After her clash with Marcus and her moment with Julianus, Cassia had returned to the eastern sunroom and retrieved her book. But her desire to draw, or even simply think was muted by her fear.

Marcus wouldn't say anything about her affair with the general. Not out of anything so silly as kindness, but simply because it was more profitable for him to have something to hold over her—like a sword above her neck.

Lounging on a low couch, Cassia stared out the window toward the Tarmin, brooding. She had a small foothold. Marcus would be wary of her telling their father just how she had come to know of that morning's council. But only wary.

Marcus, she had learned long ago, was not truly afraid of anything. Not pain or death, not imprisonment or any other sort of punishment their father could bring down. He had a hatred for the whip, but that was simply borne of his pride.

Whether it was because he was more than slightly mad—which she was inclined to think—or some other reason only known to the prince himself, it still left her in the same predicament. 

Again and again in her mind she saw Julianus lunge forward, pure wrath in his eyes. Again and again she watched Marcus smile, the expression sharp and glittering as any blade.

The sun climbed higher, the warm light through the glass beginning to make her drowsy. The early mornings and hard training caught up to her in a wave of sudden exhaustion. She tucked her book between the cushions of the couch, leaving her body to shield it before she let herself succumb to heavy eyelids.

Cassia tumbled through dreams that first had Marcus before her father's whip, laughing every time another strip of his skin was laid open. Then it was Julianus, his face like stone. The whip cracked and more blood sprayed. She tried to scream at her father to stop, but the words froze in her throat and refused to budge, no matter how hard she tried.

Julianus' face never changed as flesh was flayed down to the bone.

A hand on her shoulder had Cassia's eyes flying open. She bolted upright, making Antonia squeak in alarm. Her attendant was wide-eyed when she asked, "Are you well, my lady?"

Cassia's chest heaved with rapid breaths, her gaze darting around the room as she tried to place where she was. Glass and sunlight surrounded her, the green smell of living things filling her nose. She flinched when Antonia lightly touched her shoulder again.

She met the other woman's golden-brown eyes, finding nothing but concern in them. After another moment to more thoroughly compose herself, she offered a weak smile. "I am fine. It was just a bad dream."

Antonia watched her for a moment, giving Cassia the opportunity to share what had made the dream so bad. Part of her desperately wanted to unburden her soul—wanted to let someone else in.

But there was too much risk. There was no one she could trust.

So she merely smiled again. Antonia shifted out of the way as Cassia swung her legs down to the ground. Patting at her hair, attempting to straighten the sleep-mussed strands, she asked, "What is the time?"

"Only around the twelfth hour, Your Highness," Antonia answered, still appearing concerned. "You've not slept very long. Perhaps a little over an hour."

She glanced at the smudges of shadow that had appeared beneath Cassia's eyes, the look on her face enough to say she thought Cassia would do well to sleep a little longer. Thankfully, she didn't voice this opinion.

Cassia nodded. That was just as well. Sleeping in a place any other than her rooms for an extended period of time seemed unwise. Antonia reached forward and fixed an unruly strand of hair. With a murmured thanks, Cassia stood and smoothed a hand down her skirt, the material soft under her fingers. 

With a sigh, she fished her book out from between the cushions, resisting the urge to flip to a blank page and draw her dream in the hope she might suss out its meaning. Her heart was still beating uncomfortably fast as blood spilled across silvery marble in her mind. She turned back to the window, letting the sunlight chase away the dark dream.

"Your Highness?" a young voice chirped. Both she and Antonia turned to find a page boy hovering at least four feet behind the couch.

He was perhaps ten years of age with wide eyes the color of hazelnuts. Cassia didn't recognize him and smiled reflexively in an attempt to put him more at ease. The boy bobbed into a bow, then held out a piece of cream-colored paper that was folded in half.

Antonia took the note from the boy, wearing a similar smile. Her ladies-in-waiting knew Cassia would suffer no unkindness to the servants or slaves. She had dismissed the last two ladies before Drusilla for such behavior, and her current attendants knew that well. 

He bobbed into another nervous bow, backing away from her before he turned and scampered from the solarium. Cassia watched him go with a frown, wishing she'd had a coin or a sweet to give him.

The staff of the castle, paid or otherwise, were the invisible eyes and ears of these halls. Cassia had long since made it a point to always have them look upon her kindly.

Antonia handed her the note, doing well to hide the interest flaring in her eyes. A light scent of lavender wafted from the paper, letting her know who it was from before she unfolded it.

Your presence is requested tonight for dinner. Wear something nice.

