"We do not accept a declaration of death until a full year has passed," Patriarch says strongly. I stiffen. The First House shifts uncomfortably on their feet. So, they knew about this policy, even if I didn't.

"Is there anything else?" Patriarch snaps.

"My cousin has been attacked," Anthea blurts out, her blue eyes darting between her crazed mother-in-law and my shrouded, veiled self. "We wish to ask for your help. No one else seems to have a solution to help her."

"Your cousin?" Patriarch Salbin asks.

A figure stands. A bowed head, shrouded in even darker, deeper robes than I am. I peer at the figure curiously. It looks like a wraith, like what children think ghosts look like. If only they knew...

"Who are you?" I ask. The grief... the thick, honey-substance of the darkest grey... it's familiar to me.

"She doesn't speak," Anthea interrupts. "Her name is Sera. Her throat has been damaged by an attack from an unseen beast. She... we think she is grieving."

Sera. Nateos... can this be Tafia's Sera?

Happy Birthday, Daughter

I am eighteen today. I forgot all about my own birthday.

Wait, 'happy birthday?' Is Sera supposed to be some sort of gift?

A friend

My father laughs as if I should have somehow figured that out on my own. I couldn't have possibly known what he intended. I'm left reeling from his 'gift.'

Lady Anthea is still speaking, "-her intended, her Fated, rejected her after the attack-"

"Enough," I interrupt her coldly. Her Fated, bah, the male that the Fourth House tried to saddle Sera with. She lost her Fated, rejected Tafia, because of that faithless male and her unholy House. Does Anthea know why Sera is grieving? The real reason? I'll bet she does, the witch.

"My father is only mildly appeased with the life of... your bonded," I grit out, "I wonder... what else will be lost before your House has regained the favor of Death?"

Silence reigns in the temple. Lady Kaimi is gaping, her mouth opening and shutting in anger, like a fish. Anthea has retreated even further away from me. She is staring at me as if I am a nightmare come to life.

Sera remains, head bowed, looking so defeated. Tafia is awake, but incognizant, or so I'm told. Is Sera also suffering the same way? Awake, but only half-alive?

"Come with me," I order. I hold out my hand to Sera. Momo grasping my other hand tightly. He hisses when she steps forward, her motions stilited, and takes my hand. No argument, no passion or sense of self-preservation.

"Where are you taking her?" Anthea cries out.

"To the sacred pool," I tell her. "To ask for forgiveness for her lies, since she cannot beg for herself."

Sera's hand lies in my grip, limp and lifeless. Even when I mention her lies, there is no reaction. My heart is racing. I need to try to fix this.

I turn to Patriarch Salbin. He is standing next to me, projecting a sense of calm. He probably thinks that my father told me to take Sera to the pool, but really I just need to get her away from these harpies.

"Patriarch, I will be going. I trust you can see them out?" I say.

His lips twitch, but he manages to quell the smile. "Of course, Lady Grief," he bows his head to me.

I nod, before tugging on Sera's hand and pulling her from the room. As I leave, I hear a male curse and a crash, as if someone fell to the ground... or tripped over their laces.

I don't turn around. Mishu and Mushu's mean little cackles let me know exactly what happened. I really need to talk to those two.

"Postite," I whisper to Farso, who is hovering just outside the doors, eyes wide as he watches the entertainment.

"Yes, Mara?"

"Send the Recondites to fetch Tafia here, please."

He smiles and nods, jowls bouncing in his enthusiasm. "Right away. You have a plan?" he squeals, rubbing his hands together.

"I hope so," I breathe out. "Hurry, Farso."

He rushes away. I keep tugging the unresponsive Sera with me. As we walk I toss the veil off of my face. Momo is now running ahead of me, tugging me along as I tow Sera behind.

In the temple I take my veil off and look at it in my hands. The best quality linen and silk from far away are used in my clothes. I carefully fold it and put it down. I won't be wearing it anymore. I won't hide. Sera and I are not mistakes to be hidden away. The First House, bah, they lie and scheme then ask me for help.

I spin around and look at Sera. "Right, well, I'm just going to remove this, alright?"

I reach out to pull off the shroud. It's heavy, much longer than my own light viel. It's meant to cover Sera completely with no chance of a mishap revealing her face.

It takes me a minute of fussing before I can remove it. When I do, the sight of Sera's damaged face makes my heart clench.

Three long, red scars stretch across her face diagonally from her left temple, across her nose, down her right cheek. Her right ear is completely torn apart. Her nose is crooked, chunks of cartilage missing. Her eye is only slightly damaged, the skin at the outer corner broken, her eye shut slightly from the damage. The scarring on her cheek has pulled the skin of her mouth tight on the right side, making her look like she is grimacing even though she hasn't twitched a single muscle, not once.

I pull myself together enough to look at her throat. It is smooth, no scarring, no sign of any injury. So... the cat didn't take away Sera's ability to speak. She is mute because of her grief. What must it feel like?

