He trusts her as much as I trust him—not at all.
Inside smells of incense, lavender, and cedar. I inhale, the scent oddly soothing. Perhaps because it reminds me of Wendeline, and she was my sole comfort for many weeks after I first arrived.
Rows upon rows of gleaming pews sit empty, not a person in sight.
Gesine leads us down the aisle toward the altar.
“Do all sanctums have those?” I examine the four looming statues. They’re like the ones in Cirilea, but they seem larger. That could be on account of the smaller building.
“The pillars? Yes. Of course, they do not have to be that grand, but in the days when summoning was permitted, many believed the larger and more elaborate the pillars, the more likely one would gain the fates’ attention. They serve as a gate for a fate to visit the caster calling on them and must all be present and positioned in that way, encircling the altar. Within the boundaries of those pillars is the only way a fate can assume a corporeal form within our world.”
“So, if an elemental caster summoned the fates, one of them could stand within those statues, right up there?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
Sofie had pillars in that dungeon-like vault under her castle. And an altar.
That must be where she summoned Malachi.
But it’s not the only place I’ve seen these. “The nymphaeum has pillars around the stone altar too.”
“I’m not surprised. The nymphs’ affinity is an ancient and especially potent connection to the elements, but it is still rooted in the fates.”
We’re nearly at the dais when a woman in gold-trimmed, white garb matching that of the Cirilean priestesses appears. “I sense great wariness in you today, visitors.” The woman dips her head in greeting. “I am Sheyda. How may the sisters of Bellcross and I be of service to …” Her words trail, her eyes growing wide as Gesine unfastens her cloak to reveal her gold collar.
“I am looking for a friend who was brought here for safekeeping until I could reach her.”
Sheyda’s mouth gapes. “Yes, indeed. She arrived several days ago. We have done our best to make her comfortable during her transition.”
Gesine heaves a sigh of relief. “Thank the fates.”
Silence hangs, the false priestess staring at Gesine in utter shock. What must it be like, to devote your entire life to playing a character only to find yourself standing in front of the real person? Does she feel foolish?
“Can we see her?” Gesine presses.
“Oh!” Sheyda throws her hands in the air as if startled out of her stupor. “Yes, of course!”
We trail her as she rambles nonstop—about the night Ianca arrived in a wagon, driven by Ocher, the sanctum’s groundskeeper; about Ianca’s long days of sleeping and nights of prattling to no one, about her lackluster appetite and her declining health—along a long hallway. The air of calm she exuded during her greeting is gone, replaced by an almost frantic quality.
We turn down a set of winding stairs illuminated with lanterns. The deeper we go, the more concerned I get. “Is this where you have your dungeons?” Is that where they’re keeping her?
“Oh, no!” Sheyda laughs nervously. “We don’t have dungeons in the sanctum. Many of our priestesses live in modest rooms down here. Sometimes guests from out of town too. We had your friend upstairs in one of the spires, a lovely room with a view out to the garden, but that became problematic. The change is progressing swiftly in her. One morning she woke up and wouldn’t stop shouting out the window. With that gold collar … well, Ocher said you were very specific about her remaining hidden.”
“That is correct.” Gesine’s voice is tinged with worry.
“It seemed a safer place for her down here, and I think it’s helped. She seems more … at ease.”
What is she like when she isn’t at ease? My father stood on park benches and wooden crates, shouting about demons when he was especially agitated.
We finally reach the bottom. One long, low-ceilinged, windowless hall stretches in front of us. Solid wood arched doors line either side. While Sheyda’s explanation of these rooms seemed sound, in my mind, this screams prison.
“She is in the last one on the left.” Sheyda fishes for a ring with countless dangling keys from within her cloak. “We don’t normally use these, but it seemed imperative for her safety.” She unlocks the door and raises her fist to knock.
“A moment. Please.” Gesine holds a hand in the air, and then turns to us, pausing as if to gather her thoughts. Or maybe her composure. Her complexion has paled a few shades. “Receiving so many strangers when Ianca is this fragile may be a poor choice.”
“The room is quite small,” Sheyda confirms. “Even two or three will find it cramped.”
“And I do not know what Ianca might say.” Gesine gives Elisaf a knowing look.