#ellenwrites

Mar nodded, turning to face her. Nuru took a few steps back.

“Aim to disarm your opponent. I don’t want to see those daggers hitting anything too hard, and nothing above the shoulders.”

The girl was staring hard at the floor, her gaze sometimes flickering nervously to Mar’s hand where he held the dagger, but never once rising to look at him properly. She was about Mar’s size, with a small scattering of freckles over her brown skin. Her nose was squashed, short, and her eyebrows were thick, constantly furrowed together in worry. Though her clothes were perfectly well looked after, they were just a little too baggy on her shoulders – as if they’d be handed down from a larger relative. Mar felt strange facing off against her. She looked like she might keel over from nerves. But this was a spar, and she had volunteered, so he grounded himself.

“Go!”

Mar lunged.

The space between them grew bigger. The girl’s eyes were moving everywhere, like she was desperately searching for an escape route, her brows furrowed in what Mar could only assume was panic. If she was that nervous, why volunteer? For what seemed like forever, every time Mar moved closer, she moved back, or to the side, keeping well out of his way. The spectators were silent. He glanced over at Nuru, but she gave nothing away with her steady gaze.

Gritting his teeth, Mar lunged again. This time, the girl didn’t move so far away, but as he shifted to one side to knock the dagger from her hand, she was turning. He blinked and pulled his hand back to his side – she’d moved before he’d even had the chance to do anything more than twitch. He tried again, from the other side this time, and the same thing happened. Then he tried a feint. Another. He tried to kick with his leg. To duck down before he hit. No matter what he did, the girl moved away just before he made any decent movement. He felt slow, sluggish, like his body couldn’t speed up to meet her.

But she never looked up from the ground.

Frustrated, Mar tried everything. Every trick his mother had taught him. There was no going easy on the girl, she didn’t give him the chance to. She dodged far too easily, seemingly before he’d even started to move. It didn’t feel like any fight he’d ever experienced. He was panting before he knew it, sweat beading at his brow from the effort of overthinking every one of his actions and promptly being outmanoeuvred by her. Every time he tried to disarm her, he felt himself far too open to a counterattack that never came. She never even tried to swing for him.

“Speed up, Gavril!” Nuru shouted. But he couldn’t. There was no chance to.

“Varma, get an attack in! Don’t stay on the defensive.”

The girl blinked. Her head turned slightly – caught off guard by the order.

And Mar hit her.

It was sudden, a desperate attempt to get some sort of advantage whilst she was distracted. His free hand shoved at her shoulder, and it was enough to stagger her. She stumbled backwards; eyes wide in panic. He snapped his arm out towards her, knocking the hilt of the dagger against her wrist. She released her own dagger as she slipped backwards to the floor.

She sat below him, staring at her wooden weapon lying beside her – as if forgetting she’d had it in her hand at all. She wasn’t even winded. Mar stood gasping for air, his shirt damp against his skin, exhausted, and she looked no more put out than if she’d just been knocked over.

“Good work, both of you,” Nuru said, moving to help the girl up. “Tidy up, and sit down. Next volunteers?”

Mar flung his dagger into the box, his eyes never leaving the girl even as he returned to the step. She was rubbing at her wrist. The two girls she sat beside snickered at her loss.

But it hadn’t been her fault.

“You were going easy on her, weren’t you?” Tobin whispered as Mar took his seat. “You weren’t even finishing your movements. Giving her time to dodge. That was nice of you.”

No, it wasn’t. He’d not done it on purpose.

---

Project Campus Tag List: @multimousenette @kriss-the-writing-nerd @theouterdark 

“Hey!”

The sharp voice pulled Seth out of his bitter thoughts. For a brief moment, his eyes locked with the strange girl’s before she was distracted by the men reaching for her again. Seth didn’t understand. Where had she even come from? What sort of lunatic jumped to the aid of two strangers being hauled away by the Eighth Guard?

