“Then show your power to the goddess.”
Sophie placed her right hand on the earth-light, every lesson Captain Turner had ever given her tumbling through her head and slipping away. Then she remembered. She felt the humming beneath her feet. That was the ley line. She was supposed to draw power from around her, send it into the globe, then send the excess back to the earth. The way she had with Cameron. Though she had no idea how she’d drawn the power then. Still, all she could do was try.
Focusing on the buzzing on her skin, she closed her eyes, tried to draw the sensation deeper within her. One breath, then another as the feelings intensified until she thought the humming might shake her apart. Then she opened her eyes and let go.
The earth-light flared into white brilliance, dazzling her, and then cracked into pieces with a noise like a hammer blow.
The Domina’s eyebrows flew upward, but she merely nodded as Sophie stared at the two halves of the globe now lying in the Domina’s hands, biting her lip, wondering what exactly she’d done. Earth-lights did break sometimes. Perhaps it was not that unusual.
The Domina passed the broken globe to the devout standing behind Sophie. The devout stationed to the Domina’s right stepped forward, holding the silver platter higher so the Domina could remove the cloth.
“Kneel,” the Domina said.
Sophie sank to the floor obediently. The marble was hard and cold against her knees, the sensation chasing away the dizziness for a moment before it surged again even stronger. She presented her hands, palms up as she had been taught.
A sharp sting as the Domina pricked her finger again, this time the blood falling into a small vial of black liquid. Sophie held still, not knowing what was coming next. She tried to count the heartbeats as they pulsed in her ears, tried to slow her breath with each beat as the Domina shook the vial and then replaced it on the tray. The second devout came forward. Her platter, it was revealed, held a silver bowl full of water. The Domina tipped half of it over Sophie’s hands.
A droplet splashed upward, landed on her lip. Her tongue darted out. Salt. As expected. The water dripped off her hands and pooled in front of her, some of it dampening her knees and the cotton robe even more.
Soft linen brushed her hands, patting them dry as the Domina recited a string of words in the elder-tongue used for the most solemn temple rituals. Sophie knew a little of it, but she was too focused on staying still, on not letting the dizziness and the power pulsing through her send her swooning beneath the Domina’s feet to pay too close attention.
She caught “Seagh-acha” a time or two, which was the name of the goddess and “brau-na-li” which was something like “blood’s truth.” Or an oath. Or maybe both.
The Domina retrieved the vial of liquid, holding a quill made from a brilliant white feather in her right hand. With swift strokes, she dipped the quill and traced the sigil of the goddess, the four swift lines of the bisected triangle, on each of Sophie’s palms. The liquid stung a little but wasn’t truly painful. More like a distillation of the humming sensation, so that each of the lines seemed to vibrate hotly against her skin.
The black lines seemed very dark against her skin, the faint acidic smell of the liquid mingling oddly with the smell of the oil on her body and the salt smoke of the goddess fire.
The quill and vial went back on the silver tray. To Sophie’s surprise, the devouts left the chapel, leaving her alone with the Domina. Sophie waited, trying to ignore the sensations rippling through her and stay still. The seconds seemed to stretch into forever as she waited. Then, finally, the Domina placed her hands over Sophie’s, palm to palm, skin cool for a moment before it warmed.
Another string of liquid elder-tongue about blood and the goddess and oaths, ending in Sophie’s name in a questioning tone and a pause that Sophie took to be for her. “Yes,” she repeated, and the Domina looked satisfied.
The older woman closed her eyes, and there was a rushing flare of power that made Sophie cry out as it burned through her. Her eyes closed against the feeling of heat and light and other that tolled through her like a bell ringing lightning. But almost as swiftly as it had risen, the feeling died. Sophie’s eyes flew open.
The Domina took a deep gasping breath and opened hers, too. She looked down at Sophie and then raised her hands, starting to speak as she lifted them, “Blessed, are—” She stopped midsentence, face frozen as she stared down at Sophie’s palms. The two sigils were still there, black and strong against her skin.
Sophie’s gut went cold as the Domina’s face turned thunderous. She didn’t know what was wrong, but it was clear something was.
The Domina gripped Sophie’s wrists as she stared down. “Milady Sophia,” she said in a voice like ice. “What did you do?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“D-do?” Sophie stammered. “What do you mean?”
The Domina tapped her right hand, the movement almost a slap. “The sigils are still there. If the goddess accepts you, they vanish.”
Accepts you? Sophie didn’t even know what that meant. She’d assumed the ritual was just that. Ritual. A recognition of her status after she’d proved her power. But apparently there was something deeper at work. She stared at the marks on her palms. “I haven’t done anything.”
“Lying isn’t going to help,” the Domina snapped. Then she stepped back. “Get up. We need to return to the palace.”