Chapter 12

Chapter

Twelve

V iathan has two emperors of equal station, ruling as a single unit. Their ornate chairs are decorated with twisting metal pieces that loop and cut out in chaotic but pleasing shapes. Both of them sit atop a platform in the council meeting room that makes the one on Cosima seem like a small bedchamber.

Their expressions display apathetic boredom as they glance around the room for something interesting. It makes me wonder why it took so long for them to see us. I cannot help the resentment brewing for not prioritizing our request. For days, I was a shell of myself, staying busy just to keep my mind from fracturing with all the horrible scenarios I have conjured.

The ceiling above the emperors extends up into the heart of the capital building. I crane my neck to watch a golden orrery model map the rotation of the three worlds' orbits in the space between, an elegant sped-up version of the passing of the three worlds' time.

I've seen three conjunctions play out in the faux presentation above us since the meeting began. The gold spheres seem to float on their own, and if we weren't on Viathan, I would think a priestess was kept in here day and night, forced to use her gifts to keep these afloat, and not the strange Viathan technology that seems to fix problems I didn't even know existed to begin with.

99 recounts the message to the emperors and the rest of the council members. They sit at a roughly shaped table made from a giant tree slice coated in a matte steel layer, beneath the emperors' stage. I have been introduced to them all before, Viathan officials dressed in fancy robes, all giving an air of importance and respect. They know my story well, but the lord general is the only amongst them that I recognize, choosing to attend the meeting without his helmet.

Thea's sweet-sounding voice cuts into the Viathan space and does not seem to fit at all, like the metal walls themselves cannot repeat in a natural echo but have to bounce the sound off in discomfort instead.

I focus on 99 as he updates the council about our worry for Leema, what potential danger the elders of that temple have been accused of in the past, and how those rumors still hold true recently on Frith with those who lived on Cosima before and not that long ago.

He is speaking about Selene but never names her directly.

The lord general asks him questions that seem to be leading somewhere, but I am not sure what 99's plan is until he asks him directly after all the information seems to be laid out for them to consider.

"I am submitting a formal request," 99 announces, "for our investigation of this temple to reopen, as well as but not dependent on a formal request for the status and well-being of Priestess Ferren's sister."

I wish I could scoot closer to him, my chair too far away to press against him and feel the vibration of his powerful words or even hold his hand to ground myself in his strength.

"Priestess Ferren." Emperor Angara's feminine voice draws my eyes up to her spot on the platform, her full figure pulling at the sleek lines of her dress, a beautiful silhouette even seated. "Do you understand the words of the 99th Commander? You wish for an investigation into the temple and the well-being of your sister?" she confirms.

"Yes, Emperor," I say with a curt nod.

"And what is it we are trying to find in this investigation?" Emperor Angara asks. "That elder priestesses are . . . being careless during birth . . . letting women die if they think they are beyond help?"

"For manipulating divine birth numbers," 99 replies.

She squints and then looks at a tall woman in a velvet robe, the only person not sitting.

"Lady Trist, can you weigh in for clarity and the sake of the council members' understanding?" Emperor Angara wafts her hand for the woman to step forward. "Lady Trist is our head scholar, specializing in the priestess order of First Mother," she says to me as if I would find it fascinating.

I almost crawl out of my chair as she walks past me with a smug look.

Offended does not cover it. They have no idea how insulting it is to seek information from someone who simply reads books about the priestess order when I am sitting before them.

It's a betrayal.

I did not know a scholar like her even existed, studying the priestess order, and now they are looking to her to clarify things they should be asking me.

"To our knowledge, there are three ways for divinity to occur: hereditarily on the matriarchal side, spontaneous, and blessed as a gesture of condolence for a mother who did not survive childbirth." The woman moves her hands as if conducting an orchestra.

I would love to show her just how divine I truly am. Let my light swipe away that ridiculous expression.

99 gently nudges our tether, trying to calm me, to bring me down from the rage that is churning.

"And how could that possibly be manipulated?" Emperor Angara asks.

"One could intervene on a difficult birth or . . . create a difficult birth."

The council members hum and nod.

"I have a question, as we are on the subject of divinity," the second emperor, Kavan, cuts in. He is wearing the same color and material as his equal, if not more ornate in style.

Lady Trist nods. "Of course, I am happy to answer any question."

"Is it true that the priestess order thinks they see First Mother? That she bestows power to them somehow?"