~ Your Mother

Cassia sighed heavily, crumpling the note in her hand. Mouth twisting wryly, she told Antonia, "I think I would like to visit the temple. You and the others may take the rest of the day for yourselves." She ground her teeth. "Until the seventeenth hour. I will need assistance dressing for dinner with His and Her Majesty."

With a graceful curtsy, Antonia murmured an affirmative. Cassia lingered near the window as they left, basking in the sunshine and staring out toward the north and what lay there.

Mortania and Brunia. The northernmost edges of the world.

Julianus had told her of the brutal winters. The blizzards that could kill a man in minutes if he wasn't careful. 

Cassia was used to snow. Though Metus was more temperate than Brunia by far, with longer summer months, it still saw its share of wind and ice. But Julianus had promised the winters here didn't come close to the breath-stealing winds and bone-chilling cold she would find in the north.

Their conversations had lately taken to simple survival because of that.

Nearly a week ago, after detailing how to find or build a proper shelter, he had taught her how to build a fire. Then, when she'd succeeded in setting the wood ablaze, he'd had his way with her on the soft rug before it. Eyes half-closed, she thought about his broad hands gripping her waist and the heat of his breath as he'd trailed kisses over her back.

Cassia's lips parted and a ripple of warmth spread through her at the memory, bringing a flush to her cheeks. She shook her head hard, spinning on her heel and leaving the sunroom in a near rush. Not paying any mind to the courtiers gawking at her furious pace, she returned to her rooms, stowed her book in its place on the shelf, then turned right back around.

Julianus had taken her up against the wall near the shelves as well, albeit in his rooms. 

She walked quickly through the castle, working to clear her mind of such heated thoughts before she arrived at the main doors. They were opened for her, and she headed west toward the sprawling gardens that surrounded the private temple.

Crushed oyster shells and chips of white quartz were noisy beneath her feet, and she winced when every now and then a sharp bit of rock or shell would poke at her feet through the velvet slippers she wore. She wished she could wear the supple, comfortable, soled boots she wore training with Julianus, but those would look odd indeed peeking out from beneath her skirts. 

The temple itself was a half-mile away from the castle. It was halfway between the castle and the outer wall, in almost the exact center of the gardens, and generally the only place Cassia found any peace.

She took her time getting there, letting her fingers brush over the prickly branches of the neatly trimmed, dark green hedges to her right. The flowers lining the path were beginning to wilt, autumn lulling the plants to sleep for the long night of winter.

Apples shone like rubies and topaz in an orchard to her left. After a moment's debate, she stepped off the path and into the dying grasses, wandering through the small grove before she found a ripe fruit hanging within easy reach.

Cassia plucked it from its branch, used her skirt to polish it, then took a large bite. The sweet juice exploded over her tongue, the flesh cool and crunchy in her mouth.

After finishing the apple, she continued through the gardens. Every now and then she would hear voices float toward her from the small, hidden niches deeper off the path. She listened carefully, in the off chance that she heard more than the whispers of lovers.

She possessed no such luck, and arrived at the large temple building no wiser than she currently was.

With a deep breath that brought the faint smell of sweet incense toward her, she walked up the three wide, shallow steps leading up to the massive stone doors. Cassia took a moment to stare at their carved faces.

The stately white marble, shined to a sparkle, was a riot of images. As she always did, she took a moment to search among the display for Corlana. But the Lady of Fate was not the first god to catch her eye. 

No, the first was Torvan with his imperious jaw and sensual mouth. Then Eretanes with his fierce glare and broad shoulders. Hallor snagged Cassia's gaze, her hair flowing to her slim waist, her smile beckoning. Finally, she dragged her gaze to the Mistress of Destiny. As always, her gaze seemed distant—as though she were staring far into the future.

Cassia shivered, her eyes darting over those four gods with trepidation. Perhaps it wouldn't be unwise to offer prayers to more than just her patron today.

The great doors, by some neat trick of engineering, swung open smoothly. The main hall, with the gods' individual temples off its sides, was dim and spacious. Columns of marble supported the high ceiling, curls of incense smoke drifting toward their carved crowns.

Cassia bowed her head to the few priests and priestesses she passed, but didn't require their services. She was not here to entreat the gods for intervention, simply to ask their assistance in her own reflection.

Her feet carried her unthinkingly toward the third door on the left—Corlana's temple. But then she drew slowly to a halt, casting a glance over her shoulder to the now-closed main doors, which bore a perfect reflection of the carvings on its outer face. Except, in here where they were protected from the elements, the carvings were painted.

