The Temple of Tessa rose above the market square as a hulking mass of grey, yet within it was not so drear as without. When Arden pushed the heavy oak door, a thick, life-giving scent of dried mint, lavender, and fresh earth struck Rize full in the face.

  The temple’s architecture was a strange mingling of stern stone and untamed nature. Tall pointed arches were laced with living ivy that climbed the columns to the very ceiling. Daylight poured through narrow windows, falling upon tubs of young saplings and bundles of herbs hung to dry right beneath the vaults.

  In the center of the hall, on a dais of grey granite, stood a bowl filled with black soil, from which wheat shoots were pushing up. Nearby, people in simple dark-green robes with hoods thrown over their heads busied themselves.

  — This way, — Arden tossed out darkly, keeping a hand on Farra’s shoulder.

  Rize followed, pressing her palm to her bloodied head. The pain had dulled to a heavy throb; every step landed in the back of her skull like a weighty blow.

  From the shadow of a side chapel stepped a woman in robes. She was no longer young, her face cut through with wrinkles, yet her back remained straight, and her movements were crisp and commanding.

  She halted a few paces from them and measured the company with a careful gaze. When her eyes came to rest on Rize, the girl bristled despite herself and tucked her tail, expecting the familiar shout or fright. But the woman did not so much as blink.

  — You again, Arden, — the priestess’s voice was deep and calm. — And not alone, as ever. What is it this time? Another quarrel over territory?

  — We were attacked, — the boy snapped, but at once looked away. — Help the girls. Farra’s ribs are broken, and the verid took a blow to the head.

  The woman came to Rize, stretched out a dry, callused hand, and, with practiced certainty, took her by the chin, turning her head toward the light. Rize jerked, ready to growl, yet met so steady and willful a look that the sound stuck fast in her throat.

  — Softly, — the priestess said in a low voice. — My name is Dalia, and I will not hurt you, daughter of Veridan. Come with me.

  She nodded to two assistants, and they gently lifted Farra, settling her onto a wooden bench. Rize was seated beside her. Dalia took a clay jar and clean linen cloths from a wall cupboard.

  — It will sting, — she warned, opening an ointment with a sharp, biting smell.

  When the cold mixture touched the wound, Rize nearly sprang from the bench. The pain was keen, burning. She dug her claws into the edge of the seat; a muffled groan tore from her throat.

  — Bear it, — Dalia said, deftly laying the bandage.

  Meanwhile, one of the younger priests approached Arden, who stood near the entrance. The boy looked worn to the bone; dark shadows lay beneath his eyes, and his cloak was smeared with another’s blood. The priest held out a great slice of fresh white bread.

  — Eat. Tessa bids us share the harvest with those who are hungry.

  Arden stared at the bread. Rize saw how his throat trembled. Yet he straightened, clasped his hands behind his back, and gave a curt shake of his head.

  — Leave it for those who need it more, — he threw back proudly. — I came not for alms, but for help for my own.

  Dalia glanced at Arden only in passing and allowed herself the faintest smile.

  — So small, and already so proud, — she remarked, returning to Farra’s wound.

  Rize sat motionless, feeling the ointment begin to work, turning the scorching pain into a gentle coolness. She watched Dalia, the priests in their green robes, and this strange place as a whole.

  — Who is Veridan? — Rize leaned forward. — Goddess lives here, so Veridan lives too?

  Dalia carefully removed the bloodied cloth and looked at the girl with interest.

  — Have your own kind not told you?

  The cat-girl shrugged, not understanding the question.

  — Veridan is Tessa’s son, — Dalia said. — She sowed the earth, and thus life began. When part of it sprang into forests, Veridan appeared, keeper of them and of the beasts that dwell within. Your folk came from him. That is why you are Veridan’s daughter. You belong to the wild, and if you have come here, it is only by the turn of fate—yet you remain a verid all the same.

  Rize listened, holding her breath. Before her eyes rose wild landscapes peopled with strange animals—perhaps the very place from which she had been taken. She lowered her muzzle sadly.

  — They brought me here...

  Farra looked at the cat-girl.

  — Poor child, — Dalia said, frowning. — So you grew in captivity. And of Veridan—who told you, then?

