Reading and studying is not my punishment. Well, it's part of my punishment. No, that's not it, really, because what else am I supposed to do in the temple complex all day long when I can't leave? This is clearly my punishment. I have been imprisoned in the temple complex for three months.

Every time I have tried to leave, my feet are stuck as if captured by quicksand. I tried to sneak out just this morning, a faint headache brewing from reading so much yesterday... and most likely from crying so often. Everything weighs on me lately. My father is upset with me, but worse, he's not just an offended god, he's a despairing father who wonders what he can do to talk to his daughter. I know this, because he, himself, gave me the ability to peer into someone's grief. Even if that someone is Death himself.

I am less than sympathetic. He's the one plotting out my life for me. He doesn't listen to me when I beg and beg him to tell me about this war. I can sense him turning his back, frustrated with me whenever I bring it up. He treats me as if I'm just a tiny child.

My feet won't obey my commands when I try to leave. I can't move past the threshold of the kitchen.

"This is not fair!" I huff out under my breath.

My father humphs.

"You are so unfair!" I snap at him.

At first I think the sting in my bum is my father, until I hear Banio's voice.

"Mara, what in the name of Nateos himself are you doing skulking around in my kitchen?"

I spin around, cupping my hands over my bum, to see the portly Postitie brandishing his weapon of choice; a large wooden spoon. He has several sticking out of his apron pocket.

"Postite," I start to whine.

"No," he interrupts me, waving the spoon, "I don't want to hear it. You made your bed, now you sleep in it young lady. Don't anger your father. What can I say? Except... out of my kitchen!"

My shoulders fall, "fine," I grouse.

"Come back in an hour, I'm making cakes!"

I slump back into the library. I refuse to give my father the satisfaction of knowing that he's ruined my morning plans. I'll just pretend that I meant to read some more.

---

The sounds of grief greet my ears. It's a quiet noise, a low, hushed murmur. It's familiar. The Recondites, the warriors of the gods, are mourning their Captain. It seems like a small amount of grief, but I've learned that they are simply good at hiding their anguish. When I happen to see the patrolling warriors, I can sense that their turmoil goes deeper than the surface shows.

They are afraid, which doesn't help their grief. Afraid because they have no leader and for some reason the gods have not chosen a new Captain.

Yet another question my father refuses to answer for me.

I want to help them, but Recondites tuck their grief down deep...and my father is determined to keep the Recondite warriors as far away from me as possible. I think the flirting in the desert months ago still has him twisted up.

It's not like I'm a child. Other females my age have bonds and children of their own.

I heave a sigh that is so deep and heartfelt it burns my lungs a little.

I skim over the words on the page I am reading. The Basru, a seven-headed snake, is interesting... if you like that sort of thing. Quite frankly, the flowery language confuses me. The tale I am reading says that the Basru is a demon of justice, then it also states that the Basru drinks the blood of its hapless victims. It has seven heads, seven pairs of eyes, seven mouths, and six pairs of claws and six sets of wings. If that's not confusing, than what is?

I let the scroll furl back together with a snap. Harku chides me gently from where he is carefully straightening a stack of scrolls Alnue plunked down on the table an hour ago.

"I need to leave, Harku," I tell my gargoyle.

He coos at me, clucking in sympathy. His large bat-eyes blink at me. His small, stone hand pats mine, just before Alnue plunks another scroll down.

"Another?" I sigh despondently.

"Yeesssh," Alnue answers.

I open the scroll. "The Waters of the Euphrates?" I whimper. "Can I read about that Basu thing again?"

"Basssrrooh," Alnue scolds me.

I refrain from correcting his pronunciation. He taps the scroll imperiously with the tip of his tail.

"Fine," I sigh.

I start to read. It's more interesting than I thought it would be. It tells of the legend of the river, the birthplace of the city of the gods that exists nearby, though no one I know of has ever been there. Maybe one day I'll get to go... when my father stops being so unreasonable.

"Is there something about the Recondites selecting a new captain?" I ask Alnue.

His ears perk up excitedly. Chattering, he scampers across the shelves until he reaches the section of heavy stone tablets. Carefully, almost reverently, he removes one and carries it to me with Harku's help.

I start to touch the first line with my fingertips. Harku slaps them with his tail.

"Fine," I huff out.

I lean forward, ready to be bored again. But, all of my boredom vanishes as I gasp, taking in the intricate carvings on the stone. Demons, deadly ones, fangs and claws posturing a violence so real I actually draw back from the table a little.

When my eyes finally stop roving over the drawings, I turn my attention to the words. They are in the old language, difficult to decipher, so I read them aloud, whispering the tome to myself.

"The Recondite." Good title. Straight to the point. "One of great birth, cast down to... its mother, a pit viper? Um... into the depths of the Underworld." Hmm, a male with a snake for a mother? How interesting.

"He grows in the depths of the Underworld as a dangerous warrior. A... what is this word, Alnue?"