“Why am I– ojkza!” She stumbled backwards to avoid another grab, smashing into a stone shop wall. She hissed. “Get your ass–” Both men came at her. Her elbow met the first’s jaw. She threw her weight against him to avoid the other man, spinning to meet Seth’s eyes once more. Her tacky violet hair fell over her face. “Go!”

The boy’s fingers dug deeper into his thigh.

And Seth moved.

He grabbed the boy as he turned. He shouted in pain as Seth half carried, half dragged him down the street as fast as his legs could move. Faster. He had to go faster.

The back streets of Xalder were quiet. With the light growing faint, everyone would already be in the palace square, watching the Year’s End ceremony… The ceremony that Seth was definitely late for. He gritted his teeth; he couldn’t even worry about the silent treatment he’d get from Asher,

The Guard had seen his face, seen his uniform, so now there was no more hiding. Only running. The boy had a chance. He was young. He was poor. He was nothing. A nothing could be overlooked. But Seth? The age that he was? The position he held? They’d not let a slip-up like Seth Osklin remain as he was.

Only once his throat burned from gasping in air did Seth stop. He looked around, certain they were clear for now, even if dread still hung-over Seth.

People said the Eighth Guard didn’t go on hunts anymore. The Abbey of the Seven Orders was reformed, had been for nearly two hundred years now, only sending their Guard out to preach or to pick up reported ‘problems’ across the Descodian countries. Perhaps the hunts weren’t what the had been centuries ago: they didn’t break down doors, strip babes bare searching for the spot of unnatural pigmentation of their skin, but hunt they did.

He looked down at the young boy, standing shaking and breathless before Seth. He was stiff, uneasy, but his hand still gripped the belt of Seth’s trousers, still was reassured by the presence of someone like Seth. It was his shorts that had done it – allowed to get too short on a growing lad, until the tiniest hint of a discoloured curl on his knee peeked out beneath the hemline. Most would overlook it, but the Eighth Guard’s eyes searched everywhere for Taints.

Seth rubbed at the spot behind his ear.

The boy looked at him like Seth was his last hope. He was wrong; there was no more hope for people like them.

“Go. Hide.”

It was all Seth could say. The child could only have been seven? Eight maybe? But Tainted children always seemed older – taught young how fragile their freedom was. Born into a world they had to fear. The boy paled, as if reality started to crumble around him, and then turned, running down a back street and disappearing.

The sky was turning pale, and Seth whispered a curse as he turned, hurrying back towards the city centre – even if every inch of him screamed to run as far as possible. He wasn’t a kid anymore: he couldn’t just run and hide. He could have sworn the sands of Friday were starting to fall around him, the timer on his freedom finally nearing its end, but he had a job to do today. The closer he got to the palace square, the more alive Xalder finally became. Garlands of flowers still hung across the streets between buildings – already dying after a mere day out in the desert sun. As Seth’s eyes drifted over them, his fingers brushed the pin on his collar: the image of an aster flower was stamped in gold, a symbol of his position as the Prince’s Hyron. And a symbol that had made him far too recognisable today.

He flattened down the dark olive shirt of his uniform, glad that the sand-marks on his pale trousers wouldn’t raise too much suspicion. Smiles and greetings from those he passed, far too polite for someone of his rank, only served to make him feel more exposed, but as he rounded one last corner into the packed square, he hoped he could just blend into the swarming crowd.

Along the sides of the square stood countless tables and stalls, the rich scent of food filling the air – all covered over for now, protected from the sand in the breeze and the heat of the day by cloths and sheets. Food was for later, after the sunset, when Xalder’s population would remain out in the square all night, waiting for the sun to rise on a new year. The square was surrounded by some of the tallest and most expensive buildings in the city: from windows of inns, shops, and houses, people leaned out to get a good view – waving flags and dropping flowers down onto the crowd below, shouting blessings back and forth. At the front of the square stood the towering stone palace walls, the grand orange stone of the palace a bright and extravagant contrast to the greys and whites of the city. Years End was a rare time in Xalder when faces were no longer all familiar. The country held little else for tourists or visitors to see, and thus this was the only time of year Seth walked through the crowd and didn’t seem like the most foreign face.