  — Lambert said, — Rize suddenly remembered, and her tail twitched. — He also spoke of Veridan. Said I am part of him.

  Dalia changed at once. Her face went to stone, and the hand that had just touched the bandage so gently clenched into a fist. In the quiet temple filled with the scent of herbs, it grew suddenly cold, as though a draft had forced its way through cracks in the old masonry.

  — Lambert... — she echoed. — Hear me, daughter of Veridan. — Dalia spoke harshly now, striking each word as if with a chisel. — Do not listen to that man. He has stared at the sun too long, and instead of enlightenment, he found blindness.

  — He said he knows Veridan, — Rize muttered, abashed by the sharp turn.

  — He knows only what he wishes to see, — Dalia cut her off.

  — I’ve heard of him, — Arden said. — They speak his name often at the market.

  — Ill tidings, — Dalia sighed. — His notions are dangerous. He speaks of changes that will turn the world upside down. Men like him speak well, but their words lead to calamity.

  The priestess’s gaze softened, though a shadow of worry still lay deep in her eyes.

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  — Listen to the divine word, children. It is laid within your hearts, and all will be well.

  — He speaks to me—he knows of me? — Rize asked in a whisper, looking up despite herself at the high ceiling overgrown with ivy.

  — Doubt it not for a moment.

  When the three stepped out onto the temple porch, the sun was already sinking. Rize touched the fresh bandage. Dalia’s voice still rang in her head, warning of Lambert, yet thoughts of Veridan—the divine father waiting somewhere beyond the forests—warmed her heart far more than the warning frightened her.

  — Rize... — Farra said awkwardly, as though searching for the right words. — There, you said they brought you here. How?

  — I remember poorly. First there was sky, and then a big boat. So I ended up here. Why you ask?

  Farra shook her head.

  — Just asking.

  — Well then, “Veridan’s daughter”? — Arden asked. — We can see you to the tavern, if you fear you’ll lose your way.

  Rize straightened, lifted her chin, and looked at the flock of pigeons circling above the square.

  — No need, — she answered firmly, drawing in the city’s cold air. — I know the way.

  Parting from them, Rize walked on without haste, eyes on the sky. The bandage on her ear itched a little, and Dalia’s ointment cooled her skin pleasantly. After the temple’s hush, the city seemed too loud, yet that noise no longer frightened her as it once had. Dalia’s words still echoed in her mind: “daughter of Veridan.” Memories of a lost home overlapped with the tale of a far-off forest where beasts like her lived—but how did they live? Surely not as here...

  On the way, on the cornice of an old building, she noticed birds. The pain would not let her simply scramble up and chase them, though she very much wished to.

  “They are Veridan’s children too, aren’t they?”

  One bird took wing, then the others. They did not seem burdened by anything—no scouring pots, no slicing rutabaga, no hauling parcels. And those cats at the market—cats like her—answered to no one. And they, too, were Veridan’s children.

  “Maybe Veridan’s children are free, and I can be as I am. It is my nature—so Father tells me...”

  A sharp gust of cold wind scattered her thoughts and made her shiver. Her belly growled traitorously, reminding her that birds may be free, but they sleep on cold stone and eat what they manage to steal. And at the Spicy Boar, a supper awaited her—meager, perhaps, but warm—and a soft blanket.

  The contradiction angered her. Freedom felt so near—she could go to Arden, or to that very forest, simply run and find it—yet cold, pain, and hunger pulled her back to the tavern.

  When at last she turned into the alley leading to the tavern, the sky had already deepened to dark violet. Light from the windows fell upon the cobbles in cozy yellow squares. Rize drew a deep breath, adjusted her bandage, and pushed the back door of the kitchen.

  She had not even crossed the threshold when a wave of heat from the ovens hit her, along with someone’s ringing voice, trembling with fury:

  — And where have you been?!

  Rize froze. Colette stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands planted on her hips. Behind her, Niko hunched his head into his shoulders in fear, endlessly wiping the same plate.

  The mistress’s voice, usually bright and commanding, now broke into a shriek. She slapped her palm against the table, and her left eye twitched.

  — I’ll ask again—where were you?! — she screamed. — Dwain said you were with him. Where did you go after?!

  Rize stood with her ears pressed back, feeling resentment boil within her. She wanted to tell of the fight, or the temple, but the sight of the enraged mistress killed any desire to justify herself.

