The Entalia Bloodline

Chapter 3 - Kenna

I'm late for the Reading, no surprise.

The main forum is still a ghost of itself; its inhabitants mainly still deep in their siesta. Empty stalls line the cobbled street like wooden skeletons, and the few people still around working are slaves. Sweat drips over the circular brands across their foreheads as they haul heavy bags of grain off a cart, continuing labour despite the fact that there is nobody to guard them and ensure they do. I wonder if Aaku would be one of those slaves, if he wasn't an Activist.

Kenna is standing just outside the archway into the small antechamber of the Main Temple used for Readings. She shifts from foot to foot with wild eyes, attacking her fingernails with her teeth.

"Cecily!" she hisses when she finally notices me strolling towards her. "You're late already! Oh – and you've come without a handmaid...and no corset...and where's your makeup?"

I reach her side and pull her fingers firmly from her mouth, then squeeze them tightly. "Breathe, Kenna."

She glares angrily, squishing up her dark almond-shaped eyes and crossing her arms. She tries, but it's difficult to be scary when you're Kenna's size. "You're lucky I prepared for this."

She snaps her fingers at the quiet handmaiden beside her who shuffles forward with a small bag of cosmetics. Kenna grabs my chin with a surprisingly strong hand and starts spatting white paint all over my face. "Kenna," I growl. "Get off me."

She ignores my protests and continues to smear the stuff everywhere, before adding extra charcoal and some gold powder to my eyes, and painting scarlet across my lips. She finishes the job by neatening up my hair and shift, sighing through her nose as she steps back to admire her handiwork.

"It's messy, but it will have to do. I can't do anything about the corset, I'm afraid."

"What was wrong with just charcoal?!" I exclaim, struggling not to itch my nose. "I looked fine. Now I look like a bloody doll."

"Now you look like you're supposed to look," Kenna corrects.

"You're making too big a thing of this. Impressing The Mother and getting married isn't all there is to life, you know."

"What else is there?" Kenna snaps, and then takes a breath. "Some of us need this, Cecily."

I nod, giving her a small smile. "Wish me luck, then."

"Good luck. I'll be here when you're finished."

I give her a tight hug then hurry through the curtained archway into the gloom behind it, broken only by a few pinpricks of candlelight. Maybe it was a holy thing, or just meant to intimidate the subjects into being meek and polite. I set my jaw and remind myself not to let it work.

Behind the darkness, the whole chamber is modestly glorious with little but ornate decoration. An intricate mosaic depicting a bloody battle of some sort embellishes the wall to my right. To my left there is a struggling desk that creaks a little as I watch, and as my eyes accustom to the lack of light I notice a severe-looking woman sitting behind it. I approach slowly; my feet bare against the cool of the sheltered stone floors, and draw a long draught of air before sinking to my knees in a gesture of respect, teeth gritted. The Mother rises and takes an extensive look at me, winding tight circles around where I kneel until my knees begin to hurt from the unforgiving floor. The Mother is a stout woman, tall and burly in an overbearing kind of way. She has a wide, flat nose and pale golden skin with large black eyes that seem to repel warmth. Finally, she gestures for me to stand.

"You're late," she says coldly. Her voice is brash and grating, and makes me supress a wince. She leans in to peer at my face and I suddenly become aware that maybe the room is dark partially to keep the woman cool - she's dripping with sweat. I swallow the urge to back far, far away.