For I watched her rise;

She who brought the new dawn,

The Empress of Terminia,

-The Gospel According to the Holy First Handmaiden

Celeste awoke to the warm light of a new day. The comforting beams of late morning sun glistened through gossamer curtains, forming a faint glow against the white-marble columns encircling her chambers. The perfume of lilacs, the first summer bloom in full swing, floated through the air to rest in her mind. Celeste sprawled in the comfort of her silk bedding. She was home.

“Have you awoken Your Radiance?” One of her handmaidens inquired from next to her on the bed. The young Sherya woman was already wide awake, sitting cross legged next to her on the bed. How long had she been sitting there, waiting for her to wake up?

“Yes sister.” Celeste responded, stretching out languidly, her hand gently grazing a slumbering face on her other side. A small hand rose lazily and batted at Celeste’s.

“Just a little longer…” Arabella grumbled, lifting a pillow and covering her head with it. Celeste giggled at the Jöln handmaiden. A full Ethinian sister now, having been raised once her sacrifice during the attack was made known to the bishop. That was Gardinal’s doing apparently, according to Valleresa at least.

Celeste propped herself up on elbows, and all at once the bustle began. Handmaidens that were waiting patiently around the chamber began darting in and out of the room. At a small writing desk in the corner of the room sat a scribe, patiently waiting to scratch down any word Celeste might utter. A silly thing, considering how much she had said in the past months that had gone unrecorded. Much of it, in her opinion, far more meaningful than any word she had uttered whilst kept in the temple. Still, this day was ripe to be full of spectacle and convention in equal measures.

When she had first awoken three days ago, having slept for nearly a week, none of the expectations of her role had seemed to matter to anyone. Even her father, stern and rigid in his ways as he was, was simply happy to see her awake. But she should have known it would not last. Now the temple, ever concerned with proper custom, was back to its normal daily rituals. A wide smile formed across Celeste’s face though as Arabella grasped locks of her hair and began running a brush through it. Some habits, at least, were more than welcome.

As Arabella brushed through her curls, an assortment of fruits and small pastries were brought for her morning meal. Despite her nervousness for the coming day, Celeste managed to eat three small tarts and a particularly sweet orange before pushing the tray away. She had been absolutely famished every morning since… well since whatever it was Ethinia had done to her that night. Her memories of it all were spotty now. It was all just a confusing blend of pain, exhilaration, and light that made up her recollection, all save Morkad’s last moments. Those would be clear in her mind until the day she herself stood before the nine thrones.

The chamber doors swinging open pulled Celeste from her thoughts. With a half dozen scribes and priestesses on her tail, Valleresa strode into the room like a tempest. “…do not forget to get the estimations from the builders. We need to know how much the new structure is going to cost before we pass our request onto the bishop.” Valleresa spoke, not looking at the scribes as they scribbled her requests down in ledgers, dipping small quills into ink pots fastened to their sashes. Valleresa herself looked every ounce her new office as head of an order. A silver-inlaid teal stole over shoulders marked her out from a normal priest, slipping to her elbows as she placed fists on her hips. “Radiance, are you really still in bed?”

Swallowing just one more small orange, Celeste looked back at her friend with feigned innocence. Valleresa’s stare was more akin to the bishop’s than the rebellious sister who used to brush her hair. It seemed she had taken to heading the Order of the Handmaidens like a sapling to rich soil. Valleresa broke the stare off with a rolling of her eyes and a shake of the head.

“Josephine, please ensure that the reports on which priestesses intend to join our order are completed by the time we return tonight.” Valleresa commanded with an exasperated tone.

“Of course, First Handmaiden.” Josephine, a diminutive Jöln scribe gave a curtsy before leading the rest of Valleresa’s coterie out of the room.

“The preparations go well Sister Valleresa?” Celeste asked.

“Too much paperwork.” Valleresa grumbled in response, pushing Arabella aside with a gentle hand on her waist and taking her place brushing Celeste’s hair. Valleresa had always loved the task almost as much as Celeste loved having it done. “I’m still not sure why I have to be there today.”

“Everyone saw us standing there that night, and the invitation was for all of us. Even me.” Arabella chuckled sliding off the bed and picking up a pastry off Celeste’s tray. Popping the treat into her mouth caused another handmaiden —a Fereni woman old enough to be their grandmother— to gasp at Arabella. Arabella simply scratched her disheveled hair and shrugged at the older woman before beginning to get dressed for their day. She had picked up more than a few habits from Valleresa and had certainly grown more comfortable with being in the temple.

Valleresa worked with deft hands on Celeste’s hair, explaining to her every detail that she added and her intentions behind it. Half her hair was to remain down, flowing long past the waist as the Sherya ladies did. The other half was split into braids that hung over her shoulder in the Fershya style, and a small bun on the crown of her head favored by the Fereni noblewomen. As Valleresa finished, proffering a silver hand-mirror, Celeste admired the look.

“What of the Theremya? How might I resemble them?” Celeste asked. They were Sherya, but in the court they made a fourth faction, separate from their ancient kin. Valleresa snorted.

“Hardly necessary Radiance.”

The door opened from outside once more and a wide grin spread across Celeste’s face. Gardinal stepped in, wearing his new priest habit with a half robe that revealed muscular booted legs, and a tabard belted at the waist. The tabard itself embroidered in thread of silver with the weeping moon atop a shield. The Shield of Celeste he had been named, by the people first, then officially by her father.

“Prophetess,” Gardinal stood at attention, hand resting on the hammer fastened to his polished belt. “Your litter is prepared, and your guard awaits you.” Despite the priest’s stern look, as hard and rigid as stone, she could see a happiness and pride in his eyes.