The Cerulean (Untitled Duology, #1)(77)

“It is nice to see you too, Elorin,” she said, getting to her feet.

“Oh, I am sorry. I did not mean to interrupt you,” Elorin said, her silver cheeks darkening. “A novice must never interrupt a Cerulean at prayer.”

“It’s all right, do not worry yourself. I was finished anyway.” She glanced at the altar again. Perhaps the tears were just a trick of the light. Maybe she was trying to find signs that did not exist.

When she turned back, Elorin was looking at her strangely.

“I have not seen you here alone before.”

“I wished to feel close to Mother Sun for a while, that is all.”

Elorin turned her gaze to the ceiling. “Do you remember how Sera always said she felt closest to Mother Sun when she was at the top of the temple’s spire?”

“I do,” Leela said. “I am surprised you remember that.”

“I think I was a little jealous of her,” Elorin said shyly. “She did not seem to worry about saying whatever came into her head. She did not care what others thought about her.”

“She did, sometimes,” Leela said. “But never for very long.”

Elorin allowed a small smile at that. “All the girls thought me quite pious and boring. But the truth is, I always knew I would be a novice. I like the temple; it feels like home here. I like sleeping in the dormitory with the other novices, and tending to the Moon Gardens, and singing to Mother Sun in the mornings. And if Sera felt at home at the top of the spire, why should she not climb it? We all have our quirks, I think. Even my mo—even Jandess and Kilia and Reinin.” Elorin stumbled over her mothers’ true names. “Even the High Priestess,” she added quickly, as if to gloss over her almost-mistake.

The skin on Leela’s arms prickled. “Oh?” she said, trying to sound casual. “Does she climb to the top of the spire as well?”

Elorin laughed. “No, nothing like that. But there is a secret place in the temple she will go to when she sequesters herself, and she has been there much recently. Only the acolytes know it. Novice Belladon told me it is impossible to find. It is the place where she can refresh her mind and recommit to her faith.” Her gaze drifted to the altar. “She has led us with such devotion, and for so long. We are very lucky to have her.”

Leela clenched her jaw. But she saw an opportunity in Elorin, perhaps a way to visit parts of the temple she had never been to before. She must try to find this secret place Elorin spoke of.

“Would you show me the dormitory?” Leela asked. “I would very much like to see where you are living now.”

Elorin looked delighted. “Why, of course!” She led Leela outside, taking her around to the back of the temple, to a plain wooden door with a brass handle. She opened it, revealing a set of sunglass steps leading down into a pale silver light.

The dormitory was a large circular room that Leela guessed was directly underneath the main sanctuary of the temple. Lanterns hung from the walls at even intervals, extinguished now in daytime. Neatly made beds filled the space, with little nightstands beside them littered with various personal belongings. Elorin led Leela to her own bed. A pretty golden comb, a vase with a single moonflower inside it, and a ring in the shape of the many-pointed star set with a large red stargem lay on her nightstand.

“I sleep between Novice Cresha and Novice Baalin,” she was saying. “Cresha is very nice, but Baalin snores. Sometimes it is like sleeping beside a seresheep.”

Elorin giggled at her own jest. How Leela envied her in this moment, the simplicity of her life, and steadiness of her purpose.

“And what of the acolytes?” she asked, because surely whatever secrets the High Priestess kept, they would not be found in the novice dormitory. “Where do they sleep?”

“Oh, they have rooms higher up in the temple,” Elorin said. “We novices are not allowed inside them; they are private. Except for a few of the very old novices who are tasked with ensuring their cleanliness from time to time.” She frowned. “Now that I think of it, I have never heard where the High Priestess sleeps. No one has ever spoken of it.”

“Perhaps she sleeps in the secret spot you mentioned.”

“No, I do not think so . . . but I suppose I do not rightfully know.”

“Or maybe she does not sleep at all,” Leela mused, thinking nothing would surprise her anymore.

Elorin grinned. “Now that would make her truly exceptional.”

They left the dormitory and wandered through the Moon Gardens, passing some novices pruning rosebushes and an orange mother leaving an offering at the foot of Aila’s statue. She nodded to them as she left.

“Many orange mothers have come to pray for a birthing season to begin,” Elorin whispered.

“Yes, I saw Heena earlier when I arrived,” Leela said. Aila’s moonstone statue gleamed iridescent white, shot through with tendrils of color that chased each other like minnows, vanishing and reappearing. Aila was frozen with her arms raised to the sky, a smile etched across her face, her long hair wild about her as if caught in a cheerful breeze. Already a small pile of offerings, garlands of flowers and plates of food, were gathering at her feet. And Leela knew with a heavy certainty that there would be a birthing season soon, but not because Mother Sun willed it so. It would be a continuing distraction, one designed to keep all Cerulean thoughts away from Sera and the failed ceremony.