CHAPTER 6: Chaos
"YOU HAVE no idea the chaos you've just caused, girl!" The plump redheaded woman—one of the Temple Matriarchs?—threw me with a frustrated mew into a corner of a back room.
...At least, I knew it was a back room because she'd smiled past all the Icons and High Priests, dragged me through four doors...
And, now, we were alone.
Her squat hips and my non-existent ones.
Head-to-head.
And her middle-aged, cranberry face was flushed with the type of annoyance that made me want to curl up and die.
"I literally didn't do anything—" I protested, cupping my empty hands in front of me as though that would prove my innocence.
"That's exactly why we're having this issue now, isn't it?" she hissed back, her plump cheeks nearly covering her eyes they were squinting so much. "What the devil is wrong with you?! I've never had this at a presentation before—not once!"
I flinched both at her shrill tone and at her fingers, which wrenched my arm directly into her view. She peered at the black ink there, her thin eyebrows morphing and contorting as she tried to make sense of it.
"This is terrible," she said swiftly.
—A comment about the quality of the tattoo?
—A comment about my performance in front of all those people?
I swallowed.
"I'm sorry," I squeaked, "I didn't mean to cause a scene—"
"Well, you did that, now, didn't you?" the woman snapped, "The god was very perplexed. Something's wrong if the god's confused. We're going to have to keep a close eye on you and get this ink redone. I think something's wrong with your magic."
No.
There wasn't something wrong with the magic.
There was something wrong with ME—I knew it. I'd known it my whole life.
But how did I explain that to the Temple Matriarch new Icons were supposed to be trying to impress? How did I tell her that they should just let me go back to my home? —That I had nothing to give the god? ...That I wasn't even pretty?
"You're thinking," the Matriarch noted. "Honestly, it makes me uncomfortable when Icons think. You're supposed to feel. Use your emotions, your gut reaction," she lectured, pointing to my heart, "This is Poseidon's territory, not Metis or Apollo's..."
If I'd known she actually wanted me to act on my gut, I'd already have slugged her and everyone in this place, ripped off the skirt of this god-forsaken dress and run back home.
I imagined my feet pounding over the marble floor.
The hair in my wind.
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The glee of it.
"What are you smiling for?" she barked.
I jolted back to reality.
"Off to the Icon's chambers, then. I'll have the Iron Master come by in the morning to fix this...mistake," she growled, gesturing loosely at my tattoo.
And I tried a weak smile.
But it was a cover-up.
For the sinking feeling in my stomach that I couldn't push down any further.
***
The Icons here were worse than the Demure at my home temple; I learned that next day.
With fresh ink still bleeding black and red down my arm, I sat staring out the thick-paned window, watching the waves outside blur past the black, rectangular tracery. Out there, the ocean around us looked peaceful. In here?
It was as though someone had unleashed an ego, glitter-bomb.
Each Icon summoned magic to their hands—their chins glowing ethereal gold as the warmth and color of it flooded their smug faces. Then, they'd swat at someone nearby to get them to notice, and it'd be a race to see who could create the larger fireball while not setting their hair on fire. This was ridiculous. None of them knew what they were doing. We could burn the whole place down, and the Temple Matriarch had said she'd be 'right back' over twenty minutes ago; she was liable to walk in any second—
"What are you staring at?"
My chin shot up.
I blinked at the boy leering at me.
Really, he was almost a man. His jaw was hardened and angular. His hair, a burnt blonde. And his eyes smoldering in the way that would burn an entire house down.
...Like it wasn't his fault. Like someone lit that fire of rage years ago, and he wasn't responsible for the damage he most certainly was about to cause.
I'd been staring over his shoulder... I leapt off the window, wincing as I accidently brushed my arm against the concrete block wall of the room.
He sniggered at me, "Let's see that new ink. They say that's what fucked up your presentation...or was that just you..." His jaw hardened on the last words...just like his eyes.
Now black.
I ground my teeth together.
"I don't have to explain myself"—my voice only wobbled slightly—"I was chosen just like the rest of you." I tried to brush past him, but his shoulder hit me square in the chest.
Knocking the breath out of me.
I turned my head to see him eyeing my fresh tattoo. The Iron Master had tediously removed the prior one, which, now, only glinted in raised lines of irritated red while the thick, dark imprint of a new, mermaid tattoo swooped over it. A grin slid up to meet the wildfire overtaking the boy's gaze again.
And I hated that grin.
...Just like I, suddenly, hated him.
He moved quicker than I expected.
His hand jutted out.
His strong fingers wrapped around my newly-tattooed bicep.
I squealed, biting clean through my lip, trying to conceal the pain.
Blistering.
Burning—
Unbearable—
"Get off me!" I tried to shake off his hold.
Only to find ripping pain. I shrieked.
He finally let go.
His twisted face leaned in, snarling, inches from mine. "You can pretend you're one of us, but I know the truth," he spat, "I'll find out everything soon enough."
His face distorted—creasing with colored lines for a milli-second.
A buzzing sound flickered in my ears.
I blinked.
Was I sick?
Was I going to pass out?
What was wrong with my eyes?
But the boy's confused face only came into view again—clear this time.
Smug.
Too close—
"Hadeon! She's coming!" another boy shouted from the front of the room.
And the boy stepped back from me as the Temple Matriarch rushed in.
Like this had never happened.
Like maybe even part of me might believe that I'd made everything up.
The almost-fight.
His flickering face.
...Everything...