The crowd’s attention was focused on the platform in front of the palace walls and the people who stood atop it. Seth looked around, watching as people gestured in pray, muttered or chanted to themselves. There was no point in trying to get any closer. He’d missed the ceremony in its entirety. Heart sinking, Seth dared to shift his gaze to the youngest person on the platform.

Prince Asher may not have been Tainted, but he had an uncanny ability to always spot Seth, no matter how big the crowd. He stood rigid beside his parents – unflinching as the wax of his candle started to drip onto his hands – in the reds of the country’s patron: Saturday. His smile was one all the people knew well, but Seth knew it better, and the one Asher wore today was painfully forced. Tense, stiff, uncertain. Seth mouthed an apology that Asher must have caught, for his mask faltered slightly. The rich golden eyes of the royal bloodline were apparent even from Seth’s distance, as was the disappointment in them. It stung.

Queen Rosalie lifted her hands to silence the crowd, her expression soft and kind as always. “And so, we say goodbye to this year. In my position as head of the Xalderian dynasty, I offer you, our people, the richest food and drink to welcome the New Year. Be happy and together, and my family and I will take on the weight of your prayers tonight, so you may enjoy it to the full. Goodnight.”

The crowd erupted into cheers, and there followed more shouts of blessings and good will upon the royal family as they began to leave – Asher’s eyes lingered on Seth until the last minute, until his father ushered him away, and he shot one more smile to the people. He played the part well for them.

Scratching the spot behind his ear once more, Seth starting to move to the edge of the crowd once again.

“Hey, Tainted Boy.”

His body froze. The words a sharp jab. Eyes wide with fear, he turned, only to find a cold grey gaze staring back at him, the thin face framed by the awful violet hair.

“Wow, okay,” the girl scoffed. “First rule of hiding from the Eighth Guard? Don’t answer to that.”

Seth immediately scanned the people around them, checking for any sort of reaction or a glimpse of pale brown uniforms moving towards him. There were only celebrations to find. It seemed to be of no concern to the girl though, who was more focused on untangling a few strands of her hair.

“I’m not Tainted,” Seth hissed.

“Sure you’re not…” the girl nodded. She prodded Seth in the chest. “How many people do you think stand up against the Abbey and their pet guardsmen? The only people stupid enough to help stupid Tainted kids are stupid Tainted kids.”

Seth flinched. “Is that why you jumped in to help us?”

“Obviously. Well, that and there’s something really satisfying about punching someone who is convinced no one is gutsy enough to punch them.” She sighed wistfully, at ease, as if she hadn’t just admitted to being one of the most hunted humans in the world. It turned Seth’s stomach.

“Thank you for helping the boy, but I have somewhere to be.”

He turned, but each step he took was only followed by the girl, so he stopped again, frowning at her.

“You’re going to the palace, right?” she asked, smile bright. “The outfit gives it away.”

Seth stilled again. He looked over the girl, his stomach twisting at the thought of someone like her knowing even the slightest bit about him. Her clothes said plenty about her as it was: her the hooded cloak around her neck was tattered and filthy, and the shirt and trousers beneath bore strange markings and tears, almost like singes. Clothing and tanned skin alike was covered in dark smudges that Seth couldn’t even begin to guess at. Her complexion wasn’t dark enough to be from Xalder, and the walking boots she wore would never be worn in the flat, sandy streets, and the dead grey colour of her eyes was like nothing Seth had seen in any of the seven Descodian countries.

Her lips quirked upwards, and she stepped closer, slipping her arm through Seth’s. He flinched. “Let go.”

He tried to pull back, but her hold was a lot stronger than her bony limbs implied.

“I will. But I’m gonna walk you home first.”

