House of Secrets and Vows (Crown of Deceit #1)

13. Penance and Patience

13

PENANCE AND PATIENCE

M y run-in with the prince leaves me unnerved.

I’d planned to find him at the revel, laughing with nobles, all there to impress him, not sitting alone in the gardens. He stepped in like some hero and saved me from the guard who planned to, what, take me to the king and have me questioned for walking the castle grounds at night?

A yawn widens my mouth as the elderly man on the other side of the confessional drones on about an affair he had four decades ago.

It had taken me an eternity to finally find sleep after my encounter with the prince. Rage had mingled with intoxication from the wine, and as much as I hate to admit it, his touch on my hand had left me flustered.

But I'm not a foolish damsel who yearns for a prince, especially not one who has given himself to such evil.

“It only happened for a fortnight.” The elderly man moves his hands from the arms of the chair to his lap. His fingers brush along the fine linen of his pants. “My wife suspected, but I reassured her that her doubts were simply rooted in her own insecurity.”

Easing his wife’s intuition with guilt and blame? What a pig. I resist the urge to vomit up the strawberry croissant I’d had for breakfast.

“I see.” I loosen my balled fists, reminding myself a priestess isn’t supposed to judge the confessor. Yet another reason I'm an awful priestess. I am incapable of not judging such a narcissistic man, but I'm skilled enough to choke down my opinion of men like him.

“Though now, after her death last year, I can see the error of my choices.”

Now that she isn’t there to leave him for his indiscretions. Convenient . So many of those who confess their misdeeds are in a place where the behavior they want forgiveness from no longer serves them.

I should be used to the pattern by now.

And yet my disgust for the nobles of the kingdom grows every day.

I force myself to take a deep breath before responding. “Donate your wedding ring to one of the many Valazican orphanages.”

Handing out penance in the name of the Goddess is by far the best part of being a priestess. Usually, I keep the punishments petty, as most confessions are rather mild.

Today, however, I'm not in the mood for such graciousness.

The man touches the gaudy piece of jewelry on his finger.

“But it’s made of sapphire and pure gold.” His voice comes out in a desperate screech.

Perfect . Perhaps it will serve some good. After the harshness of this past winter, the orphans in the street are especially thin. Any valuable donation can be sold for money and provide much-needed food and clothing.

I run my finger over the smooth material of my dress. “As your wife has already passed to the other side, a sizable gesture is needed to secure forgiveness.”

The man glares across the transparent curtain between us, and though he can’t see me, I resist the urge to stick out my tongue.

I yawn again as the man mumbles something I don’t care to hear and hobbles out of the confessional.

After three more hours of confessions, I doze off as I get the first respite of the day, jolting awake as a familiar voice says, “You’ve been a busy woman today.”

Blaise, the man who sat next to me at the bar to get two drinks last night, takes a seat across the curtain from me. In the bright light shining in from the single window of the room, the golden speckles in his eyes sparkle against his light skin.

As he leans casually back in the chair and grins, he looks younger than he had last night.

“Welcome,” I say, keeping my voice lighter than its natural tone.

My voice is the one thing that can give away my double identity, so I always alter my priestess voice by letting more air pass through my vocal cords as I speak.

“This is such a boring room.” His gaze scans the walls and the floor. “It’s torture to make you sit here all day.”

“It’s no bother. I’m honored to have been invited to serve this Solstice.”

“Honored? Is life as a priestess really that awful?”

Despite my duty as a priestess being a ruse, I bite my tongue at his question.

“It’s a blessing from the Goddess.” I repeat the rehearsed answer I always give to blend in at the Temple.

“A blessing?” He tilts his ear toward his shoulder. “How so? Enlighten me.”

“I’m not here to explain myself to you.” My voice slips into its regular tone. I quickly adjust it back before adding, “Have you come to make a confession?”

This conversation takes me back to when Prince Nevan came to the Temple. He hadn’t believed in the ritual of confession either.

“I’ve always found the idea of confession fascinating.” He crosses an ankle over a knee. “You’re, as you say, blessed by the Goddess to listen to our darkest secrets, and then what? What power do you have to rid us of our guilt?”

“I have no power. All forgiveness comes from the Goddess.” I’m not sure whether to be annoyed or amused at his interrogation. Perhaps after a night of full sleep, I’d enjoy playing his game, but not today.

“So, why must we confess to you?”

“You mustn’t confess anything unless you so desire.”

“But to gain forgiveness, I’m to confide in you?” Blaise stretches out his arms as if bored.

“I’m here to listen and sworn to secrecy. Perhaps one of the high priestesses at the Temple would be better equipped to answer the specifics of why.” My patience wears thin as a headache settles into my temples.

He relaxes his elbows on the arm of the chair, spreading his hands in a quick stretch before relaxing them.

He dons two rings, neither of which are on his wedding finger. The ring on his right hand is made of a thick bronze band and hosts a bright emerald atop it. The one on his left index finger has no jewels. Its silver band is embossed with a swirl pattern that twists into knots.

