Page 178 of The Stolen Throne
“I thought that was my mouth.”
He laughs. “That, too.”
Reven lets me go only to reach for the mask that I set on the wall earlier, ready to leave the palace when the horns blow.
When I take it, he stays my hand, then plucks Cain’s cuff off my wrist. He’s never acknowledged it. Not once. “He’s important to you, and I’ll never ask you to not wear this,” Reven says in a low rumble. Then meets my eyes. “But not tonight. Not while I make you mine.”
I lick my lips and give a slow nod. I get it.
“I’ll keep it safe for you.” In a heartbeat, he slips it into the pocket of shadow that is his hiding place. “Stay here.”
He disappears through the building door. After a wait that feels like forever, he returns, changed and masked. He takes my hand and presses a kiss to my palm, which I feel all the way to my toes, and clasps our hands together.
Darkness rises. Darkness falls.
Instantly, we’re standing in that alley near the temple where Cain took us to change clothes our first night here.
Without warning, the familiar blast of horns sounds, making me jump.
It’s not as loud here, farther away from the palace. Our friends will worry where we are as they get out of the palace, but without saying a word, I know we’re both in agreement. We’ll tell them after.
Reven leads me out of the alley, his urgency sort of adorable as he hustles me through the crowds, up the steps, and into the temple. I pull him to a stop the second my eyes adjust to the lighting. I expected to see lines of people waiting for blessings or to experience the night of healing in the Goddess Mariana’s temple, but except for a few people in the pews praying, the place is empty.
Strange.
“I don’t like this,” Reven murmurs next to me. “It’s too quiet.”
A priestess with no mask and dressed in green silks, the hems of which are decorated with copper thread that shimmers in the light, approaches us. “The temple is open for all who need…”
She trails off, probably thanks to Reven’s frown, intimidating even behind his mask. “Why are there not more people in here?” he asks.
Her expression flickers in confusion, because clearly guests are not allowed into the dominion during the Rites, and anyone who lives here should know the reasons. But she answers anyway. “The Rites of Xathena and the power that drives the celebrations all come from our ruler, not from this temple. The Goddess Tropikis gifted his long dynasty with this ability to heal. We have had many kings and queens…all with the exact same ability.”
Wow. That is rare. Usually Imperium powers change slightly with each new generation.
She pauses, then… “As you know.”
“This is our first time in the city,” I slip in, because his face says he’s not interested in appeasing her.
“I see.” She glances between us.
“We would like you to perform the soul-binding ritual for us,” Reven says without preamble, as if this isn’t a huge deal. But his hand tightens around mine like he’s getting ready to fight this woman if she doesn’t say yes.
The priestess’s hand flutters up to cover her mouth. “That is a grave undertaking,” she says. “Are you certain?”
She’s looking at him, but I’m pretty sure she is asking me.
“We’re sure.” I twine my fingers with his. “I’m sure.”
After a beat of studying us, she dips her head in a regal nod. “You are in luck that our order isn’t otherwise engaged. Follow me.”
She leads us through the main sanctuary and into a side room opposite the one where the glass portal stands. I’ve never been inside a room of rituals. I’ve never had any reason to.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but something more opulent than a simple wooden table in the center. There are no adornments, runes, paintings, carvings, or any other decoration on the walls. If it didn’t smell slightly of sandalwood, probably from incense, I wouldn’t even know it was a ritual room.
The only embellishment is an inlaid design on the stone floor depicting the same type of strange bird that greeted me when I arrived in Tropikis. Tiny and green, with a deep red at its throat, and a long, slender beak that reminds me of a sewing needle. It hovers over a brilliant red flower that is elegant and regal, an explosion of petals sitting atop a long stalk with spindly leaves of green sprouting from the base.
“Um…this is nice,” I say, glancing around. Disappointing is what it is.