"Mara?" a knock on the temple door heralds Patriarch Salbin's arrival.

In the first show of emotion from Sera, she flinches at the sound of his voice. Slowly, her eyes rise to meet mine. She stares at me in wonder.

"Goddess," she says it so softly that I only think I hear it. The shadow of grief shifts. Then, the light fades, her head bows again. I'm reminded of my first meeting with Tafia months ago, when her animation faded so quickly, overwhelmed by that sticky, viscous burden.

"Did you bring Tafia?" I call out to Patriarch Salbin.

"Aye, the child is here," he calls back.

"Send her in, Patriarch," I tell him. I watch Sera closely. There is nothing, no reaction to hearing her Fated's name.

Tafia walks in. I am struck, all at once, at the similarities in the two females. Not in their appearance, physically they are not alike, but in their souls... Nateos. Their misery is a solid weight on their souls.

"Come here, Tafia," I say to the female.

Like her Fated, Tafia obeys with no hesitation and no life.

I hope I can figure this out.

When Tafia arrives at my side I reach out and take her hand, putting it in Sera's.

There is nothing. No reaction. Their fingers don't tighten on each other. They don't look at each other. They are without any animation, still. They share the same malaise, but it acts as an insurmountable wall between them.

I stomp my foot, hard. "A little help?" I hiss at my father.

You have been reading

Really, father?

I search my memory. Gods, this is terrible. They are right here, now. How long can I just keep them here for? An hour? Two? Days? Maybe indefinitely? At some point their Houses will wonder what the little Death Priestess is doing to them. It wouldn't surprise me if Anthea is already putting in a complaint with the Recondites.

"Alright, you two. This is how it's going to go. You will both remember that you love each other and poof! All better." I point at the two females.

Nothing.

Harku snorts. Mishu and Mushu are poking the legs of the females curiously, as if wondering why there is no reaction from them. Momo is tying knots in Sera's discarded shroud.

There is no sign of Alnue anywhere. I can only hope that the gargoyle who I secretly acknowledge is the smartest one, is searching in the library for answers.

I start talking, telling the females about my House growing up. Love's principles, and such.

"Love is a great gift. A treasure to seek and to hold. You two have been given this gift. It's sacred. It transcends all, even..." my voice trails off.

Death?

At least he sounds amused, instead of angry.

"Please, remember," I sigh to the females, my shoulders slumping. Tears prick my eyes. "Love transcends Death, but what if he never loved me? What does that mean, father?"

My father says nothing.

I sigh. He probably wants me to die an old spinster. I don't even need cats, I have gargoyles.

I swipe my tears away with my hands, then reach out to grab Sera's and Tafia's entwined hands to squeeze them more tightly together.

"Oh!" I let go quickly, realizing that I will burn them.

The preponderance of grief hisses and retreats from my touch.

I hold my breath, watching the shadow. Like a malevolent living creature, it moves away from my tears. I get excited for just a moment; I can put the females into the pool! Then I see it, little scald marks on their hands. The acid is hurting their flesh.

I exhale noisily. That's a dud.

Alnue appears at that moment, chattering excitedly, scroll held up like a prize.

"Smart male!" I praise him, kissing his forehead. He ducks his head, his brown pebbled skin turning a faint red.

I open the scroll. "The blood of the pure," I read.

Um, blood?

I read more slowly. "For those who live, but have lost their souls, the blood of the pure soul can be used to revive. Bathing in the blood will result in a partial life, restoring thought and emotion to the damned. Umm... bathing in blood? That's a lot of blood." I look up at my father's statue.

Keep reading, Daughter

"I am. It's not my fault that this started with bathing in blood," I mutter. I continue, "however, for full restoration, only a few drops of blood is needed. The blood of the pure, freely given, will revive the damned, though the giver will take on the burden of the damned, so this solution is rare."

"So..." I chew on my lower lip. "If I find a 'pure soul' then just a few drops of their blood will cure them? But they take on the burden..." I look at the females. The grief is slowly encroaching back on their hands as my tears dry.

"They have to take on that?" I ask quietly. I shake my head sadly, "where will I even find a pure soul?"

My father sighs. All of my gargoyles start to snicker. "What?" I snap out. "Do you know of someone who has a pure soul? Do you have any idea how rare that is? I don't, but I imagine it's pretty damned rare!"

Don't curse

"Fine," I say grumpily. I turn back to the scroll. "That's all it says, Alnue. Is there another one? Alnue?" I ask again when my gargoyle doesn't answer. Looking up I almost drop the scroll, startled.

All five of my gargoyles are lined up, shoulder to shoulder, in front of me. Three pairs of orange eyes and two pairs of black, bat-eyes are glowing at me.

"What? What are you... oh." I look back down at the scroll. Then at my gargoyles. "Am I a pure soul?"