There was a darkness shadowing her tone that made Seth’s feet move in tandem with hers as she began walking directly through the busy crowd, as opposed to finding a way around it. Her hold was tight. Grip firm. And Seth couldn’t ignore how strangely warm she was. No, not warm. Hot. Maybe she was overheating in her layers, unsuited to the desert sun, because her arm felt like it was radiating heat.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m only hear to clear my conscience so later, when I hear some stupid palace servant has been dragged off to a much-awaited life of pain and torture at the Abbey, I don’t feel guilty.”

Her voice was quieter now. She wore an easy expression, smiling as she spoke, appearing to anyone else that she was having a pleasant stroll with a friend perhaps. But her words chilled Seth to the bone. He fixed her with a dull stare.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

She raised an eyebrow at his words. It was true though. No matter how much Seth regretted it, he truly didn’t believe he’d done anything wrong in saving that boy. He wasn’t about to let this stranger, who’d done the same thing, tell him otherwise.

“I said you were stupid. I didn’t say you did anything wrong,” the girl said slowly. “The world would be a far better place if more people did what you did. And if more people did, more… ‘acceptable’ people, perhaps I wouldn’t need to be here, confirming that you do in fact know just what you did in putting yourself on their radar.”

Seth looked away, up to the towering palace walls as they grew closer. They were tall and thick, built from stone that had stood the tests of time for centuries. No one in history had ever managed to breach the walls of Xalder’s royal palace. It was no wonder Seth felt so safe behind those walls. No wonder that he’d forgotten he wore a uniform, not armour, and a respected pin, not a crown. A brief moment of madness, of a pathetic crushing moral compass, and he had found himself in the one place he’d promised everyone he’d never end up. On the top of the Eighth Guard’s wanted list.

No one managed to stay hidden for their entire nineteen years of life. The Abbey and their Guard didn’t let that happen. Someone left unnoticed for that long was what they feared the most.

Seth swore he could feel the fear wrapping itself around his throat, and as they reached the gates of the palace, the girl let go of him at last.

“They won’t get me here,” he said, sure of that much. Royalty and leading families were exempt from the Abbey’s reach, so long as they could prove the Taint was harmless and they kept it hidden from the world. Maybe Seth wasn’t royalty himself, but behind those walls, nothing could happen to him. Asher wouldn’t let it. It was the only reason his grandmother had signed away his custody before she died.

“It’ll be harder for them, but not impossible. I knew who you were thanks to that,” She motioned to the aster flower pin on his shirt. “but the Eighth Guard are trained to learn about their targets from just a glance. They’ll know who you are. They’ll know what protections you have. And they’ll already be working to break through them.”

At the gates, Captain Joran peered over at them curiously. This was wasting even more time.

“None of this sounds like a warning,” Seth muttered. “It’s just reiterating what I already know.”

The girl scoffed, shaking her head. “Yet you’re still walking that way, instead of running straight to Willsend?”

Willsend. The God’s Overflow. The place so abandoned by the Siblings, that the Abbey didn’t dare touch. It was the only place Tainted were completely safe from them. How many times had he heard the suggestion?

“We should move to Willsend, love. It’s safer for him.”

“Send him away. He’ll be out of their reach, and out of our hair.”

“Willsend could protect you, Seth. I’d go with you, if you asked. If it would let you sleep at night.”

The two of them held one another’s gazes. The girl seemed to be searching for something, and eventually, she smiled. “You’ll not listen, huh?”

Seth shook his head.

“Fair enough. I’ve done my part. Conscience officially cleared.” Turning on her heel, she wandered back towards the busy crowd, pausing and glancing back with a grin. “At least it’ll take them a while to find your mark. But only if stop scratching it.”

As she tapped behind her right ear, Seth’s blood ran cold. Slowly, he lowered his hand, not having even realised it had been there, scratching away again as if he could remove the sign of the Taint from his skin.

