. Another small yelp of pain escaped her, and my heart sank with overwhelming guilt.
I took a step forward, eager to offer aid, but Sister Alethea placed her hand protectively over her left eye and her other hand at the small of her back. She lurched toward the door. "Stay precisely where you are, dear Sister. You are most perilous in your present state. Today, I shall pray that Ombrithar grant you a measure of tranquility."
The very mention of prayer stirred within me an earnest resolve. Yes, I must pray. I must pray swiftly, for my dear parents would soon be here, and my conscience weighed heavily upon me.
With a heart that beat with painful urgency, I dressed and was done by the time Sister Alethea secured her veil. Without another word, I grasped her hand with unsteady fingers and half-dragged her along the corridor toward the nave.
Once we entered that space, I was so overcome with nervousness that I yanked Sister Alethea down beside me with an inelegant haste, right before the altar. There, on our knees, I pressed my hands together and lifted my gaze to our beloved Mother's serene visage.
"Oh merciful Mother, I beseech thee to hear my humble plea," I exclaimed with as much passion as my breath could muster, my voice resounding most resplendently throughout the grand nave.
Sister Alethea pressed her hands against her ears, her countenance reflecting mild horror. "Heavens above," she whispered, "do moderate your volume. There are others here within earshot."
Yet in that singular moment, the presence of others was but a fleeting concern to me. My sole devotion was to ensure Ombrithar's ear would not miss my supplication. "Please, most benevolent Mother, remove this sinful soul of mine and bestow upon me one of purity, I entreat thee!"
"Cease your wailing!" came a sharp command from behind, though I scarcely registered it.
"I have lived a life of piety, devoted to your light, dear Mother," I persisted. "I implore you to grant me mercy. Let me behold a sign, I pray you, to know that you have absolved me of my transgressions!"
In that instant, a sharp crack rent the air and my heart nearly ceased its beating. Before my astonished eyes, I beheld Ombrithar's right middle finger break at the joint just after the knuckle, the blessed fragment descending with a mighty crash behind the altar.
The suddenness of it startled both Sister Alethea and me into a brief, unseemly tumble, leaving us sprawled upon our bottoms. A chorus of gasps erupted behind us.
I was the first to recover my senses, my spirit alight with a most grateful wonder. I rose swiftly and approached the fallen relic with trembling reverence. I reached out and gathered Ombrithar's broken finger in my hands, marveling at its divine size. It was near nine inches in length and three inches in breadth, the rough edge still powdered with dust from the break. My eyes filled with tears, blurred by the profound relief that flooded me.
Holding the holy fragment to my heart, I whispered softly, "Thank you, merciful Mother. Thank you for your blessing."
Sister Alethea hurried to my side, her face a portrait of equal parts disbelief and alarm. "Sister Naevia!" she gasped.
"She has forgiven me," I wept joyfully, my voice choked with devout relief.
Sister Alethea's black eyes flickered from the dismembered finger to Ombrithar's maimed hand. "That is her middle finger! Naevia, that is no sign of forgiveness. If anything, she has issued you a most unholy curse. For pity's sake, put it down!"
I shook my head, cradling the precious relic closer to my heart. "Our beloved Mother does not curse, Sister Alethea," I said softly. "She has forgiven me and blessed me with a part of her sacred form."
Around us, a crowd had begun to gather, their voices a swirl of alarmed whispers and astonished gasps. The murmur only deepened my unease, for I feared they might wrest this blessed sign from my grasp.
With my heart thudding in my breast, I turned and fled. Sister Alethea hastened to follow in my wake. Once we reached the safety of our chamber and closed the door behind us, I found at last a measure of calm.
"You cannot truly be contemplating keeping that relic," Sister Alethea sighed. "We must present it to Father Sorin, that he might arrange for its proper restoration."
Before I could fashion a reply, the door swung open with a startling abruptness, drawing a startled yelp from us both. Sister Juliara appeared. "Father Sorin has decreed that you may keep it," she announced then slam the door shut.
"How could news reach Father Sorin with such astonishing swiftness?" Sister Alethea wondered aloud, sinking upon her bed in a mixture of bewilderment.
I, however, had no mind for such matters. In my hands, I held the tangible evidence of Ombrithar's love, and I felt my very soul bask in its radiant grace.
I fetched a clean towel from my dresser and delicately brushed the lingering dust from Ombrithar's finger, each stroke of the cloth a silent prayer of gratitude. I then lay it carefully upon my nightstand, where it would watch over me in slumber.
For three nights, I slept without tremble nor start, enfolded in the soft quiet of peace. In my dreams, I beheld Ombrithar again and again. At long last, life had found its way back into place.
In this earlier morning, Father Sorin entrusted me with a small task that filled me with a sweet delight. He asked that I procure several toys from the charmingly named "Toys for Laugh" shop, as we were to visit the orphanage later in the day. I accepted the little coin pouch he offered, tying it securely at my waist. My spirits were buoyant as I set out on foot toward town, for it was only a half-hour's walk, and I fancied the exercise.
Yet even in my simple delight, there was always a shadow that pressed upon my heart whenever I ventured beyond the temple walls. Each time I beheld the noble families promenading through the streets with their slaves trailing behind them, a cold ache of sorrow gripped me.
These unfortunate souls were bound by contracts sealed with magic stones. The Zar stone, infamous for the permanence of its power, created an unbreakable bond that no mere tearing of parchment could undo. A Zar-bound contract could be split among multiple masters, reducing the enslaved to the status of a mere commodity to be bartered and shared. Should the contract ever be burned, the slave's very life would be extinguished with the ashes.
There did exist a gentler alternative: the Vessit stone. Such contracts bound by Vessit could be torn, thus liberating the enslaved from their bondage. Alas, this mercy was rarely chosen when the iron grip of Zar offered greater control.
Among the nobility, these slaves were as commonplace, their servitude marked by a black seal upon the front of their necks. Each noble was assigned a personal slave in childhood, a practice so accepted that it was considered a rite of passage. Many would later purchase more.
How truly blessed I am that my family never stooped to such cruel practices. My heart whispered a prayer of gratitude for their gentle souls, for they had never treated another's life as a thing to be owned.
At last, I arrived at the little shop, and I pushed thoughts to the task at hand. My heart swelled with tender excitement as I imagined the joy that would illuminate the children's faces when they received these humble gifts. I entered the shop briskly and immediately turned to the left, weaving past a few patrons. I knew precisely where to find the finest toys, for I had come to this place many times before.
Yet as I reached the end of the familiar aisle, my feet faltered and I came to a sudden stop. There, stood Princess Yseldra, whom I had all but forgotten existed in the waking world.
She was dressed in a gown of scandalous design that left little to the imagination. In each of her graceful hands, she held a small toy horse, her golden eyes assessing them.
By her side, there stood a woman of such striking beauty that it pained me to behold her. Her hair fell in a silken cascade of pastel pink, and her eyes shone with a most vivid teal. She was attired with an elegance that belied the cruel mark upon her pale throat, that seal that denoted her servitude. She was also in heels, standing as tall as Princess Yseldra and appeared to be near her own age.
Princess Yseldra's gaze caught mine before I could so much as think of retreat. She turned her golden eyes upon the woman beside her. "Leave us."
The woman inclined her head in a silent gesture of obedience and departed without a word.
I made a move to flee.
"I apologize," came Princess Yseldra's voice. "I believed the nave to be empty. I had come with the vague intent to pray…" she said with a chuckle, "but then my cock ached so vilely I feared it might burst. The poor beast was weeping through the slit begging to be milked, so I took it in hand and gave the needy thing its due."
I nearly fainted on the spot.