"Zzerrka..." he says in a hushed tone, waggling his fingertips with a flourish.

I think about it, "oh, a berserker of immense strength. And... all of these demons are his battle triumphs." Of course. I roll my eyes. For once can the hero be a scholar of some sort?

"Uncontrollable. Cold of thought and emotion with ice in his veins. The gods were afraid of such a demon and threw him into the darkest depths of hades to bind his soul." My eyes slow, lingering on these words. I feel sad for this male. He didn't choose to be this sort of male, this cold warrior.

"He existed in the cold dark, so far from any fire..." I reach the end of the tablet, where a small section was broken off.

"Is that it?" I ask Alnue. The gargoyle shrugs.

"What does that have to do with the Recondite Captain now? This is a warrior myth."

"Mara?" Postite Antin walks into the library.

"Yes, Antin?" I look up, hoping that he is going to interrupt my studying session.

"There is someone here to see you," he says quietly. He takes a deep breath. "It is the First House," he says their name as if it's poison.

---

Postite Falso grabs me as I walk towards the receiving chambers of the public temple proper. My knees are shaking, but I just remind myself that I am not Parijan of the Fifth House any longer.

I am Mara. Nateos is my father. I can do this. I need to do this. As perverse as it is, deep inside, I want to know if they have any idea of what happened to Thane.

"Mara, here, make sure your veil is in place. Have any of the First's family ever seen you up close or spent much time with you? What about your voice? Oh, Nateos help us," he pants, near hysterics.

"I will wear the veil, Falso," I soothe him, "and... no. I was never acknowledged by any of them." Except the Lady Anthea, I say silently. Her face is burned into my memory... is mine into hers?

His mouth twists bitterly. He makes sure to put in extra hairpins, securing the entire headpiece so well that it pinches my skin. I don't argue. It is safer if they have no idea that I am actually Thane's 'dead' Fated.

I walk to the temple proper, feeling the stone tremor beneath my feet. The Underworld is shaking at its core. A sign of my father's anger? Maybe. He and I aren't speaking much lately.

The two young Recondites are at the doors. I peer at them closely. They are fidgeting slightly. Not something you would have seen a month ago. Their unease in not having a leader is deep. I wonder how they choose a new Captain? The tome in the library didn't help me understand the process at all.

Postite Antin hurries in front of me to open the doors. I take a deep breath, forcing my fingers to uncurl from the tight grip I have on my robes. Be confident, I tell myself.

I walk into the temple sedately, concentrating on not tripping over my own two feet. I can't look at the small gathering of shifters across the temple room. The First House visitors and Patriarch Salbin. Postite Falso hurries into the room with some food on a tray, his eyes darting to me. I look at him, look at the tray, at the wall hangings of a great battle in the Underworld, of the carvings of various demons. There is one of the Basru. I will have to take a closer look at it later.

My eyes wander closer to the shifters. Mishu grabs my attention as he crawls around on the floor, a look of demonic glee pasted on his face as he ties everyone's shoe together.

My mouth opens to scold him before I think better of it and clamp my lips shut. Don't look too crazy in front of her.

"Mara," Patriarch Salbin greets me with a tight smile. I can see his nerves in his pale skin and trembling hands.

I nod my head in greeting, not trusting my own voice. I finally look at them, at the First House, at my replacement.

Anthea is a beautiful as I remember. Dark hair, not like my own, ahem, strawberry-blonde. Blue eyes just a few shades darker than the sky. Pale, unblemished skin that isn't freckled.

Her demon stretches inside her body, flashing in her eyes with blood-red glow. I don't react to the suppressed demon. She is correct to react to me with hostility. All I feel is anger and jealousy towards this female.

The rejected souls' voices echo in my ears. Why? Why her? Why not me? I ask myself the same question. Gods, I was a fool for Thane. A silly, little female who never bothered to ask those questions when I could. Why didn't he ever take me home or make an announcement that he had found his Fated? Why the secrecy? Why did he always come to Love's House instead of taking me to his own?

Because I'm not Anthea.

A political match, Daughter

Is it? As upset with me as he is, my father still offers me comfort and isn't that what any parent would say? 'Oh, it's not you, it's him. It's the circumstances. It's not you. You're so pretty, so smart, so regal.'

I wrinkle my nose up and down to keep the sting of tears at bay. Maybe, once my punishment is over, I can go and see my mama. Just from afar; to make sure she's alright.

I am unlucky with my Fated, but lucky with my parents, both mortal and immortal. As Parijan, and as Mara...

"Mara?" Patriarch Salbin says my name again.

"Patriarch," I let my voice be heard. If Anthea recognizes my voice she doesn't let on.

"Lady Grief," the Anthea stands and approaches me.

I catch my breath as her robes fall against her body. A gentle swelling at her middle reveals something that kills something inside of me. She is with child. Again. Even lost to the desert, Thane can hurt me.

