~Holy One~

"The Emperor is sleeping in his Deádim's quarters," was the first thing Oris heard when she woke up. The words tickled the corners of her ears first then vanished before she could make sense of their meaning and the outrage that fueled their speaker.

Hermes? she thought groggily, the image of the Emperor and the holy Priestess in bed together appeared in her mind though she knew it was impossible. Oh.

Forcing her eyes to remain shut, she stifled the gasp of breath her lungs had been starving for and listened patiently to see if the reason the two most religious people in the capital were sharing a room would be discussed.

A veil clung to her lips as air filtered through them to help her breathe, too soft and velvety to be the one she had been wearing before she passed out.

Already, she could tell that she had been changed. She was no longer in the makeshift top and bottom she had constructed from her dress.

The gown on her now was much finer, just like the veil, it smooth on her skin and swaddled her with warmth. It was silk, she was sure of it.

"Is such not...taboo?" another petite voice asked, and Oris concluded from all the other chatter around her that she was in a room full of maids—well educated ones, from the way they spoke.

"I heard Mathilda from the kitchens say that it was necessary for the Emperor's health."

"The Priestess is healing the Emperor," someone agreed firmly. "Our Mistress is holy. The Emperor is not immoral."

"But—" another maid began, and that was when Oris tuned out the rest of the conversation and decided that it was time to show them that she was awake.

She hadn't recognize the voices and was now sure that they were simply gossiping. The maids didn't know the true reason why Hermes was no longer sleeping in his quarters, they were only speculating to pass the time as most maids did to entertain themselves.

Besides, that wasn't the sort of information Oris needed or cared about right now. She had lost count of how many days of the selection she had missed. Was she disqualified? Would she be thrown out of the palace or be designated as a maid?

In all honesty, she no longer cared for the competition, but she had to remain in the palace until Bren sent her a message. She knew that she was the only trustworthy informant he had in the palace.

Despite not knowing how he managed to even break into the palace in the first place, simply knowing Bren was enough. He had been prepared to die so he burnt every bridge he had so no one would be implicated.

If his sources and patrons weren't loyal, they would begin to panic now. Bren was not dead, the Emperor was not dead, they would certainly fear being discovered and quickly switch sides to save their households and authority.

Right now, Oris had to start rebellion from scratch. Though she did not know how much of her army had been killed off this time, she knew that resources had been depleted.

Usually, it was Bren that worried about funding but he was injured and he might have killed all their supply chains before attempting to kill Hermes.

She had to think of a way to make money in the palace, lots of it. It was something that she needed to do anyway if she wanted to secure a good position in the harem after the selection.

She also needed to revise her plan to kill Hermes.

As it stood, she was in-between doing it herself and leaving it to Bren.

If she was the assassin and somehow happened to get close to the Emperor, she was sure she could kill him but she would get cut down immediately, defeating the purpose of her mission in the first place.

But she didn't want to endanger Bren's life anymore. And he was the only one she trusted.

It gave her a headache. If only there was someone else willing to die for Orse and skilled enough to assassinate a child of Sūn.

She parted her eyelids slowly and took in the soft brightness of the room, her eyes immediately taking in the mural that decorated the high marble ceilings the moment they adjusted.

She could recognize the golden figure of Sūn painted above her, and immediately felt as though beams of light were falling down on her.

She was not just in any room, but one that must have once belonged to royalty. Her thoughts drifted to Hermes' brothers and sisters, and his father, who he had killed.

She sat up immediately, more surprised that there was no pain in her side than the fact that there were gasps all around her.

The maid that had been beside her dropped a bowl and it shattered, gaining the attention of the other girls in the room who hadn't noticed her rise.

They all dropped to their knees and kowtowed. The tension in the room rose dramatically and Oris let her eyes trail over the maids, recognizing that most of them wore finer clothes that the maids of the women she had taken the selection with.

"Where am I?" she asked, straining her voice so that everyone could hear her. A sharp pain lanced through her side when she took a deep breath and her hand went to it.