"You are referring to ascension," she says.

"Am I?" His laugh is uptight and mocking.

"Yes, it's a very interesting process. The divine take vows and through prayer and hypnosis believe they see a vision of the deity. The hallucination unlocks another chamber of their divinity, in turn making them more powerful."

I cannot believe what I am hearing, a watered-down, perverse version of ascension. If I did not need their help, I would unleash the rage I feel begging to escape.

Viathan is not known for their faith, but this person speaks like they do not believe First Mother is real at all. How can they trust someone to specialize in something they speak so poorly of? As if one of the most sacred processes is foolish, a childlike farce.

" I am happy to answer any questions regarding the priestess order," I say, so loud every person in the room snaps their head to me. I have spoken out of turn, gone against the unspoken rules of respect when in the presence of emperors, but I cannot sit here and let her tarnish our chances of receiving aid.

"Priestess Ferren." Emperor Kavan looks intrigued. "I have heard of your gifts. Have you seen First Mother yourself then?"

"Do not interrogate our guest," Emperor Angara purrs. "Do you use our temples?" She leans forward, ignoring her own advice.

"Have you seen First Mother here ?" Emperor Kavan adds.

I watch their expectant faces, eyes wild and excited. "I do not use your temples, no."

"If we could stay on task, Emperors." The booming voice of the lord general pulls their attention, and even though he speaks to them, he is looking at me.

They respect him enough to turn their attention back to the correct topic, not taking his interruption as rude.

I cannot tell his intention for relieving me of having to fumble over my answer further. He is how I pictured 99's father before I met Allister, seemingly cold but with a mysterious edge of compassion that slips through the cracks. He is dark and very handsome for his age, his salt-and-pepper hair kept short, and the darker roping scar down his face pulls at the arch of one eyebrow, showing a violent path to the top of the Viathan military.

A slender council member clears his throat and shakes his oblong head. "Well, this is an unusual request, considering the events during this conjunction year, 99th Commander. To revisit a closed investigation under rumors long passed and unfounded."

The bald man's callous tone toward the topic we have strayed a little far from makes me want to push more, to be taken seriously.

"Chancellor Reed has a fair point. Our resources are already spread so thin." Emperor Kavan runs a thumb over his plush lips.

He is younger than Emperor Angara, who hums in agreeance while picking at a piece of her armrest. Every time they open their mouths, it further explains the studious council members sitting in the chairs all around them, anchoring them in reality.

99 stands from his chair and nods his head to them. "If I may?" he asks.

They nod and watch him in fascination, like he will provide some sort of show if given permission.

To my horror, he walks to the large doors of the council room and disappears. I am left alone at the table with strangers who stare at me in a mix of judgment and curiosity.

"And who is this?" Emperor Angara says in a sing-song way.

"Emperors, this is Calliape. She resided on Frith until recently."

I snap my head to the doorway to see 99 walking in front of Calliape, August not far behind her. I have not spoken to either of them since our dinner at Allister's despite the many messages they have sent to check on me.

"Ah, a Frithian, and we of course know August, but what does this have to do with a temple far off and away?" Emperor Angara says with piqued interest.

99 squeezes my shoulder as he comes to stand behind my chair.

"What are they doing here?" I send to him.

"I asked them. Calliape has more to say. She was too afraid before."

He must have noticed her reluctance at our dinner too.

Calliape stands on a Viathan signet and tries to keep her focus on the emperors staring at her, but her eyes keep slipping to the floating planetary objects above us.

She won't look at me.

"Is someone going to tell us why a child of Frith has been called?"

Calliape glares at Chancellor Reed like he insulted her by his refusal to say her name when she has been introduced.

"Calliape's aunt was a former high priestess in the Estate and shared some of the atrocities she witnessed before her departure from the priestess order," 99 explains.

"Hmm, very well." Emperor Angara nods and motions her hand for them to step forward.

August stays as close to Calliape as possible, not taking his eyes off her for longer than a single glance away to see who is talking. He looks like the guards that watch me, his stance stiff and broad, nothing like the carefree heart he had on display last time I saw him.

"You may testify to your statements," Emperor Kavan says.

"Hello. My aunt, Selene, some years ago grew tired of my constant questioning of her status in the priestess order. My fascination troubled her so she resorted to showing me memories of her time in the Estate, some of the reasons she left, and the Temple of Divine Mothers was one I will never forget."

