The Alcazar (The Cerulean Duology #2) - Amy Ewing Page 0,34

to shout to someone who was in the Day Gardens from the top of the temple; there might be the faintest trace of a voice on the wind, but not enough to hear exact words. Else why had she not already righted this wrong and exposed the High Priestess herself? Leela felt as if perhaps Mother Sun had been lost somehow, as if she had been searching for the City Above the Sky and was only just now beginning to find it.

At long last, dusk of the third day of her fast arrived, and Acolyte Endaria came for her with a tray of broth and an onion roll sprinkled with poppy seeds. Leela’s stomach roared at the scent of it.

“Eat slowly,” Acolyte Endaria said as Leela gripped the bowl in trembling hands and slurped the broth. “It will be hard on your stomach after so many days.”

Leela was so famished she thought she could eat an entire wedding feast, but she found she could only nibble on the bread once she’d finished the broth.

“Come,” Acolyte Endaria said, standing. “I will show you to your bed.”

Leela followed obediently, and had to shield her eyes at the light of the setting sun when they emerged from the temple—she had become too accustomed to the dimness of the chamber of penitence. The Moon Gardens were so radiant that Leela felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. They passed Aila’s statue, her laughing face turned upward toward the stars, and Leela wanted to throw her arms around the moonstone and cry with joy that she was finally outside again. The rich smells of grass and earth and flowers filled her nose. She felt so light she could fly.

Acolyte Endaria led her to where the novices’ dormitory was, taking her down the steps to the large circular room beneath the temple. She had come here once before with Elorin, and she saw the novice’s bed now, her nightstand laid with a golden comb and stargem ring. The vase, which had previously contained a moonflower, now held a pale blue rose. But Acolyte Endaria directed her to the opposite side of the room.

“This is where you will sleep,” she said. A novice robe was folded neatly at the end of her new bed. “You may bathe in the Estuary this evening if you wish. Tomorrow you must begin your work cleaning the temple.”

Leela picked up the robe with hesitant fingers. “M-may I see my mothers?” she stammered. “I did not get to say goodbye to them.”

Acolyte Endaria hesitated. “I do not think that is allowed.”

A solitary tear spilled down her cheek and Leela brushed it away. “All right,” she said. She had to be strong now. She was no longer a child and her mothers could not help her.

But she missed them terribly anyway.

Acolyte Endaria’s face was creased with pity. She was the youngest of the three acolytes, with a heart-shaped face and very long eyelashes. “But of course, this was all so sudden. I am sure it would be all right for you to see them this evening once you’ve bathed. But very briefly. You must return to the temple by the hour of the owl and no later.”

Leela nodded, her heart lifting. “I will, Acolyte,” she promised. “Thank you.”

There were many novices returning from the Estuary as Leela crossed Dendra’s Bridge. Some waved at her or smiled, but most gave her suspicious looks. Leela could not blame them; she had not chosen this life the way they had. She was not truly one of them.

Leela saw Koreen with Atana again and also their friend Daina, but the pretty Cerulean girl did not appear to see her—or if she did, she pretended she hadn’t. Leela waited for a sting that did not come. The time when Koreen’s opinions had mattered to her was long gone. She had new friends now, truer ones than Koreen or Atana or Daina had ever been.

The cool waters of the Estuary were a balm against her skin, washing away three days of dirt and sweat and exhaustion. Leela floated on her back and stared up at the stars, her blue hair spilling out around her face, gentle waves lapping over her stomach and her breasts. She remembered the last time she had bathed here with Sera, the day she had given her the moonstone necklace. How much had changed since then.

At last, she emerged from the water, clean and slippery as a sun trout, and dried herself with her