The Cerulean (The Cerulean Duology #1) - Amy Ewing Page 0,84

understand but felt was more important than anything she’d ever known in her life, it was all building up inside her and she wanted to scream.

“We know you were her best friend,” Koreen said. “But that does not change what happened. She was not worthy. You must accept it, Leela. The High Priestess said so herself.”

“She was a better Cerulean than most in this City,” Leela shot back. “Far better than you will ever be, Koreen!”

Then she stormed past them and into the creamery before she could say anything else that might get her in trouble. She slammed her pail down on the table, where the cheesemongers could collect it, and found herself face-to-face with Elorin. She was carrying several cloth-covered wheels of cheese in a basket, and her expression left Leela with no doubt that she had overheard the heated conversation.

“Good afternoon,” she said.

“Good afternoon,” Leela replied tersely.

There was an awkward silence. Leela had never been particularly close with Elorin and was not sure what to say. She just wished to be alone.

“I am a novice now,” Elorin said. “I will be settling into the dormitory tonight.”

Leela did not want to think about all her friends moving on, finding their purposes in the City, leaving their mothers’ dwellings. She wanted everything to go back to how it was.

“That is wonderful news,” she forced herself to say. “You must be very happy.”

Elorin nodded, then bit her lip. “I thought she was very brave,” she said, leaning close so that only Leela could hear her. “Sera, I mean. I do not know if I would have had the grace and courage she did.”

Tears once again sprang to Leela’s eyes—she felt as if her body had become an unending reservoir that would never run dry.

“Thank you for saying that,” she whispered.

Elorin touched her shoulder. “Come to the temple if you need solace,” she said.

Leela’s smile was a frail, feeble thing. She did not want solace from the temple. She wanted her friend back and she wanted the world to make sense again. Elorin left her with a halfhearted wave, and Leela took her leave of the creamery with its clattering of pails and sharp, tangy scent of cheese.

What would Sera do now were she in my place? she thought. Had she heard what I heard, what course of action would she have taken? She probably would have walked right up to the temple and asked to speak to the High Priestess.

Was Leela brave enough to do the same? It was not just a matter of being brave, either. A tendril of hope was creeping into her mind, more tentative than the sunburst but with just as much power. What if she was wrong? What if she had simply misunderstood? It made far more sense if she thought about it—that Leela’s young and untrained mind had misinterpreted what she heard was much more likely than that the High Priestess was somehow responsible for Sera’s death. Perhaps Leela could ask about the choosing ceremony and how it had come about. That seemed a reasonable enough query. Maybe she could put her own mind at ease. Maybe then she would stop snapping at everyone and the storm growing inside her might be soothed.

She set off for the temple, making her way through the meadows and passing the orchards, until she was crossing Aila’s Bridge and facing the gleaming copper doors. The temple seemed larger than it ever had before, its tip pointing to the sky like an admonishing finger. Leela’s legs trembled and her chest seized up—she could not do this; she was not the Cerulean Sera had been. She did not know how long she stood there, her courage faltering, her heart torn. She wished she felt more grown-up, more sure of herself.

She wished she were not so alone.

“Leela?”

Acolyte Klymthe was walking down the steps of the temple, a watering can in one hand.

“Good afternoon, Acolyte,” Leela said. The time was now. She must be brave, like Sera. “I was hoping perhaps I might speak to the High Priestess.”

Acolyte Klymthe’s eyebrows rose high above her close-set eyes. “Why, what on earth for, my child?”

Leela felt she should have better prepared herself for this situation now that she was in it. “I thought I might . . . ask her about . . . the choosing ceremony.”

Acolyte Klymthe’s expression softened. “She is sequestered for a time. Her energies are very low, I’m afraid.”

Leela saw an opportunity to play on the acolyte’s sympathies. “As are mine,”