Something about it feels oddly familiar, but I can’t place why.

“Well, since I’m here…” He takes a dramatic breath. “When I was seventeen, I snuck into a tavern after close and stole three bottles of liquor.”

Thievery. Somehow, I'm not surprised.

“Then I shared that liquor with a stunning woman, and we did everything holy and unholy we could think of. All consensual, of course.”

“I can sense your remorse.” Sarcasm thickens my tone, and I realize my drop in ruse too late.

He only smirks as if it was his intention to get under my skin.

As much as I want to tell him the Goddess would like him to go chop off his cock, I have already stepped out of character. “Go without liquor for three days.”

“Three days sober at Solstice?”

“I’m afraid that’s what the Goddess wants.” I shrug as if he can see me.

He stands, grinning. “I’ll consider it.”

And then he struts out.

It takes everything in me to keep my temper from getting the better of me for the rest of the day’s confessions. Thankfully, there are no more cheating husbands or cocky men with nothing better to do than waste my time.

When the afternoon bell chimes, I exit the confessional to an empty cathedral.

It’s such a luxurious place. I can’t imagine how much of the people’s well-earned offerings went to creating the mosaic ceiling or building the smooth mahogany benches.

Not to mention the gaudy statue of the king.

I stop by the monstrosity that stands taller than two people. The king is almost unrecognizable in the version depicted in the statue. His hair is the same length as the present, but the statue version of him has a fuller face, free from the gauntness of aging and poor health.

In the Silver District of Valazica, there is a replica of the statue that sits on top of a small pool where people can toss in coins for good luck. It’s a popular attraction and one that draws many commoners from all three parts of Valazica, even those in the most run-down parts of the slums.

I’m sickened at the thought of poor Valazicans tossing what little coin they have for nothing more than the hope of good fortune to a king who would rather waste the wealth on fancy cathedral ceilings and an abundance of useless jewelry and clothing than feed and house the poorest of the kingdom.

Before I get myself too riled, I continue out of the cathedral, eager to strip off all of my priestess attire.

Hopefully, there’s another note waiting for me in my room.

Last night hadn’t gone as planned in the slightest. When I finally had the chance to interact with the prince, I was taken off guard and wasted the opportunity. Our brief banter might have planted a small seed, though, and when I see him again, I can deepen our connection.

I hurry through the hallways, eager to draw myself a bath. The heat of the final days of spring is here, and salty perspiration coats my skin. At the Temple, we’re allowed to bathe once a week, the limit in place to conserve water.

Here, though, I can relax in the hot water to my heart’s desire, which is exactly what I plan to do.

As I turn the last corner of the ground level, I bump into someone, hard. Air whooshes out of my lungs as we both fall backward, flat on our backsides.

Flowers and leaf stems fly up and then scatter to the ground. Next comes the loud crash of a glass vase that shatters into a thousand pieces.

The dark-haired woman, who must be a servant, huffs as she eyes the mess.

“I’m so incredibly sorry!” I push myself onto my knees and crawl to the botanical jumble. I resist smiling at the thought of Priestess Lana seeing me on the ground, crawling like a toddler in my priestess attire.

“It was my fault. I couldn’t see past this god-awful forest.” The servant joins in cleaning up. “But one of the important noble guests just has to have a fresh bouquet every morning.”

Once all the pieces are picked off of the floor, we both get to our feet.

The servant maneuvers the bramble in her hands to the side, exposing a jagged scar just beneath her thumb.

When she looks at me, she gapes. “Heavens above, I could have cleaned it up myself. If anyone saw that the priestess was helping me…”

“I would have explained that the Goddess urged me to aid in cleaning up the mess I helped make.” Too often, I forget how cruel those in power can be to servants. It’s why I choose this life of risk, a small hope inside me that someday things will be better.

The servant reaches out, and I hand her the stack I collected. “Well, thank you.”

As she takes the pile from me, a branch catches on my veil and pulls the fabric away from my face.

The woman stares straight at me, surprise flashing in her bright blue eyes, before quickly averting her gaze.

I freeze, a string of curse words filling my mind.

Never sharing my face as a priestess is the one thing that keeps me safe. It has always been so easy at the Temple where I enter and exit from a door the confessors never even see and sit behind an enchanted curtain where I always— always —have my face shielded.

Perhaps it wouldn't matter if I planned to stick to my priestess duties while at the palace. But I don’t.

“My gratitude is yours.” The servant blocks herself with the scrambled bouquet in her hands. “I best get these into a new vase and clean up the rest.”

She hurries around me, while I stand there, unmoving as I stare at the shattered vase.

The woman saw me…

The sensible thing would be to call off my ruse, get through the Solstice, and devise another plan.

But I can’t waste this chance to bring down the prince. Not to mention whatever Felix wants of me while I’m here. This is my chance to finally earn his complete respect.

But if my double life is revealed, I’ll lose any opportunity for revenge.

And, quite possibly, my head.