felt a shiver overcome her, despite the warmth of the sun. Sidonia’s hand, wrinkled and weathered by time, picked hers up and held it. “It will not be so bad,” she urged. “He is not entirely like the stories say.”
“He is precisely like the stories. You have sold me to a brothel, Mother Arkhiereus. I thought—I hoped—”
“You have been hired on to the position of religious advisor to the South Wind. Think of that! One of us—from the Temple of Hera—serving the Cardinal of the South Wind Dominion! How could I refuse him? Not a priest of Ares or Apollo—but one of us.” The old woman clutched both Hope’s hands now, squeezing them tight. “You could change the world.”
“What he wants from my mouth are not my words and advice, Sidonia,” she muttered. But they were more than loud enough to be heard. “I think he’d rather I wield my tongue between his legs.”
Sidonia sighed again. She was clearly disappointed in her reaction but did not release her grasp on her hands. “I know. I know he is a salacious, lascivious thing. I know he seems unstoppable in his pursuit of the flesh. But you are strong and uniquely gifted to resist him. Perhaps this is why the gods saw fit to give you to this world without your sight.”
“You think the gods chose this path for me?” Hope pulled her hands from the Mother’s. She felt betrayed. This wasn’t an opportunity. This was not a chance to wield her “gift.” “No, Sidonia. You chose this path for me.” She would not cry. She refused. She could weep later as she gathered up her meager things. “What was the price? Tell me that much. How much did he pay for me? Or will you refuse to tell me, as you refuse to tell me how much you paid my parents for me?”
“You do not wish to know, girl. You think you do. But there are some things better off existing outside your head.”
“Very well. I will ask him, then. My new master.” She took a step back from the old woman. “When will he come for me?”
“In the morning.”
“Good. I will have one more night to myself before he rapes me.”
“Hope. This is not—”
“Goodbye, Sidonia.” Hope turned her back on the older woman and walked away. She fought back the bite of tears. She shoved it behind her rage. No one would see her cry. No one. She had not cried in front of another since she was a child. She had not wept since she had learned she had been abandoned by her family.
And she would not shed tears now. Not for Sidonia. Not for the temple. Not for the only life she had ever known.
And she would certainly not weep because of Nero.
Making her way down into the basement to the quarters of those who served the temple and called it their home, she ignored the feeling of being watched. She knew there were others she passed, and she could hear them shuffle back against the walls to get out of her way. No one greeted her. No one spoke.
The news had already traveled.
She had been raised to be the high priestess. Sidonia had told her of this intention since she was a little girl. To take a child who had been born a slave and raise her to be the new Mother Arkhiereus. It would be the perfect gesture of unruliness toward a system which they had all been forced to obey.
But now those dreams were dashed. Sidonia’s rebellion had fallen victim to time and greed. Now Hope was no longer to pray on her knees to the goddess Hera. She was to pray on her knees to a man’s lust.
The thought turned her stomach. She grimaced as she kept back the bile. Counting the doors as she passed, she reached the door to her room and pushed it open. No one locked their chambers. Besides, she was a slave. She had nothing worth stealing.
Slumping down onto her bed, she buried her head in her hands.
A furtive knock on the door interrupted her thoughts some time later. She was not certain how much had passed. She knew the owner of the knock. “Come in, Octavia.”
“That is so impressive, you know.” The mousy young woman didn’t even bother saying hello as she opened the door then shut it quietly behind her. “I never understand how you always know it’s me.”
“You knock a certain way.”
“I don’t.”
Hope smiled faintly. “You