Judah held up a hand signaling he would be coming. Just as he made to stand, he said, “I know you find this role stifling, but I am working on ways to help you. New developments to make us impossibly strong. I am the Prophet’s Hand, my duty is to serve and advise you. But more than that, I am your twin. And I want to see all The Order’s prophecies realized. I swear, Cain, nothing will stop me from achieving this goal for you. Nothing.”
Exhaling, feeling lighter by his words, I lowered my head. “Thank you, Judah. That means everything to me. Just… just do not do anything foolish. Remember, our salvation will come, but it will take time.”
Judah tapped his hand on my back, then disappeared into the mansion.
Left with my thoughts, I leaned forward, pushing my hands through my hair, elbows on knees. The siren sounded, calling our people for their prayers. I watched the workers begin to leave.
But Judah’s consort held back. It was as though she did not want to go. I kept my focus on her, watching as she continued tending to the herbs. Then she glanced up and saw me. A deep blush immediately filled her cheeks. The consort rushed to her feet and moved to hurry to prayers. As I watched her meet the garden path, something inside of me pushed me to call her name.
“Sister Phebe!” She stopped dead, and with a downcast head, turned to face me. Her bright red hair was tied back away from her face. Even from this distance I could see her chewing on her bottom lip.
“Come here,” I commanded, registering that we were now alone. Sister Phebe picked up the hem of her long dress and walked toward me. When she reached the bottom of the steps, she stopped. Her head remained bowed, as was required in the presence of the Lord’s Prophet.
“Be at ease, sister,” I ordered. Sister Phebe relaxed her shoulders but her eyes remained downcast. “Look at me.”
Seeing her expel a long sigh, she lifted her head and her blue eyes met mine. I studied her features. She was pretty. Her skin was pale, but clear and smooth, her hair was striking and her eyes seemed warm. I could understand why my brother took her as one of his women. Sister Phebe glanced to the side under my scrutiny and, for a moment, I could discern her sister's looks in her face. I could see the Cursed Delilah.
Judah’s consort nervously rocked on her feet, so I sat forward and asked, “How are you, Sister Phebe?”
Phebe’s eyes snapped to mine and she swallowed. “I am well, my Lord.”
Her lips began to tremble. “I don’t think you are, sister. You have not been acting like your normal self for weeks.” I paused and watched her head lower again, then added, “Is it because Judah has taken a second?”
Lifting her head, Phebe’s eyes widened at my question. She quickly shook her head. “No, my Lord.”
“Are you sure? Your mood change is not due to jealousy? Because jealousy has no place in this commune, nor your heart. You know our scriptures condemn envy and greed.”
A firm expression set on Phebe’s face and she replied, “I am absolutely not jealous, my Lord. I know taking several consorts is what our scripture advises.”
Resting my elbows on my knees, I asked, “Then what is it?” She went to open her mouth, when I commanded harshly, “And do not lie to your Prophet.”
Phebe’s mouth slammed shut. A sudden empty feeling filled my stomach. Then a thought crossed my mind. “Judah has not hurt you, has he?”
Phebe’s lips parted, but she shook her head. She moved to speak, but then something stopped her.
“Speak,” I demanded.
Phebe shook her head in refusal. “What is troubling me is sinful, my Lord. It is wrong, but I cannot stop thinking about it all the same.”
I tried to imagine what could be sinful to her, then remembered her avoidance of the call to prayer. “Are these thoughts why you missed prayers?”
Phebe hesitated, then reluctantly nodded her head. “I am unclean. I am not worthy of prayer.” Tears filled her eyes, and I found myself getting to my feet. I walked down the steps until I stood right before her. Phebe, this close, was shaking. Reaching my hand up, I placed my finger under her chin, until her eyes clashed with my own.
A tear fell down her cheek.