Unable to watch as she laughed, Seth turned quickly, hurrying towards the gate. Most people were leaving the palace, workers and guards who had the evening off, as per tradition. They called out in greeting to Seth, offering him thanks and pats on the back as they passed, though he knew he didn’t deserve it that much. Only the highest ranking men and women remained working during the Year’s End. Captain Joran stood with a knowing smile on his face, which only served to unnerve Seth further.

“His lordship looks hotter than Saturday’s flame, Seth. Better have a good excuse for missing the blessing. And I don’t think seeing a girl counts.” He laughed, smacking Seth on the back as he walked past. Seth could only force a smile.

The gates started to close behind him as the last few stragglers left the palace grounds, and Seth slipped in before they shut, moving swiftly through the fore-garden – the luscious and rich plantation the best possible show of prosperity in Xalder. The grand doors were still ajar, held open by the Headwoman, who tutted impatiently as Seth stepped inside. She locked the doors shut behind him: they’d been waiting.

The main hall of Xalder’s palace was sparse but the space engulfing. Polished deep oak floors shimmered in the candlelight from the three silver chandeliers, but the pale orange stone of the walls were left bare and undecorated aside from an odd wooden frame for rich green climbing plants. In the centre of the main hall, the floors bore a great circular pattern burnt into the wood. An emblem of the sun. Lynt and Verona, heads of staff, and hyrons to the Grand Duke and Queen respectively, were working together to lift the great trap door in the very centre of the emblem, grunting at the weight.

The royals themselves all turned to Seth as he approached. The expressions worn by the Queen and the Duke might have been amused, or maybe expectant, but Seth cared more for what the final royal present was feeling.

The way Asher averted his gaze was enough to tell Seth that the silent treatment had started.

“I’m surprised you got through the square so quickly, Seth,” Duke Jerome started. “You were right at the back when I spotted you.”

“People moved aside pretty quickly for me, Sire,” Seth explained, ignoring the eyerolls and tuts that cascaded around the room at the title. Seth had long stopped reacting to it, and they’d all long stopped trying to remind Seth he didn’t need to use formalities when it was just the six of them. Hyrons and those they served had a bond, they always said, and that bond apparently didn’t have room for bureaucracies.

Verona pulled her hair loose from its clip, only to carefully redo it again. “Seth’s about to pray on their behalf. I’m sure they would have carried him to sunset prayers if necessary.”

“Tone, Verona,” the Queen smiled. “They deserve their break.”

There was a mutter from Verona Seth didn’t quite hear, but it earned her a prod in the ribs from the Queen. Now the six had assembled, and the Headwoman took up position on a small stool she placed by the trap door – for she would be the only one on watch inside tonight – Duke Jerome offered the Queen his arm and they started the descend underground. Lynt and Verona followed, leaving Seth alone with Asher.

Looking over at him, Seth found himself victim to that stare again: a look somewhere between anger and hurt, but worse than either. He didn’t expect Asher to speak yet, not when the Headwoman or the others heading down might overhear, so he wasn’t surprised when Asher turned sharply and began to head down, leaving Seth to trail after him.

The stairs were large and winding, uneven in size, but at least smooth and easy on their thin sandals after hundreds of years of use. The odd candle sat in crevices in the walls, offering the bare minimum of light needed to make the descent into the maze of tunnels and caverns that lay under the oasis city of Xalder. It was deep, in the very lowest of these caverns, that the cities only water reserves lay. Those sacred pools had been the life source of Xalder’s desert people since Saturday had brought the country of fire to creation. The depths of the water was sealed off to all but the most noble and trusted few, but the caves systems that ran in the ground above them were the prayer caverns of Xalder: transformed into places of worship by the first settlers of the country. The first few doors they passed on their way down were bolted shut: passages that led into the shallower gathering caves that the general public used across all of the city. The second layer down was another door, this one open, for the small cavern the palace workers and guards were permitted to use. At the third layer, when the walls at last began to feel a little cooler, a touch damper, hinting at the water below, was a small hollow that held a handful of doors. Doors that Seth and his party came to a stop at.