When she wasn't given an answer, she turned to the maid kneeling beside the bed and used the most demanding voice she could muster. She had no time to waste. "You. Speak."

"My...My Lady," the maid stammered, "you are in the chambers arranged for you by the Deádim and Emperor."

Oris didn't spend time wondering about why those two would save her together when they were both people of the Empress Dowager, she would do so later. Right now, she had more pressing matters to attend to.

She needed her maids, no, her sisters. She needed to know how they had faired without her, if they had done something stupid to save her—though she was quite sure that they had. They had to be reason her plan even worked.

Why else had Mikeal been there to rescue her on Hermes' orders?

"You all are servants of the Deádim?" she asked, though she was already certain that they were.

"Yes, My Lady," the maid answered for herself and the rest.

"How long have," Oris paused, considering how to phrase the question to get the most precise answer. "How long have I been in these chambers?"

"This is the third day, My Lady."

Three days, she thought, comparing the experience to the one she had had with Tristan and Marcka.

Nothing could beat falling off a horse, it seemed. Though it was possible that she might have been unconscious for longer if she had been elsewhere then moved here later on.

But asking a maid that would be too suspicious. She was supposed to be thankful that she was alive, grateful that the Emperor and Deádim had joined hands to save her.

What Oris was truly thankful for was the fact that her identity as a nun allowed her to seem unfazed by most earthly happenings. To die was to return to Mother Earth. And that was what she would answer whenever she was asked why she had jumped in front of Hermes. Of course, an Emperor's life was more precious than hers and she had to preserve it.

"Where are my maids?" It was only now that she looked down at her body. As she had expected, she was in new clothes, fine silk that hadn't touched her skin in years. Dyed yellow color to match the sun, she hated it already.

"We are your maids," all the women replied in trained synchrony and Oris frowned, knowing better than to argue. She had just gotten as close to Death as she could—thank him for his mercies—she was not meant to be so fierce.

"I speak of the maids who attended to me before now," she explained gently, "where are they?"

The maids remained silent.

"Andrea, Seline, Keziah and Mayree. Do you know of them?"

Receiving no answer, Oris continued, a little annoyed, "You bow, putting yourself beneath me and I above you. Am I too lowly to have my questions answered?"

"I… I," a timid voice began, from a body too similar to the ones around it to be discerned, "know a Keziah from the kitchens. And a Seline from the washrooms."

Kitchens? Oris wanted to raise an eyebrow but kept her expression soft and understanding. "Stand."

The maid did so slowly but kept her head bowed.

"Get them for me," Oris said. "You will be rewarded, even if it is the wrong person you bring. Thank you."

The maid's head shot up at that and Oris was able to see the shocked expression on her face before held her hands to her chest and curtsied.

"Yes, My Lady," she said and scurried out of the room before another word could be said.

"The rest of you are dismissed," Oris told the other maids, no longer in the mood to entertain them.

They rose to their feet uncertainly.

"You will continue to disobey me?" she asked quietly, and they immediately curtsied and filed out of the room.

Oris shut her eyes, thankful for the silence. For the first time since she woke up, she could finally appreciate the fact that she was alive. She felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She had escaped Death so many times but each experience brought her even closer to him. She wondered how long she could last? Would she be able to revive her State before an arrow or sword or dagger finally managed to pierce her heart?

She was tired. More than tired, she was scared of failure. More than scared, she wanted a proper weapon to stab someone with.

If she had one, she wouldn't need to be saved by the man who would certainly kill her if he discovered that she was the last Orsan royal.

She used one hand to wipe her wet lashes and the other to pat down her chest, not entirely surprised to find that the keys were not there.

"Looking for these, young one?"

She let her hands fall to her lap and turned to see the Deádim gliding into the room like she was walking on air. The hem of her white gown pooled at her feet and trailed far behind her, extending beyond the open door.

The dungeon keys dangled from the tips of her fingers.

Oris let her gaze rest her gaze rest on them for a bit before touching the tips of her fingers to her eyebrows and leaning forward. "Holy One."

~

I'm sleepy 😴