The Cerulean (Untitled Duology, #1)(14)

She looked at Koreen’s smooth silver skin and big azure eyes, her breasts curving under her dress, her silky blue hair swept over one shoulder. And she tried. She tried so hard to find something arousing about her.

But inside she was empty.

Sera didn’t realize she hadn’t given a response until Leela cleared her throat.

“Oh,” she said with a start. “I . . . I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Then she turned and wove her way through the crowd, trying not to make eye contact lest someone ask her again how she felt about being chosen.

Leela had a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. “You just said no to Koreen. Koreen!” She shook her head. “I bet that was a new experience for her. See, I told you she would be after you now that you are—”

“The chosen one,” a green mother said, coming up and kissing Sera’s hand. “May I ask—”

“The chosen one is thirsty,” Leela interrupted, in a most un-Leela-like fashion. “Please get her a refreshment.”

The green mother ducked her head, the jade ribbon around her neck creasing. “Yes, at once.”

Leela pulled Sera behind a large rhododendron bursting with magenta blossoms. “This is better,” she said. “A little quiet. Just for a second or two.”

Sera wrapped her arms around Leela. They did not need to blood bond in this moment to read each other’s hearts.

“It’s awful,” Leela said. “Everyone pulling and tugging and wanting a piece of you. And only yesterday they—” She stopped talking abruptly.

Sera sighed. “I know. Yesterday they all thought me a nuisance. And today . . . well, I will be out of their hair soon enough.” Her attempt at bravado sounded weak in her own ears. Leela wasn’t fooled.

“You are everything a Cerulean should be,” she said.

But Leela didn’t know. Not really.

It was then that the minstrel flowers began to sing, joyful yet ethereal, heralding the beginning of the celebration.

“Come,” she said, taking Leela’s hand. “Time to stop hiding.”

There had been little time for planning, and so gossamer blankets were laid out, each piled with platters of food and pitchers of clear water and sweetnectar. There was a table set up under a dainty elm for the High Priestess and Sera and her mothers. Sera sat on a stool beside the High Priestess and wished she were home eating dinner in her kitchen. Leela and her family sat close by, and Leela kept making silly faces at Sera whenever their eyes met, until Leela’s green mother noticed and whispered in her ear to make Leela stop.

The acolytes served those seated at the table, and Sera could tell her mothers were just as uncomfortable in this situation as she was. Her orange mother kept half rising from her seat every time one passed, until her green mother put a hand on her thigh and murmured, “Otess, stop.”

“I don’t like being served by an acolyte,” she whispered back. “It isn’t right. I should be serving them.”

“We all serve in the City Above the Sky,” the High Priestess said, and Sera’s mothers started. “Do not let it upset you. My acolytes are honored to attend to the family of the chosen one.”

Acolyte Endaria nodded as she refilled her orange mother’s glass. “Indeed, we are. You have given us a great gift.”

“And what is that?” her purple mother asked. Sera was surprised by her terseness. She had never heard her purple mother speak in such a tone.

Acolyte Endaria smiled. “Why, you have given us the chosen one.” She set down the pitcher and took both of Sera’s purple mother’s hands in her own. “The City thanks you.”

“I did not birth Sera for the City to take her away, thank you very much,” her purple mother said, pulling her hands back.

“Kandra,” her orange mother said, shocked.

Acolyte Endaria looked to the High Priestess, who waved her away. “It’s all right, Endaria. Gather the novices. The time of adoration is nearly at hand.”

Sera didn’t like the sound of that.

“I cannot pretend to understand the pain you all must be feeling,” the High Priestess said to Sera’s mothers. “And I cannot prevent the suffering you will feel at Sera’s loss. But know that you are helping to keep all these families together.” She swept out a hand at the Cerulean sitting on blankets, laughing and eating and teasing one another, casting furtive glances at the table. “There is great worth in that.”

Her purple mother muttered something Sera could not hear, and her green mother was sitting ramrod straight on her stool.

“Of course there is,” her orange mother said, but she was looking down at her plate.

Sera felt miserable. It was one thing to be frightened herself, but to watch her mothers being told they should be honored and thanked was unbearable. She picked morosely at her salad of melon and pomegranate seeds and wondered when the feast would end and she could go home. She wanted her orange mother to make lavender tea like she always did after dinner, and her purple mother would take out her harp and play for them while Sera and her green mother washed and dried the dishes.

The High Priestess stood and silence fell. “My children,” she said in a ringing tone. “It is nearly time for the adoration of our chosen one. Think about what you will say, how you will honor her. For she is the light that Mother Sun has chosen for us.” She turned to Sera and held out a hand. “Come,” she said.