Brought to life with color, Torvan now watched her with depthless black eyes, Eretanes' golden skin was peppered with silvery scars, Hallor's hair fell in a spill of ebony silk and Corlana's gaze held the very universe.

Blinking, she shook herself from her reverie and hurried to a large basin wrought in gold that stood in the exact center of the temple's main hall. Within was a pile of falcon feathers, collected with care from the score of birds that resided in mews near the temple.

Acolytes cared for the sacred birds, collecting molted feathers that were in nice enough condition to be used as offerings. Cassia had always wondered what, exactly, the gods would want with discarded plumage.

Perhaps they used them to stuff their pillows.

With a small, amused smile, she carefully sifted through the gathered feathers, choosing with care. For Torvan, a stiff black feather. For Eretanes, a feather striped black and deep amber. A dark grey for Hallor. Blue for Corlana.

Cassia drew her fingers along the soft edges of the black feather, holding all four of them gently. Looking up, she met the eyes of a passing priestess dressed in the flowing purple robes of Morneta, the goddess of summer and growing things. The priestess glanced at the feathers, eyes widening at the rare black.

Not many people entreated the handful of gods who would favor a black feather.

Again, Cassia stroked the soft edge, then turned resolutely and headed to the second door on the right. She hesitated there. The dark ruler of hell was not a god to be trifled with. Praying for Corlana's protection, Cassia squared her shoulders and pushed the door open, ducking inside.

It closed soundlessly behind her.

A shiver prickled over her skin as darkness wrapped around her, only broken by the coals blazing in a brazier near the back of the room and a single lantern suspended from the center of the ceiling by a gold chain. She had never been in this temple before.

She'd never had reason to.

It was like the others—a single room, eight feet deep and seven feet wide, its walls decorated with the god's story. She averted her eyes from the terrible scenes of hell. Somehow, the paltry light managed to reach every corner of the room, showing each mural in detail.

Torvan destroying his father—a wicked god who had existed long before Metus. Torvan and his black falcon with her cruel talons. Torvan chasing the shape-shifting Anuth, who had been daring enough to steal the underworld god's very heart. On the far wall, behind the brazier, was a mural of Torvan lounging on his throne of darkest obsidian, his crown of glass thorns drawing blood from his temple. 

Quickly, Cassia kissed the tip of the black feather before tossing it in the brazier. Acrid smoke rose from the offering, and she opened her mouth to find she had no idea what to say to this god.

There was a reason not many dared ask Torvan for, well, anything.

She settled for thanking the god for his lack of interference and quickly left. After a moment to settle her nerves, she strode across the hall, to the fifth door. Eretanes' temple was brighter, at least, than Torvan's.

Lamps blazed in each corner of the room, casting bright, golden light over the war god's story. How his slaying of the Wolf of Setoria had created the mighty Tarmin. How he had led the other gods in battle against their elders.

Cassia approached the brazier, staring up at the mural on the back wall. Eretanes stood on the edge of a cliff, looking dispassionately down upon a field of dead men. Quietly, she prayed for his aid in her own battles, kissed the tip of the feather she had selected for the war god, then hesitated before casting it into the brazier.

Smiling wryly, she asked for him to watch over the general. The black-and-gold feather was cast into the smoldering coals and quickly burned.

That left only two more.

Hallor's temple was on the right side of the hall, behind the very last door. Cassia again cast a small prayer toward Corlana, who resided behind the third door on the opposite side of the hall. She ran the smooth grey feather along her fingers, and entered Hallor's temple.

To her right was the story of Hallor. To her left the story of Sybella. They were two faces of the same goddess: Hallor of the hard death, Sybella of the soft. Since Cassia much expected to find Eternity at the hands of Hallor, she drifted toward the right side of the brazier.

"I don't know why you called to me today," Cassia whispered. "You must know I wish you hadn't." She paused for a long time, chewing at the inside of her lower lip. A sigh escaped her. Of all the gods, Torvan included, Death was the only one who could not be bargained with. So Cassia cast her feather into the brazier and said, "I would only ask that you stay your divine hand from me until I accomplish what I have been set on this earth to do."

She lingered a moment longer, looking first at Hallor, with her sheet of dark hair and her sharp teeth. Then she looked at Sybella with her waves of white hair and her gentle smile.

Another sigh escaped her, and she finally left the temple. A startled look from a priest of Metulos, the highest of the gods, sent her scurrying toward Corlana's temple. Her plans to find a bit of peace before tonight's dinner had not yet come to fruition. Not after the gauntlet of harsh gods she had just run.

