She turned and pulled the door shut as she left, leaving Sophie alone.
The room wasn’t as hot as the steam suggested. The bath, a massive, sunken square pool lined with green marble, shimmered darkly in the light from the lamps hanging above. No windows in this room. No chance for anyone to spy on the witches bathing here. Earth-lights glowed dimly at each of its four corners. Steam rose in wisps above the water, and the marble shone wetly.
Sophie untied her boots and eased off her stockings awkwardly. A shock ran through her when her bare feet touched the marble, the humming power from the ley lines even stronger still. She curled her hands into a ball, fought the urge to strip all her clothes off and lie on the marble, to get closer to that power.
She was reaching for the button at the neck of her gray dress when the door creaked open behind her again. Turning, she saw a temple devout wearing green-and-white robes, red hair loose over her shoulders. The shade was still more auburn than true red like the Domina’s and Eloisa’s. A newer witch then. The devout had something white draped over her arm, and she nodded politely at Sophie. “Milady.”
Sophie curtsied.
The devout helped Sophie out of her clothes, unbound her hair, and sent her into the pool.
Sophie had been schooled in this part of the ritual. She submerged herself fully, letting the hot, salty water wash over her. It felt so sinfully good against muscles still aching from the travel of the last three days that she was tempted to lie back and float and let the heat soak the weariness from her bones entirely.
But doubtless the efficient devout would just wade in and drag her out if she took too long, so she surfaced, sluiced the water from her face, and then moved through the chest-deep water to repeat the process at each of the four corners of the pool. In each place, she silently recited a plea to the goddess to preserve her power and her life.
The whole thing took barely a few minutes, and then she was climbing up the slick marble stairs to exit the pool. Normally, there would have been several devouts attending her and, Sophie presumed, the whole thing might have been a little more leisurely.
But if there was no power to spare for the earth-lights in the palace due to the need to tend to the injured, then, doubtless, there were few devouts to attend to the ritual of a minor royal witch.
Sophie was glad of it, actually. She wanted to get back to the palace. Back to Eloisa.
Back to Cameron?
No. There was no “back to Cameron.” He had delivered her home and washed his hands of her. She was a royal witch. She would be married to whomever the king—no, whomever Eloisa—decided she should be married to.
All thoughts of Cameron needed to be ignored. Forgotten. Burned and sent to dissolve to ash and float away like the bundle of salt grass in the temple.
Oblivious to these thoughts, the devout patted Sophie dry with a linen towel and then rubbed her down briskly with scented oil. The smell of cedar and salt grass mingled with something headier. Sophie breathed it in, trying to bring her mind back to the ritual.
A comb was coaxed through her hair, leaving it still dripping but at least pulled back from her face, the wet length of it falling halfway down her back. More oil was smoothed through it, the smell even stronger, making Sophie vaguely sleepy as the scent curled around her, filling her nose and her senses. The devout retrieved the robe from the hook and helped Sophie into it.
The robe, little more than a long cotton shift, stuck in places to her oiled skin, outlining her breasts and legs in a way that would be considered indecent back at the palace. But there was no one in the temple other than women to see her, so she made no effort to twitch the fabric away as she followed the devout out of the room and through another series of turns and corridors until they came to the small chapel of the goddess at the far end of the complex.
Rectangular in shape, the chapel’s walls were pure white and the floor was marble so dark a green as to be nearly black. Inside, the Domina stood waiting before an altar where another small fire burned. Sophie’s feet tingled even more strongly as she approached, the sensation making her catch her breath. Two devouts stood on either side of the Domina, each holding a silver platter covered with white linen. Both of them watched Sophie, eyes curious despite their grave expressions.
Waiting to see if she was truly a royal witch?
Heat suddenly swept over her skin, chasing the chill caused by walking in damp clothing through stone halls away. Sophie made herself focus on the Domina, made herself keep walking though the tingling and the heat and the odd smell of the oil were combining to make her head spin a little.
The Domina held a small globe of pale green stone in her hands. An unlit earth-light. The ritual of dedication was fairly simple. Sophie had to approach the Domina, use her power to light the earth-light to prove that she had manifested—though why that part was necessary when the Domina had been able to tell just by looking at her was unclear—and then the Domina would perform the actual dedication. Which was the part that no one spoke of.
But it couldn’t be too terrible. After all, all the royal witches before her had survived it. Still, nerves bloomed anew in her stomach as she took one last step and halted in front of the Domina. The anxiety, combined with the faint dizziness, made Sophie feel ill. She swallowed and waited, head bowed as she had been taught.
“Sophia Elizabeth Constance Kendall. You are a child of the royal line. Do you come here today to be anointed to the goddess? To pledge your power to serve her and the kingdom for all your days?”
For the briefest of moments, as the dizzying sensation in her head increased, she wondered if anybody had ever answered no to that question. Then sanity prevailed and she said, “Yes.”