The Alcazar (The Cerulean Duology #2) - Amy Ewing Page 0,137

will be even more to see when we leave this planet,” Sera said, trying to sound brave. She saw Leo flinch out of the corner of her eye but could not bring herself to look at him. She’d have to leave him. Again.

They passed through the doors to the Alcazar and made their way back to the courtyard. And there, by the fountain, was the High Priestess. She and Wyllin stood several feet apart.

“You abandoned me,” Wyllin was saying, though there was no anger in her tone.

The High Priestess crumpled. “Forgive me, Wyllin. I didn’t know how it would work, not really. I was frightened. I thought I was doing what was right.”

“I know,” Wyllin said. Her eyes caught Sera’s and then she pointed. The High Priestess turned to find Leo and Agnes gaping at her.

“Do you see?” Wyllin said. “These humans are devoted to Sera. There is hope after all. Not every planet is Orial. Mistakes can be made and atoned for, but not like this. Not this way. We have lived for so long, you and I. Too long. It is time now. You have carried this burden for years more than you expected. You cling to life the way you cling to power. Aren’t you tired, Elysse? All the fears you had no longer exist. Not all planets are safe, but they are not all as dangerous as you think. And we are killing this one. By staying here, we are draining it dry. It is time to let go.”

“I don’t know how,” the High Priestess said, and she sounded small and pitiful.

“Together,” Wyllin said. “We will let go together.”

Tears filled the High Priestess’s eyes. “I’m frightened.”

Sera did not think she would ever be able to feel sympathy for the High Priestess, but as she looked at her now, she could not help thinking what a sad creature she was, and how lonely she must have been all those centuries. It did not excuse her actions, but it helped to smooth the rough edges of Sera’s grief for her City.

“I know,” Wyllin said, walking forward to clasp her hands. “But balance must be returned. By keeping the secret of the Great Sadness, you deprived the City of its very right to choose its fate for itself. How many travelers and tether-tenders and planet-keepers have been denied their true purpose because they did not know it was an option at all? How many different types of love have you prevented? I know you were only trying to keep them safe. But they are safe. And they deserve to be themselves, whatever that may mean. It is time for the City to move on. It is time for you and me to join Mother Sun in her endless embrace. It is time, Elysse. Can’t you feel it?”

The High Priestess swallowed. “I don’t know how,” she said again. “I don’t know how to let go.”

Wyllin smiled at her. “I do.” She bent and kissed their hands where they joined. “I forgive you,” she said. At that, the High Priestess seemed to shatter, hunching over as tears fell, leaving tiny imprints on the floor of the courtyard. Wyllin rubbed her back and murmured soothing words.

“So will she be the sacrifice to break the tether?” Leela asked.

Wyllin turned and Sera felt a thrill run from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair. Then, to her surprise, the High Priestess straightened and spoke.

“This tether is not like the others that have been created throughout our history,” she said. “It was not forged by death, and so need not be broken by it. If one has the courage. To fall again.” She looked up at the sky. “But she must live the rest of her days on this planet. She cannot return to the City.”

“What?” Leela cried.

Sera felt a heady sense of relief at odds with a crippling sorrow inside her.

“You can’t,” Leo said, and the pain in his voice was palpable. Sera’s heart swelled. How selfless of him, to insist that she go. She could hardly recall the selfish, shallow person he had once been.

“Sera, you don’t need to do this,” Agnes said. “You should go home.”

But Sera remembered a fleeting bit of Leela’s memory, of the dream she’d had when Mother Sun had visited her as a will-o-the-wisp.

Home is not always what we think it is when our journey begins. And it can change along the way.

The word she’d seen written on the temple doors when she’d returned