𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐫

Chapter 8

𝐏𝐚𝐱𝐭𝐨𝐧

I hadn't slept the previous night, spending it on research and consulting Herschel on what I'd overheard yesterday about Calliope's ceremony. I had heard of Zhyne's mourning rituals, among others, but I didn't know much. It was hard to find information, even in the castle library, as the Zhyne passed most of their stories down orally, but I did find the basic things I had hoped for. Though it was not an event open for anyone to come to, the temples were never closed off. Anyone could come in to pray. I also learned the true meaning behind Calliope's grimly adorned ears, and felt a twinge of guilt for assuming something malicious of them. Then Herschel, who knew just about everything about everything, told me which temple it would be in, and how to feign prayer the way it is done in Zhyne so I did not appear as an uninvited guest.

Like everything else in the city, the temple was deceptively plain. Although it was three stories tall and surrounded by a wilting garden fit for a king, the building itself didn't look like much: a collection of wooden planks that looked like they could start rotting at any moment. But as I got closer, I saw the climbing plants that held the wood fast and the countless shades of stone for the roof. Each tier of the building was stacked like a wedding cake, curled edges of the roof peeking out from underneath golden railings of balconies. Trees towered above me, staring down like giants as I seperated from the flow of pedestrians to walk towards the temple doors.

Inside, the sweet smell of lavender and burning sage drifted up my nose. The first-floor room was bright and mostly bare, one wall dedicated entirely to a window. Two others were panelled with painted sandstone tiles depicting the Ästlerel, stories like Creation and Judgement. Urns to collect offerings were placed by the glass, decorated with images of the gods: Ghea, goddess of Earth; Nei, goddess of war and strategy; Bhalen, god of art and music; Korus, god of chaos. There were many I recognized, and many I didn't—whether this was my poor knowledge of minor gods or that Zhyne had dieties of its own, I didn't know. I stepped carefully around the cushions strewn across the floor, making my way to the stairs.

Voices floated down the steps, along with a darkness that perfused the second level. Rather than by sunlight, it was lit by the intimate flickering of candles that cast warm swaths of light across the indigo-carpeted floor. Numinous gold relics glinted on the walls. People sat cross-legged on the floor, murmuring and exchanging good wishes. I settled by a wall farther from the attendandants, where I had a clear view of Calliope, who was conversing in a low voice with her sister and another girl whose back was to me. I let my gaze linger for a moment on the twisting braids that framed her face before it landed on the ladder behind her. Presumably, the ladder led up to the third level of the temple, but no one was permitted up it other than the priests, who lived there. It would be the smallest room, but doubtlessly the most fascinating. I was curious about it, but there was nothing to gain by breaking such a small rule, so instead I waited restlessly for the priests to appear.

When they finally did, a hush swept the room. I hurriedly crossed my hands over my heart, trying to look reverent, my eyelids low enough to appear closed in the dimness. A bearded priest raised a hand for attention; it was completely unnecessary. Everyone's attention was silently hooked onto the priests already, as if they were the gods themselves.

"Brothers," he boomed. "Sisters. Children of the gods. Today we mark the passing of our own, though it should have been done months ago. Three souls will be remembered, and two of them will bless their fair daughter with protection—if she should keep her talisman." Calliope emerged from behind her sister, traditional black and silver mourning garments draped over her shoulders. Her time in prison had left her figure hollow, and in this light she looked almost ghostly.