Not his child

I feel my lips curl up at the corners when my father shares that bit of gossip with me. It makes me feel better, but it also makes me wonder... she is far enough along in her pregnancy that it is visible. Who is the father and when was this child conceived?

I stare at Thane's choice bonded. The last time I saw her... the only time I saw her before this... she was dressed in finery fit for a dinner with a future Lord of a House. Dripping with lace and beading, her hair curled and her eyes darkened and lined with kohl, lips red from berries. She had stared at me with horrified disdain while I became hysterical at the realization that my Fated had betrayed me.

Now she stares at me with a different sort of horror. The shrouded female who speaks to the dead.

"Lady Anthea. My condolences for your loss," I respond to her tearful expression with minute sympathy. She has lost her bonded, the father of her children, I remind myself. She may be an innocent pawn, just as I was.

Tiny fingers wind with mine. Momo coos, leaning his head against my leg as he plays with my fingers. I was clenching my skirts again, the anger in my soul rising too high. Thank the gods for my sweet beasties. Mishu and Mushu are busy rifling through the small purses the ladies brought with them. You should never leave your valuables unattended when there are gargoyles. Thank goodness they lighten my mood.

I offer Momo a gentle squeeze. I mouth a 'thank you,' just as Lady Anthea says the same out loud.

"This has been such a terrible time for our House," she continues. I nod. Ugh. How terrible, indeed. I'm so very sorry for her. Bleh. She should take her unborn child and run back home before I let Mushu cut off all her hair.

"We, unfortunately, can only assure you that the most recent of your deceased was accepted by Nateos into the Underworld. Death is satisfied with your House's sacrif-"

Patriarch Salbin is interrupted by a pained screech. "A sacrifice! My son, my precious male, taken by... by who knows what!"

The female who rises from her slumped position by the altar is eerily similar to my missing Fated. Same dark hair, same beautiful grey eyes. Her son... this must be Thane's mother, the Lady Kaimi, Lord Arim-the-Forgotten's daughter. How interesting to finally 'meet' her... and in such a way.

Her eyes are red, rubbed raw along the delicate rims until the skin is red and inflamed. Her face is pale under the red color she has applied to her cheeks. Light olive-tone skin with only a few wrinkles from age. She is dressed for mourning. At her side is a stalwart-looking male, his dark eyes wary on us all. This must be her bonded, the de facto Lord of the First House until Thane is officially declared deceased and his younger brother takes over the role.

I search the crowd until I spot the younger brother. Thane has- had- two brothers, if I recall correctly. I assume that this young shifter is the eldest of those brothers.

He resembles his father in appearance A handsome enough face, with serious brown eyes and wispy, light brown hair. He looks apprehensive about being here, but curious as well. He is about my age, I'm guessing.

For a moment I wonder if we would have been friends. Mushu walks over to him and lifts his hind leg to pee on his boots.

"Mushu!" I hiss. He gives me a look filled with innocence.

"Lady," Patriarch Salbin covers my noise, sounding as though the stick up his bum is even more uncomfortable than usual. "I apologize for the discomfort you feel, but your son has paid a price demanded by the go-"

"Why, though! Lies and betrayals! My son was an esteemed warrior, the Lord of the First House! How can any curse be so strong that it requires such a male be destroyed?" Lady Kaimi's face is red, her bloodshot eyes raking Patriarch Salbin scornfully.

Such a male

Can gods be sarcastic? Maybe I am influencing my father...

"Can you imagine the sacrifice of your own child, Patriarch?" Lady Kaimi continues, spitting vitriol at my hapless Patriarch. "Oh, but you have no children, do you? You can't possibly imagine losing your father and your son within a month! And, still our House is haunted!"

I catch my breath. A child. I may never have a child. She is rubbing salt in a wound I didn't know I had.

"You are still cursed," I whisper faintly.

Lady Kaimi's verbage comes to a halt. Anthea, still hovering closeby, takes a step back with a gasp.

"Are you haunted, Lady?" I ask her. "What suffering has the First House experienced these last three months that you believe rights a curse from the gods?"

"How dare you," the Lady Kaimi seethes with self-righteous anger. Born to lead a House, but stuck forever in the role of a female. She takes a threatening step toward me, but her bonded stops her. A good thing, because out of the corner of my eye I see a Recondite stepping forward, ready to intervene if she dares to make another move toward me.

"Do not presume that you have any right to insult or threaten me, Lady," I say softly. "I am Mara, Daughter of Nateos, Grief made Flesh. And this is not your House."

Patriarch Salbin chimes in, "you stand in Death's temple, what, precisely, brings you here today?"

"I have come to declare my son, Thane of the First House, deceased," Lady Kaimi's voice trembles just slightly.

I swallow. Tears prick my eyelashes. I can still feel Love's influence, the romantic lovers torn apart, never to be reunited. I will never know why.