Traditionally, only members of the royal bloodline were permitted to pray in here, but a few generations ago, the royals invited their hyrons to join them. Lynt said it was an attempt to show just how much trust and understanding there was between the royals and their ‘other halves’: the servants who acted as everything from a shoe-shiner to a best friend.

Hyrons or not, traditions still stood though, and here there was no communal prayer cavern, but smaller, contained hollows. The Queen and Duke moved towards the first door, Lynt and Verona to a second, and Asher to a third. Seth stayed put.

Lynt reminded everyone he would knock when their time was up, and they the four elders moved into their rooms. Asher and Seth stayed still, listening to the bolts sliding across each door, before their eyes met.

It was apparent Asher expected Seth to speak first.

“If you’re still mad, I can join Lynt and Verona,” Seth offered, though he knew it was an empty one – he just needed to get Asher talking.

It worked. Asher’s frown deepened from one of upset to irritation. He scoffed. “Cut it out.”

He turned, heading inside the prayer room, and Seth followed without further question. Asher shut and locked the door behind them.

The cavern was a small one, meant for private prayer, and the only light in the room was the single candle sitting in the niche at the far wall. Beneath if stood a stone altar, the seven markings – one for each Sibling – etched into the surface. On each marking sat a bowl of the corresponding element, and before the entire setup lay a hand-woven straw mat: thin ribbons of gold and red weaving through the pale yellow, as symbolic of the Xalderian royal bloodline.

Before Seth could move to the mat, Asher grabbed his shirt, stopping him.

“You missed the blessing.”

Asher’s voice betrayed him: the pain clear.

“I did,” Seth said. “I’m sorry.”

“You know I wanted you to bless me.” Asher took the golden circlet off his brow and tossed it over the door handle. The sound of metal scraping together as it swung made Seth cringe.

It was traditional for the King or Queen to bless their children until they took the throne, but Seth knew Asher had wanted to lead the change in that: to give more public duties to hyrons. In a way, he was touched by the notion that Asher trusted him that much, but he knew there were other reasons. Ones that weren’t quite as noble. Still, no matter what Seth thought of that, the fact remained he’d hurt Asher.

“I know,” Seth said finally, lowering his gaze. “I let you down. I’m sorry, Asher.”

With a heavy sigh, Asher’s expression softened a little. Being out of the moment and shut away from ever-watching eyes always eased Asher anyway. He huffed once more, shooting Seth one less accusatory glance. “Mum got the ash in my eyes.”

Seth fought back a laugh. “How?”

“She dumped a massive handful on me. Look, it’s probably still in my hair.” Asher stepped forward, bowing his head, and sure enough, amongst the golden hair was a good amount of pale grey ash. Laughing now, Seth tried to brush the worst of it away.

“Next Year’s End, I’ll be sure to be more careful.”

The words did enough by way of smoothing any remaining tension away, and Asher smiled, his focus shifting to the task it should have been on.

The two of them knelt on the mat. Seth waited as Asher took some of the dust from the bowl of Tuesday, sprinkling it over his head before pressing his hands together and falling silent in prayer. Whilst in public blessings like the Year’s End one, Asher had to use Saturday’s ash – since Saturday was the patron of both Xalder and its royal house – in the privacy of the caverns, Asher was able to reach for the Sibling whose name he was actually born under like everyone else.

As for Seth, he reached for the seventh bowl. He took a pinch of Sunday’s chalk and let it fall over his head before he too fell into prayer.

He ran through the usual songs in his head: the Call of the Siblings, Sunday’s Laws, Xalder’s Prayer, until he finally moved onto his private thoughts. In the place where he usually gave thanks for Asher’s friendship, the royals’ kindness, and wishes for his grandparents’ and father’s peaceful rest, Seth found himself begging. Begging that he wouldn’t have to fear the Eighth Guard. Begging that the burning behind his ear would stop.

As always, not for a second did he feel like anyone was listening.