"This is not a firsthand account." Chancellor Reed looks to the emperors, making sure they understand that part.

"Yes, I suppose not," Calliape answers like his statement was a question for her. "Selene showed me memories of elders using a loophole to ensure more divine children were born. A way to trick the laws of nature and enact divinity in condolence for the mother's death. They were conducting ritual sacrifice."

The room falls silent at Calliape's declaration, her last sentence spoken as if the words fought her to come out.

Sacrifice.

That is not a word she used when she brought her worry to my attention, when she said the elders were manipulating the numbers somehow, that if a mother was dying, they would let nature take her, not sacrifice the mother themselves.

Calliape's eyes meet mine, her blown-out pupils cutting through me, trying to send me so much information that I have to blink away some of the water in my eyes.

But I am in too much shock to even consider her padded words at dinner as a betrayal. I nod to her to acknowledge the hurt and worry on her face. It's all I can give her for now; it's all I have after hearing such horror.

"We will need more details for these accusations. Lord General, was this part of the previous investigation into this temple's activity?" Emperor Angara asks.

"No, Emperor. The previous was an investigation into the manipulation of birth rates. Ritual sacrifice was not in the reports or official order."

Calliape shifts on her feet uncomfortably now under a magnifying glass for her accusations that have not been backed up in the eyes of the council.

I want to scream at them to send someone now, to make sure Leema is ok. To prove Selene is mistaken or she is bitter and made the entire thing up to keep Calliape there on Frith, to deter her interest in going back to the place Selene and her mother left.

"This former high priestess, you said she showed you. Showed you memories?" Chancellor Reed narrows his eyes. "How does one show memories?"

"My aunt, Selene . . . she has a gift similar to Priestess Ferren's." Calliape innocently gestures to me.

"I see, and forgive me, but I am not prolific in divine gifts. Could you relay those details? Could you demonstrate them? A third account visually is better than a second account spoken," he says.

"Well, I do not have?—"

"I will do it," I say before I can stop myself.

I can hear 99 move closer to me, his armor making an almost silent crinkle sound, like he started to reach for me but stopped.

"If Calliape can show me what she saw in Selene's memories, then I can show someone else," I offer.

A council member groans like it's a ridiculous thing to say, but I have no other way of speeding this up. We have been here for hours and the request has been submitted, but little has been done to say whether they have accepted or denied it.

I want to show them whatever it is that has Calliape so rattled that she thought she could not say it to me at dinner so she came to the capital to testify when I know she hates it here. I want this over with, and if doing a ridiculous act of relaying messages or memories is how I convince them to check on my sister, then so be it.

I stand, my impatience and worry for Leema making me bold and perhaps disrespectful. "I will need someone to grant me permission into their mind's eye to do so. You have my word I will only send the memories and images from Calliape, nothing more."

"This is ludicrous," an ancient-looking man in the corner of the council table snaps. "We are Viathans. We do not entertain such things from the priestess order. Such . . . such . . . idiocy!" His voice is shaky with age.

"I will participate," Chancellor Reed volunteers, ignoring the old man's outburst.

The emperors stare at him in surprise. It is clear they either have no intention of volunteering or know that if there is a risk, they should not be the ones to take it.

Lady Trist steps forward, her chin up and poised. "I would also be honored to wit?—"

"Not you," 99 barks at her, his hands resting on the backrest of my chair like a permanent guardian. His stoic approval does something to me, only fueling the need to take control of this ridiculous meeting.

"A second should be present to ensure neutrality." Lord General points his statement at Chancellor Reed. "I will hear the testimony. I was there when the first was made, when the 98th Commander submitted similar claims. I will hear these as well."

Watching the two men stand from their seats and walk toward me sends a cold chill down my spine that I have offered to, in fact, put on a show of sorts for the emperors who seemed so bored until now. But I am desperate.

I look to Calliape, wondering if she will protest. She has yet to object to what we are about to do, but her wide eyes tell me she is uncomfortable.

"Calliape, are you ok with this?" I mentally nudge her, seeking an anchor in her mind's eye or a refusal to continue.

"I want to help. Ferren, I am so sorry."

"You are here now. That's what matters." I reach for her hand, carefully approaching.

"It is awful, Ferren, but I will show you."

"Proceed, Priestess Ferren," Emperor Angara says and leans on the arm of her metal throne to get a better view.