All five nod in unison. "So..." I grow uneasy, "that is the price to fix my mistake?" I whisper my question, looking sidelong at the grief covering Sera and Tafia.

"What kind of grief is that, anyway?" I ask out loud, not expecting an answer.

A Burden from Love

My father sounds rigidly furious.

I swallow. It's like a goddess-given grief? Great. I square my shoulders. "It isn't fair that this happened to them. So... so I'll do it. I'm your daughter, right? I can do this."

You are Mara

"Right. So, a few drops?" I lean down and prick my finger on Harku's tail spikes, ignoring his yelp of indignation. He has the sharpest spikes, that's a fact.

I rub my finger on Tafia's lips, then Sera's. For a long moment, nothing happens. Then... I scream.

The emotional torment jolts through my physical body. I twist, my body tossed to and fro as my muscles spasm from pain. I can't breathe, can't see, can only feel the throes of anguish that both Sera and Tafia nearly died from. I fall to the stone floor, convulsing, my blood vessels bursting from the crushing mass of Love's terrible grief.

Sobbing, I feel the hard fingers of my gargoyles, their shrieks of dismay mingling with my own screams.

I am pulled into the pool. Immediately I feel better... but not whole. The grief is battling my father's magic. Death and Love warring... but my father has more than one trick up his sleeve. I feel the pain trickling out of me into two towers of strength. I wonder, in that moment, if I am my father's only child. Silly question, isn't it? I'm not that special.

You are special, Daughter

You need to study more

---

"Motherfucking shit! Fucking cunt-whore little pissant," I growl out.

"Ah, you alright there, Lios?" Belen asks me, eyeing me curiously while he twirls his sword indolently instead of swinging it at me as he was just a moment ago.

"Gods, that hurts like a bitch of a sting." I slowly straighten back up, ignoring the agony twisting my insides. "I'm fine, just took me by surprise, that's all. Fuck," I groan.

"You don't look fine," Belen tells me, worry striking his features. "In fact, you look green over that tan of yours."

"I'm fine," I grit out. "Stomachache. Let's continue." I swing my sword and nearly drop it. Only my incredible reflexes let me catch it in time. "Shit."

"Right. You're not fine, my friend. Time to go inside and see if Nan can cook up something to help you out."

"No, no concoctions," I moan. I truly dread Belen's nan's solution to every ill. Ever since we showed up in the nomad's summertime tent city the elderly female has been chasing me down with this potion and that. It's as if she thinks I'm invincible. I'm fairly close, I admit, but I'm not that amazing.

I still don't know who I am. I had no name, so Nan called me "Thelios." Apparently it means 'gift from Death.' She cackled something fierce when she told me that.

The raging inferno in my chest and belly slips down to my legs. My nerves are on fire, making me gasp in pain. I had better not piss myself. I refuse that humiliation.

"Let's go, Lios. We need to get you inside."

I let Belen help me, stumbling along with my arm slung over his shoulder and his wrapped around my waist.

"I was afraid of this," Nan mutters when I stumble inside. She tosses something in her hand into the pot boiling over the fire. It's scorching hot inside the tent and smells of the inside of Belen's boots.

"I am not drinking that," I slur out.

Nan snorts in derision. The conch shells she braided in her hair last week swing around her head as she hurries away... well, as fast as she can, which admittedly isn't the fastest. "Do what I tell you to do, thinking you're too big to fill those britches, child."

"Hurts like a bitch," I mumble. Maybe I should drink one of her potions. It can't make this pain worse, right?

I feel the smack upside my head. "No cursing in my home," Nan scolds me.

"Sorry, Nan," I mumble. My head is drooping onto my chest. The torment is coursing through my whole body, bringing with it a level of exhaustion that I've never experienced before.

At least I don't remember experiencing it before.

"Thelios, listen to me. Don't push the pain away. You must embrace it."

"Nan, seriously? I've never seen him look like this, even when I found him in the ruins. Shouldn't he be fighting through this?"

"No," she snaps at Belen. I hear the smack as she hits him, too.

"I found you," I protest weakly. A common argument Belen and I have. He claims to have found me, stating that I can't remember how I got there, so therefore he rescued my ass. I disagree. I was not lost.

"I will not fight it," I promise Nan. I trust the elder female. She has wisdom in her.

"Good male," she pats me on the back gently. "Go lay down, Thelios. Soon it will subside."

I listen, finding my way to my cot with Belen's help. "I'll stay with you, Lios. You'll be better soon." I hear the concern in his voice.

This couldn't have come at a worse time. Tomorrow we were meant to head back to the city of Tmari to rejoin the Recondites. Belen received word that the gods have selected a new Captain, finally.

My head is pounding. I bring my hand up to press against my forehead, but my arm doesn't obey my command. Instead, my palm settles over the tattoo image right along my clavicle; two deep, nearly black eyes. When I saw them in the mirror I thought they were the most exquisite of my inked drawings. Mesmerizing.

Screams, I can hear so many screams in my head.