Smolder (Crown of Fae #3) - Sharon Ashwood Page 0,59
say, here at the seat of its power? What astounding knowledge of the healing arts might she discover?
“As I said, the Great Temple does not always dwell in Faery, but like every temple in the land, including yours in Eldaban, this pyramid provides a conduit to the Flame. That is the entrance to the inner sanctum.”
She glanced up at Morran, reading the reverence in his face. “And this is where the rites of your people are performed?”
“Some. We are wary of the inner sanctum, for the Flame is hot even for our kind. It would be a fatal pit of fire if you tried to dance in it.”
“I would not be so presumptuous.”
Leena stared in wonder, feeling the temple’s power like a vibration through her feet. The fire leaped and spat upward, the bright curls of elemental power reflecting in the still water like a living painting.
Leena pressed a hand to her breastbone, needing to ease the sudden tightness there. This sight was more powerful, serene, and lovely than she’d imagined possible. And despite everything—the Ravaged Lands, the Shades, traveling from one world to the next—she had survived to see it. This was the true Flame, the spark that gave her people life. It was the Essence, the meaning, the healing warmth of the world.
Fatigue mixed with wonder and relief, bringing on a silent storm of emotion. The sight was too exquisite, too profound to take in all at once. Wiping tears from her cheeks, Leena left Morran’s side and drifted toward the pool, the soles of her borrowed shoes a whisper on the stone floor. She stopped a few yards from the edge, barely able to breathe. She stretched out a hand, as if the radiance of the Flame’s reflection were something she could touch. Perhaps it was.
Morran came to stand at her side, his presence reassuring and warm. “This is what we fight to protect. The Flame, and the lives it touches with its light.”
It took Leena a moment to find her voice. “Where are the priestesses and healers? Where are the temple cats?”
“There are four pyramids. One is for teaching, one for healing, and one for the archive kept by the Queen of Cats. This building is for private meditation. That said, in times of war, the Temple is evacuated. Right now, its residents will be in Tymeera. You and I are alone.”
“Can anyone come here?” she asked, still overwhelmed by the quiet solitude of the place.
“Of course. The Flame is for all, but few would make the pilgrimage in wartime.” He brushed her hair aside from her neck. “The Shade tore your shirt when he grabbed you back at the battlefield. He pierced your skin with his claws.”
His voice was grim, as if the injury was a personal affront. Leena craned her neck to look, but the angle was impossible.
“It stings,” she said, “but then everything aches right now.”
“Bathe in the pool. Any hurts or poison will be cleansed by these waters.”
Leena gave him an astonished stare. “I’m too filthy.”
He smiled then, looking unexpectedly boyish. “What do you think a bath is for?” Then he bent to take off his boots.
“This is a sacred pool. It’s disrespectful.”
“Do you think the Flame can’t handle a bit of sand?”
She had nothing to say to that. By then, he’d pulled off her shoes as well. Still, she wavered. Ritual bathing was common, but not women and men together. Not unless they were sworn to one another.
But then he shed his coat and weapons, and he kept stripping down until nothing remained but his linen underclothes. He waded into the pool and ducked under the water, swimming a short distance before rising in a stream of fire-lit water. It licked over the curve of his bare arms and chest in molten rivulets.
Leena’s breath stopped. He was as perfect as a sculpture. An eager thrill ran through her, but she pushed it aside. He’d already declared his heart unattainable, and she had no interest in courting disappointment.
Briskly, she shed the borrowed clothes she’d put on over her brief cotton shift. She sank gratefully into the pool, letting the cool, soothing water soak away sand and grime. The buoyancy eased her aching muscles, reviving her as effectively as any of the Mother’s potions. This was a place of powerful healing.
Morran swam close, as swift and sleek as a seal. He bent close to her wound, making a disapproving sound. “It’s not as deep as I feared, but it still requires cleansing.”