When he at last opened his eyes, hands slumping into his lap. The last pleas drifted from his thoughts, unanswered and probably unheard, and Seth became aware that Asher was looking at him. When he watched him like that, Asher’s golden eyes felt even more unnatural: like they might spy Seth’s innermost thoughts if Seth wasn’t careful. He pushed himself to his feet.

“Sorry, Asher. You should have just said something if you were done. Has Lynt already knocked?”

“Yeah, but you looked like you were praying really hard.”

“Well… we are supposed to be praying on behalf of the whole country. It makes sense to.”

Asher hummed noncommittally, eyes turning to stare at the altar. “You never did explain why you weren’t at the blessing. You looked pale when I saw you…” He looked back up at Seth. “You still do. Like you saw a ghost.”

Not so much a ghost as an omen, Seth decided. His fingers dipped lightly into Sunday’s chalk, rubbing the white specks between his fingers. Even this didn’t feel like it connected him to the Sibling whose name he carried.

Whose Taint he carried.

Word would get around. If the girl with violet hair was right, they’d reach the palace before long. It would upset Asher, any mention of the Abbey and Taints did, but he deserved to have the warning that the Guard would come breaking down the palace gates.

So, Seth was honest.

“The Eighth Guard are in the city. And they know I’m Tainted.”

The Last Taint is my baby you’ve no idea. This is the work I’m thinking of asking around for some betas for, so I’m leaving this here for people to get a taste! Spoiler alert: This world is everything to me, and as much as I love the lesser men series for their dragons, the kin verse holds a very very special place in my heart, and it’s so in detail, I can literally tell you events than happened in specific years. 

The Bookmaster’s head turned slowly, and he gave Maesha a smile she’d never received from him before. It was almost pleasant. She respected the elder scholar greatly, but Maesha didn’t deny that, for as great a mind as he was, he lacked social pleasantries.

“Yes, yes. Maesha Day,” He beckoned her forward, and Maesha took a few hesitant steps until his hand rested on her shoulder. “She’s our resident researcher in religion and religious articles. If anyone is to help you, it’d be her. She’s incredibly passionate. Came here and demanded to study when she was only… seven? Eight?”

Maesha was well aware that her passion and length of time at the College was the only things that the Bookmaster noticed about her. It was all anyone really knew her for.

She lowered her gaze to the floor, unable to even take in this woman when she was being examined so blatantly by her.

“Day,” the Bookmaster went on, patting her shoulder. “Miss Evelone requires some assistance. Please give her your attention.”

For a man who, Maesha was sure, had not a strip of muscle inside him anymore, the force with which he pushed Maesha forward past the desk was quite remarkable. The woman was still dragging her eyes up and down Maesha in her entirety, and that made her skin prickle with unease as she led this Miss Evelone out into the garden where meeting tables had been set up under the expansive arbour.

“Would you like a drink, Miss?” Maesha asked, motioning to an empty table.

“No, I’d very much like to get to the point,” Miss Evelone sighed heavily, brushing her hair from her forehead. Her skin shined, and Maesha wondered if she wasn’t used to the intense heat of Tyfe.

“How may I help you then, Miss?”

“I’m travelling with…” She paused, her lips quirking up slightly. “With some assistants of mine. We’re very interested in seeing some of the ancient religious grounds of Tyfe, as I know they are built so vastly different to the… singular and somewhat disappointing Temple we have in Clarend. However, the maps we were using to direct ourselves seem to be lacking, well, anything to do religious grounds whatsoever.”

Maesha couldn’t work out why this woman would want to see some boring religious spots, and she struggled not to furrow her brow. “Tyfe has a long and complicated history with religion. It was one of the first to build Temples to the Primaries, but one of the last countries of the Mainland to accept the concept of Secondaries. Historically, religious grounds here are seen to be something that people aren’t meant to go to, unless if they have some greater calling. Temples and the like in Tyfe have never been sightseeing spots like the Temple of Lore, or places open for common prayers and ceremonies like the Temple of the Secondaries. Thus, they’ve never been put on maps to avoid people getting the wrong impression.”

