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She shook her head. "You will. Zeal did not make you this strong, this wise, and this caring for you to do anything else. That doesn't mean I won't be wrong, but every day you become more beautiful. Soon, you will put me to shame, and I will rejoice alongside you. Just promise me that you will never perform in a group without enough protection? Even if that's simply borrowing your partner's guardian for a night, please, Nari?"
"I promise," I whispered.
That was enough to make her relax. Amerlee's eyes slipped closed, and she let out a heavy sigh, which was my sign to continue washing her wounds. This close, I could almost imagine what had happened. Someone had hit her with a lash across her legs. The bandaged arm was probably where she'd been cut. From the abrasions on her side, she'd most likely been dragged across a carpet.
I couldn't imagine how this would be appealing to her. Oh, I'd heard about the fine line between pain and pleasure, but this crossed it. This was abuse, and I hoped that the bitch who'd assaulted her would be charged for it. Probably not, though. Zeal offered up his priests for Temptations. Rage was one, and there was no other word to describe what could've caused this.
So, while I dabbed at the injuries, I prayed. Not out loud, but forcefully in my mind, I spoke to Zeal in the only way I knew how.She did this for you. She is now suffering for you. I do not believe that you would allow this to happen without repaying her, so please? Lessen her pain, help her heal quickly, and most of all, blur the memories so that neither she nor her guardian learn to resent you for this? Soothe them, Zeal? Show them your love, because they have already proven theirs.
Every time I paused to wring the blood from the cloth, I started again. It was all a variant of the same, but I hoped that if I kept asking, our god would manage to hear me. I could only assume that Shalsa and Irila were doing the same. By the time Jamik returned, wearing clothes that looked more suited to sleeping in than anything else, I had most of the blood out of the way. All that was left would be applying the ointment.
"I got her," he promised. "Shalsa and Irila just left to get the soup. You, little sister, need to go back to your room. Amerlee needs to sleep."
I eased myself off the mattress and gave him the space by her hip. "You do too, Jamik. Donotforget that you can't take care of her unless you take care of yourself first. And when you need a break, Iamhere to help. Saval will let me out of classes for a day if you need me."
He nodded. "I hope I won't have to, but I'll ask if she's not better by morning."
So I leaned in and kissed the top of his head. "I'm also old enough to listen if you need someone to talk to."
He palmed my arm, right where the god-lace ended. "I have Irila, but thank you. Now, go home."
I hadn't gotten my question answered, but I no longer cared. When I slipped through the main room, I gathered my notes, hugged them to my chest, and quietly slipped out the door - and almost into a priest's chest.
Sucking in a breath, I looked up into his dark-skinned face. "Can I help you?" I asked, because he was looking at Amerlee's door.
He smiled at me kindly. "I was asked to check on her. Your mentor, I believe?"
"She is," I agreed. "Her guardian is caring for her."
His eyes held mine, but strangely, I couldn't figure out what color they were. "Would you open the door for me, Acolyte? I was told this might be something he cannot handle on his own. I'm here to help."
Not wanting to disturb Amerlee or Jamik, but also thankful that Shalsa had clearly sent for a Priest of Action trained in healing, I reached back and opened the door for him. The dark-skinned man smiled at me again, and then slipped through the gap, leaving me to close it behind him.
I was halfway down the hall when I realized that I'd seen him before. I couldn't quite remember where, but IknewI had. Next time, I'd have to remember to get his name.
Chapter 11
Nariana
Amerlee recovered completely, and faster than any of us expected. She and Jamik also grew closer through her convalescence, if that was even possible. He'd always been completely devoted to her, but after weeks of bed rest, she started responding more obviously. Mostly, it was the little things. A touch here or a smile there, but I wasn't the only one who noticed.
Shalsa was jealous at first. For years, she'd been the center of Amerlee's affection, and learning to share more of Amerlee's time wasn't easy. She managed, though. I had a feeling Irila had something to do with that. Watching them made me realize exactly how brilliant our pairings were. Each Priest of the Body was assigned a guardian and a partner. Usually, the partners were romantically involved. They performed in tandem when multiples were requested. They formed a bond in their free time. It was no secret that most partners were also lovers. It was the closest thing to marriage that priests and priestesses got.
Then there were their guardians. Housed across the hall in private rooms, they did not engage in sexual contact with anyone. Not even each other. The rings prevented that. Instead, they offered each other solace. Even the strongest among us needed a shoulder to lean on, and who better than another guardian? They could understand the frustration, fear, and familiarity that came with their duty.
Priests of the Word lived in isolation. Priests of Action lived in a manner similar to how the students were kept. They had their own private rooms but the other facilities - such as baths - were communal. Priests of Obligation lived together, sharing a massive room in the basement of the temple with their beds lined up in rows.
Once Amerlee was better, it felt like the rest of my seventh year passed quickly. Somewhere along the way, I began to grow up, changing from a girl into a young woman. Jamik made a production of celebrating my sixteenth birthday. He ordered a cake shaped like a bunny, reminiscent of the stuffed toy he'd given me as a child. The one that still rested on my pillows every day. Amerlee and Shalsa spoiled me with clothes and cosmetics, promising they would teach me how to apply them like a priestess and not a child. It was Irila who shocked me the most.
She bought me new shoes. They were a cross between the heels that many girls wore and an ankle-high boot. Down the front, a wide ribbon laced them closed, but that wasn't the best part. They were red. Not the safe black that would match our robes. These were meant to be an accessory, and I adored them. I may have also hugged her hard enough to make her blush.
The best part was that the difference between my sixteen years of age and Ciella's nineteen was no longer as dramatic. Like her, I had cleavage now. I had curvaceous legs, my body was starting to form muscles, and the boys had begun to notice me. That didn't mean Ciella and I were anything alike. She was a blonde, for starters. My hair had only grown darker with age, now a deep brown so dark most people called it black. Ciella's eyes were blue. Mine were amber. Her skin was golden, but mine was porcelain. While the dark lace on her hands stood in contrast to her natural color, mine was a complement.
But we weren't the only ones who'd grown up. The boys had as well. Anver's shoulders had broadened, and his arms now had bulges when he flexed. The oldest boys were starting to grow hair on their faces. Then there was Eladehl. At eighteen, his youthful awkwardness had finally shifted to complete and total beauty.
The only way to describe the man was gilded. His skin was burnished, being neither pale nor dark. It was golden, as if the sun had paused for a moment to kiss its way across his body. His hair was molten. Like antique brass, it shined, but also held shadows that begged the viewer to run their fingers through it. To me, his eyes were the best part. Large, brown, and dark, they could turn soulful or dangerous with little more than a blink.
Unfortunately, his best friend hated me. Granted, Wraythe hated everyone. Everywhere Eladehl went, so did Wraythe. Where most of us had grown slowly, he'd surged up around our fourth year. From there, he'd only become broader, and the others picked on him for it. Add in the hooked nose, square jaw, and his abysmal grades, and plenty of the kids teased him for being a monster. They were also right. Anyone who tried to start something with his best friend usually got a very personal lesson about Wraythe's strength.
