I’ve no interest in hearing your protests, nor your sarcastic taunts. You will become a Daughter and that is the end of it. Keep your mouth shut.”
“I’m twenty years old, Mother. Well beyond the need for your admonishing.”
Eyes narrowed, she twists around to face me. “Your father would be appalled, if he heard you right now.”
My father happened to appreciate my humor and snarky mouth, but I don’t tell her that. Instead, I lift the hem of my dress, roll my shoulders back, and continue my descent until I’m beside her. “He would’ve been appalled with you too,” I say, and step past her to the foyer.
Outside the front entrance, the chattering of the gathering crowd sends a flare of anxiety through my already frayed nerves. The wait for my mother seems to take an eternity, and I turn just enough to see her wiping moisture from her cheeks, as she makes her way toward me. With one hand on the knob, she takes a breath and throws back the door, her face flicking from grief to feigned pride, like the flip of a switch.
This is her moment. One she’s hoped for since the day I was born. One that’s goaded her to guard my virtue like a buried treasure.
The chatter dies to a deafening quiet, and she steps aside, ushering me forward.
Members of the community form two lines from our doorstep to the road, and also down the block, to the church at the end of the street. Other lines converge on the street, too, where the other two candidates also make their way along this iniquitous path. The flicker of candles burn against the night sky, as they sing a hymn in unison, filling the air with a solemn calm. As I walk past, each of them bow in a show of respect.
My brother, Grant, is among them, offering a more sympathetic smile. Somehow, the thought of him being here for this is wrong.
It’s all wrong.
The urge to crawl out of my skin, to kick off these shoes and run into the darkness, beckons my muscles. I search for Will in the throng, the boy I’ve known since the age of ten and my best friend, but find him nowhere.
Of course, he wouldn’t be here. In spite of how he’s supposed to feel about this, I know it troubles him, perhaps even more than it does me. We made a vow to marry someday, if neither of us are already taken, but now the church has staked his claim to me. Much as I have no interest in marrying him, at all, it would’ve been a better alternative to this. Not that it matters at this point. The moment he learned I’ve been chosen, he went against his own beliefs and recruited himself as a Legion soldier.
Grief makes people do crazy things, and his shackled him to four years in the military.
For years, recruiters have hounded him to join, and in his refusal, his family turned against him. I’m certain they’ve since opened their arms to him and praise my name as the reason for his sudden change of heart.
While I remain here, performing my duties, he’ll be off fighting marauders and Ragers in the name of Szolen.
What a beautiful couple we’d make in the eyes of this community--the brave son and vestal Daughter.
Except, I’ll be far from chaste.
For the next five years, I’ll be tasked with building the community, by sleeping with a number of men, whether married, or not. As far as the church is concerned, it won’t be considered adultery because of the mission behind it. A cause for the greater good of humankind. When I’m not screwing members of my community, I’ll be sent on Missions beyond the wall, to recruit only the healthiest men from hives, particularly those with useful skills. I’ll be touted as a perk of Szolen, a prize for their loyalty.
After those five years, I’m given first choice of raising the children, and if I choose not to, they’ll be adopted out to very willing homes, including those of the biological fathers. Until then, they’re raised by the church.
My genetics, scholastic aptitude and medical history made me an all-too-fitting candidate to bear as many children as I can over the next five years, before I’m no longer considered prime. It was my father who shielded me from this my whole life, and upon his passing, I became the coveted--an honor for which my mother was more than happy to oblige.
Only