  — And what is this?! — Colette finally noticed the bandage on Rize’s head. She roughly grabbed the girl by the chin and turned her toward the light. — Your ear?! You got into a brawl? Again?! I feed you, I give you a roof, and you come back like a mangy street cat!

  Rize tore free, her tail lashing.

  — Why... — she rasped, her eyes flaring with wild yellow fire. — Why do birds fry where they wish? They do not ask. They just fry. Sun sets—they fry. Food is there—they eat. And I must sit here? Why can’t I go where I want?!

  Colette fell silent for a heartbeat, but her anger did not go anywhere. She straightened, breathing hard, and jabbed a finger toward the pot of stew.

  — You know why birds fly free? Because they owe nothing to anyone, Rize! But if a bird breaks its wing—it will die in the mud beneath the rain. It has no home, no warm hearth! — Colette stepped forward, and her voice turned to ice. — So long as you live in my tavern, sleep on my mattresses, and stuff your belly with my food, you will work. And you will heed what you are told. Want to be free like a bird? Then go. Right now!

  Rize went still. A bitter lump rose in her throat. She looked at the open door, beyond which cold dusk was thickening, and then—at the pot.

  — Well?! — Colette barked. — What are you standing for? Go on, then! Fly away!

  Rize turned sharply aside.

  Hemile, who had been sitting quietly in the corner cleaning vegetables, rose with a heavy effort. The creak of his joints seemed, for a moment, to drown even the noise of the boiling pots. He walked to Colette and laid a hand upon her shoulder.

  — That’s enough, mistress, — he said quietly. — The girl is alive, and that’s what matters. In Anzi, fights are common as autumn rain. Blood was spilled—but it will dry.

  Then he shifted his gaze to Rize.

  — My girl, was it Dalia who patched you up?

  The cat-girl nodded, staring at the wall.

  — That she found her way to Tessa’s temple—that is good. I meant to take her there myself. Dalia is a wise woman.

  Colette let out a harsh breath. In her eyes, anger now mingled with poorly hidden worry.

  — Fine, — she grunted, tucking loose strands of hair back. — Guests will be coming soon. It’s Hetis today; there won’t be many, but those who do come will want hot stew, not to listen to our screaming.

  Rize snatched up her favorite bedding and ran to the cellar, crawling into the farthest corner. She wrapped herself in a blanket over her head, becoming a shapeless cocoon. Pain pulsed beneath the bandage, recalling every blow of the stick, every shout in that dead-end alley. She heard the kitchen work resume: knives thudding, water splashing, Hemile speaking low with Colette. The world kept turning by its own rules, ignoring her hurt.

  After a while the blanket shifted slightly. Rize felt someone carefully sit down on the floor beside her. The smell was familiar—Niko.

  — Does it hurt? — his quiet voice came through.

  — It hurts, — Rize rasped from beneath the blanket.

  — And Colette will cool off, — the boy tried to comfort her. — She’s always like that. She’s afraid for us, so she yells. Here—I saved you a flatbread. Still warm.

  Rize poked her nose out from under the wool, but did not touch the food.

  — Niko... I don’t understand anything, — she confessed in a whisper, and her voice faltered. — Dwain says—gold rings. Dalia says—I’m Veridan’s daughter. Lambert says—I’m part of something great. Arden calls me to come with him. And Colette says—peel carrots or leave.

  She clenched the edge of the blanket in her claws.

  — Why is everything so hard for humans? Why can’t one just live...

  Niko was silent. He had no answers. For him, too, the world was a difficult, frightening place, where the only footing was work and those who stood nearby.

  Instead of an answer, he simply moved closer and awkwardly, yet tightly, embraced the grey cocoon, pressing his forehead to his friend’s shoulder as if trying to soothe her.

  At first Rize tensed; her instincts demanded she shove him away, hiss, hide deeper still. But for some reason she did not want to. Strange as it was, it was what she needed. Better than any persuasion.

  Over Seltrivelle, night finally took full dominion. Stars and moon looked down upon the city where, under one roof, children fell asleep—children tormented by the complexities of a proper, reasonable world.

  Black Sapphire - Chapter 20 will be published on March 3.

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