I have never tethered in this way before, but I know if I am connected to all three of them, I can send whatever Calliape shows me to their minds as she does or shortly after, like relaying a message and repeating it.

I glance back at 99, who still stands with his fist tightly gripping my chair, before lining myself closer to Calliape.

The two men approach us expectantly and stop just before the invisible line of discomfort. I close my eyes and wait until they have stilled themselves.

"Chancellor Reed, Lord General, grant me permission into your minds' eyes."

Before I even hear them say the words aloud, I fall into whatever space they have opened for me. I sink so deep, my eyes strain and roll to the back of my head.

Calliape is in the dark space, far off to the side, as if I am not holding her hand right next to me, all sensations from our physical surroundings fading away. Random, anxious images pass by, and I can tell they are Chancellor Reed trying to block things from me, as if he thinks I couldn't slither in deeper, but I gave them my word.

Lord General's mind is steady and more welcoming than I imagined. When I glance out into his corner of space I am inhabiting between the four of us, it looks like steady dark-blue waters. I do not dare get any closer and see what is under that swaying surface.

"Calliape, I am ready," I say, and my voice sends a ripple of panic from her and one of the men.

She begins by sending me memories of Selene in the Estate, images of her walking and praying in no order. Like she is proving who and what she was before she left the priestesses. The images are more literal and less emotional, a symptom of them not belonging to Calliape, a memory within a memory.

I do my best to watch the images and then cast them out into the space where the men are tethered to me. It feels like throwing a long rope until they relax and draw closer, getting used to me inside their heads.

Soon, I am sending images to them as if I am glancing at illustrations in a book and then pointing at it, instructing them to pay attention. If they have any responses or reactions, there is no indication. I purposefully keep our interaction one-sided to keep the images moving faster.

Calliape squeezes my physical hand and draws me closer into her mind's eye, like we are approaching something.

Her focus sharpens. She's trying to keep herself out, knowing her emotions could influence.

She folds the distance of the memory while I am inside her mind somehow, bringing me across the space I inhabit.

Now I am in the mind's eye of another—Selene's memories as they are being replayed. I look out of Selene's eyes from inside her body, controlling her head and where I look in the memory.

Calliape's, Selene's, and my own gift blend into one experience, replaying across time and the space between.

The minds' eyes of the others are now far back in the distance, like they are standing beside me silently in a dark room, trying to observe.

Through Selene's eyes, I am standing in a chamber that looks faintly of an Estate temple, the walls and candles so familiar it hurts. The windows are open, with long white-fabric curtains swaying to let the breeze in as women relax and talk to one another in soft, whispering murmurs. Some of them are heavily pregnant, a clear indication we are standing in the Temple of Divine Mothers.

As soon as I make the connection, the memory jumps to a darker room, candles the only illumination in the small, crowded space.

The body I inhabit crouches behind a privacy screen in the corner and presses a hand to a racing heartbeat.

There is a woman on the other side of the room that I can see through the lattice holes in the design of my hiding spot. Women dressed in elder and high priestess robes gather around her like they are preparing for an event that will require them all.

When two of them part, I can see the woman dressed in white with no veil lying flat on a bed. Her sweat sticks to her as she breathes and cries out in pain.

The memory jumps again as the sound of a newborn fills the space, and the women smile and thank First Mother for another daughter.

They carefully wash her with moon water, and others admire the newborn as she is wrapped in linen and nestled into an elder's arms, who then exits the room comforting the infant with such tenderness she could be mistaken for the mother.

Just as I wonder if the memories will jump again, an elder priestess begins to set the altar in the room for a ritual. The moon water used to cleanse the baby is placed under a statue of First Mother.

Some of the women wipe the brow of the mother who just delivered, telling her how well she did and thanking her for a daughter.

But then the sweet words turn into a prayer I have never heard, the words almost running together in a long, keening chant.

When the mother notices, her brow furrows, but before she can summon enough strength, her legs are pinned open.

I can't move from my hiding space, can't make a sound or they will hear me.

I want to stop them, to help this woman, but I can't move so I watch. I watch as they chant. I watch as a thin piece of metal, like a giant sewing needle, is withdrawn from the altar and brought toward the woman they are holding.

I watch as the elder priestesses ensure that the daughter born will be divine because of a second mother's sacrifice.

The last thing I see is the metal rod being . . . lined up.

I pull myself so quickly from the memory that I fling back into the present with such force, my steps falter and I stumble backward in a gasp to the marble floor.