Miss Evelone listened in silence, and somehow that surprised Maesha. She held an air about her as if she believed she were far above anyone else, but she pressed a finger to her lips and sat thoughtfully for quite some time after Maesha had finished – like she was really taking in the information.

“And are the Temples still unvisited for the most part? Since the Mainland borders opened for the public, surely you have more tourists or more faithful followers from Loren and Estra, for example. Does Tyfe still keep the Temples private?” Miss Evelone asked. They were valid questions, ones that Maesha had written about in her research before.

“Um, more do visit, indeed. Hope Temple has prepared for that, however. They offer guides to help visitors learn and follow the expected protocol we have in Tyfe. If that’s what you wish to see, the guides there are knowledgeable in the history of Hope. It may not be mapped or signposted, but residents of the city are still happy to point it out.”

“Oh, we’re not interested in Hope,” Miss Evelone said.

Something about the blasé way she spoke made Maesha’s stomach twist. “Not Hope? Then… not a Temple, but somewhere seen as an important area in religious history?” She spoke hopefully, praying that this wasn’t going where her gut feared it would.

“No. The Temple of Lost Souls. That’s where we’re hoping to go.”

Maesha’s fingers dug into her knees. She held Miss Evelone’s eyes, attempting to pick apart the confidence and… challenge in her gaze.

“You can’t…” Maesha breathed.

“I’ve discovered that ‘can’t’ is a very decisive word,” Miss Evelone laughed. “More than that, it’s somewhat a belief. One I don’t invest much time in. So, yes, I can.”

Maesha shook her head. “The Temple of Lost Souls is not somewhere you can visit on a whim, Miss Evel-”

“Please, call me Spinel. ‘Miss Evelone’ is what my employees call me.”

That was very much beside the point, but it seemed this woman – Spinel – didn’t see that. Maesha glanced around, fearing what would happen if someone overheard the way this conversation was going.

“That place is not what you associate Temples with, no matter what it’s called. It’s not a place people visit. It’s a place to avoided. Hope Temple is a perfectly beautiful and renowned example of Tyfen religious builds–”

Spinel’s lips curved upwards. Resting her chin on her hands, she leant closer over the table. “Why are you so against me visiting this Temple? What’s there?”

Maesha took a breath. “The Temple of Lost Souls is not a place built in honour of the Gods – Primary or Secondary. It’s a place built for the souls unable to cross over to the Far Plains. Vengeful souls, sorrowful souls, souls who couldn’t pass on in peace. They reside in the Temple… trapped there to prevent their negativity spilling over into the world.”

A soft sigh left Spinel’s lips, and she sat back again. “Goodness, this is cliched, isn’t it? I wonder how we didn’t see it before.”

At a complete loss, Maesha could only stare as Spinel seemed to find the whole concept boring. Perhaps she was a non-believer. Clarend tended to stray away from religion and prayer since the Split, Maesha knew that, but she’d never met someone so intent on visiting the Temple of Lost Souls even after hearing the stories. Even if she wasn’t religious, surely everyone was at least a little superstitious? Maybe this strange woman was a thrill seeker like those ghost hunters Maesha had heard tales of – the people who snuck into the mass crypts closed off since the Landbreak Wars. That must be it.

“Where is this Temple, then?” Spinel asked, and Maesha’s gripped at the edge of the table, horrified.

“If I tell you, you’ll go?”

“Obviously.”

“Even after all I’ve said?”

“Oh sweetheart, you could have told me there were packs of rabid wolves around the Temple and I still would go.”

“But, why?” Maesha pressed. “What could there possibly be to make you want to go to an old, crumbling Temple with nothing but ghosts in?”

Spinel tilted her head to the side, an amused smile on her face. “The ghosts, of course.”

Hey guys look it’s Maesha! She’s finally here!!! 

I’m aware this tag list is a little old now because I’ve not posted a snippet in yonks! If you’d like to be added/removed please let me know! Thank you all! <3

Tag List:

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