Cassia hoped that would change as she slipped into her patron goddess' temple, relaxing within the intimately familiar surroundings. Lamps crafted of silver flanked the brazier, casting the room in something like starlight. A priestess had once told her that they crafted the wicks with a special mineral in them that made the flame burn silver.

Along the walls, just like with the others, was Corlana's story. How she had been crafted by Metulos himself from strands of the future that he could only grasp at, but never see. How she had helped Torvan win his heart back, and an eternal lover along with it. It had been Corlana who chose the Auralius family to rule.

Cassia stood before the brazier, smiling at the image of Corlana standing before a silver basin held by delicate pillars of moonstone. The goddess' amethyst gown clung to her torso before falling to the ground in soft ripples. Her entire being glowed with silver light as she looked down into the basin filled with clear water, her eyes like the night sky as she stared into the future.

Kneeling, she began to pray, asking her patron for the things she always asked for. Patience to lay her plans well. Courage to force them into reality. Strength to bear the fallout. Cleverness. Grace. A fair mind.

"I believe you saw me, all those millenia ago," Cassia whispered. "All I ask is your hand upon my shoulder, guiding me to the right path."

She lingered in Corlana's temple, sitting cross-legged before her goddess, eyes closed, listening in the hopes that Lady Fate would whisper in her ear. Even if she didn't—and Cassia didn't expect she would—just being in this holy place was enough to calm her heart and soothe her soul.

An hour slipped past, Cassia basking in the quiet, in the holiness of the temple. But her backside was starting to go numb, and she hadn't eaten anything but that apple since breakfast. With a murmured thanks and another prayer for guidance, she kissed the tip of the dull blue falcon feather and cast it onto the coals.

With one last glance at her goddess, Cassia slipped from the temple, back into the main hall and then through the main doors. She still had nearly four hours before she would need to return to her rooms to ready herself for whatever battle would occur at her father's table. 

A cool wind rustled the changing leaves of a few nearby maple trees, and Cassia wished she'd thought to bring a cloak. Maybe she would have whiled the time away by just wandering the gardens. But the clouds beginning to creep from the north, aided by that chill wind, were enough to discourage that idea.

Which still left her with empty time on her hands.

Cassia nearly laughed as the thought struck her. Her ladies wouldn't encroach upon her until the appointed time. Four hours of guaranteed privacy—or as much privacy as could be expected.

Not about to waste time second-guessing herself, Cassia gathered her skirts in her hands and began striding back toward the castle. She ignored the main doors in favor of slipping through a servant's entrance, taking the cramped passageways she much favored, ignoring the startled glances of the servants she passed.

The number of people in the passage dwindled as she climbed, until she arrived on the fourth floor and the passageways were deserted. She cracked the hidden door open by barely an inch and listened carefully, but heard nothing.

Even more cautiously, she poked her head out, glancing up and down the hall. Perhaps Eria, the Lady of Luck, was smiling upon her. A small part of Cassia wondered when her fortune would run out.

She darted across the hall with a rustle of velvet, then all but dove through the door to Julianus' rooms when the handle gave easily beneath her touch. After shutting the door, she stayed with her back to the room, terrified to turn around.

Julianus always locked his door, unless he knew she was coming. Always.

A fire crackled in the fireplace for once and she could smell roast venison. Her breathing turned short. Her hands trembled and she balled them into fists, holding her arms stiffly at her sides.

"You..." he hesitated a long time, "said you were coming tonight."

A snicker, and then an unfamiliar voice said, "I'm sure she comes most nights, but it's rude to be so blunt, mindra. She is a lady, after all."

Against her will—and certainly the least of her problems—a blush rose in her cheeks at the crude joke.

Julianus laughed, the sound more free than any she'd heard him make before. This, more than anything, prompted her to turn, her eyes widening at the scene before her.

The general lounged in one armchair, a goblet of what she assumed was either ale or wine in his hand. He had one leg dangling over the arm nearest the door, his back resting against the other, his head lolled against the back of the chair. Firelight bathed the right side of his face. 

A smirk tugged at his mouth as he threw his companion an amused glance. He said, "Lady by birth perhaps. You should hear how she swears."

This prompted Cassia to look at the interloper. Another soldier, judging by the broad shoulders and the scar on his right forearm. But the tilt of his eyes and his blue-black hair betrayed that he was at least half Sorvetian.

He also held a goblet, his dark eyes half-lidded and appreciative as he looked at her. Then he cocked his head at Julianus. "So this is what you've been doing with your time, brother?"