Laurelle continued. “I overheard Matron Grannice. Having your first menstra is frightening enough, but to have it mere days before the full moon ceremony…” Her fingers found Dart’s hand and squeezed ever so gently, then let go. “You’ll be fine.”
The sudden kindness caught Dart unprepared.
Laurelle straightened. “It’s not like you have any chance of being chosen this night anyway.”
Snickers and giggles met her words.
But Laurelle seemed deaf to the others. As she turned away, she carried a haunted look to her eye, and a touch of something else, the hint of envy again.
Studying her closely, Dart watched Laurelle struggle for a more confident smile. Dart had always been the invisible one, the girl in the shadows, as much a phantom as Pupp at times. For the first time, she wondered how much of a burden it was to always stand in the light.
Laurelle moved down the line of girls, offering little words of encouragement and praise. But Dart saw how her shoulders trembled slightly, burdened by the weight of all the expectations placed upon her. Not only by the girls, Dart suspected, but by her family, too.
The creak of hinges drew all their eyes back around. Margarite appeared, head high, a blue cross shining brightly on her brow.
“Margarite!” Laurelle cried, rushing to embrace her. “You passed!”
The girls laughed, dancing in each other’s arms.
Matron Grannice shooed them farther down the hall. “Dart, you’re next. Let’s not keep Healer Paltry waiting.”
Dart stood, but with her first step, she came close to falling. Her knees had turned to porridge, her thighs to rubber. Only a quick hand to the wall saved her.
“It’s not a walk to the gallows,” the matron grumbled and helped her stand straighter with a grip on her elbow.
Dart was half led, half dragged over the threshold.
“Why does she even bother?” Margarite said behind her. “Who would pick such a weed when there are flowers like us to choose?”
Matron Grannice closed the door behind Dart, shutting out the rest of the thirdfloorers. Dart wondered if she’d ever see them again.
Behind her, Pupp pushed through the door, trotting to Dart’s side. The healer’s illuminarium was bright with candles and smoky with burning stems of dried herbs. The scent of witchweed and briertail almost made her swoon.
“Come, child.” Matron Grannice led her past the cramped antechamber and into the illuminarium proper.
The room was circular in shape with small cots aligned along the wall like the markings on a sundial. The beds normally comforted the ill, but they had been emptied for this hallowed day. Privacy was necessary to adequately judge the potential servitors to the gods.
In the center of the room, a single bench rested, shaped like a reclining figure, arms and legs spread. Dart had never seen such a bench, but she had heard of it.
Along with the four sacred illuminaria that surrounded it.
Above the bench, a chandelier blazed with fist-sized bulbs; the glass globes held small drizzles of a fire god’s humour, burning brightly. Below, a crystal basin brimmed with water, its surface stirring in a constant whirlpool, blessed by a single tear from a god of water. And to either side rested the remaining two illuminaria: a small glass terrarium containing a full-grown, miniature oak tree, perfect down to its pin-sized acorns, and a lightning box that held a billowing cloud behind glass, flashing and roiling. They represented loam and air respectively. Each aspect was represented to verify the purity of the supplicant.
As Dart stood at the threshold, she sensed her doom. Even if she could somehow hide her shame from mortal eyes, the four illuminaria would reveal her corruption.
“Off with your clothes,” Matron Grannice said with a trace of impatience and boredom. “Pile them on the bed over there, then return to the bench and lie down.”
Dart undid her buttons with shaking fingers. “Mistress…” she began, sensing she might fare better if she revealed all now.
“Shush, Dart. Now is not the time to speak. Here comes Healer Paltry.”
The head of the Conclave’s healing caste entered through a back door. He was dressed in a simple robe of blue silk with a hatching of oak leaves around the collar. He was not a tall man, barely Dart’s own height. His eyes were the deepest blue. His hair, long to the shoulder, was as dark as any raven’s feather. Though barely thirty years past his birth, his skills in the Arts were known throughout Myrillia. It was said he even ministered to Chrism himself at the Grand Castillion. And here at the Conclave, there was many a girl who feigned fever or stomach churns just to be near him.
Even Matron Grannice tugged a loose strand of hair into place behind an ear, smoothing it down as he strode to them.
Though busy, Paltry still offered Dart a tired smile. “Be welcome, child. There is nothing to fear here.”
Nodding despite the lace of terror around her heart, Dart shimmied out of her outers. Then after a moment’s hesitation, she stripped bare of all, even her scuffed slippers. There was no reason for shyness with Healer Paltry. Twice yearly, the man gave the girls their physiques, confirming their intact virginity. He was always gentle, teasing with light words, his hands always warm.
“Onto the bench with you, child,” Matron Grannice said with a nudge, bumping her back to the moment.
But Dart found herself frozen in place, knees locked together. “Mistress…”
Paltry cupped her chin. “This will be quick.”
His calming touch released her from the spell of her fear, and she stumbled stiffly to the bench. With gentle directions, she lay back, spreading her arms out and her legs along the joists. Her hands nearly touched the illuminarias of loam and air. Overhead, the fire globes blazed hotly, and below, unseen, Dart felt the stir of the basin’s waters in her own stomach.
Now it would all end.
Paltry leaned over her, holding four thimble-sized jars. “This unguent is made of the blood of the four aspects. You might feel a little tingle, and the corresponding illuminaria will shine brighter if you are accepted. You must pass all four. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes.” She squeezed closed her eyes. In her ears echoed the cries of ravens.
A finger touched her brow four times: top, bottom, left, and right. The points of a cross. Only if she passed would the marks be connected with blue oils, sealing her purity.
Dart shook, knowing that would never happen.
As the fourth mark blessed her forehead, Paltry spoke near her ear. “Now to judge the purity of your spirit and-”
Glass exploded with a shatter. Dart cried out, curling in a ball. Overhead, shards rained down from the chandelier.
Dart felt impacts rattle the underside of the bench. Slivers cut into her back and arms and thighs, like a thousand bee stings.
Matron Grannice yelped, ducking away. Pupp raced in circles around the bench, eyes ablaze, jumping and leaping, as startled as any of them.
All around light blazed from the four illuminaria, near blinding in their brilliance.
Paltry stood, bleeding from lacerations on his face. His eyes were huge. “By all the gods…” he swore under his breath. The light quickly faded from the four exploded illuminaria. “I’ve never seen such a response.”
“What happened?” Matron Grannice asked, accusation in her voice, her eyes fixed on Dart.
“I didn’t… I couldn’t…” Dart said. “I’m sorry.”
Paltry wiped his face, picking out glass, then did the same for Dart. “It’s not her fault. While normally the illuminaria wax only slightly brighter, I’ve witnessed more brilliant displays over the years. Yet nothing of this magnitude. The strength and clarity of her spirit is without question.” Finished with his ministrations, he glanced up at Grannice. “From this radiant response of the illuminaria, I see no need to perform a physique.”
Dart felt a surge of hope. Without an intimate exam, her terrible secret would remain hidden. Perhaps for another half year, until the next physique.
