In her room down in the Priestesses’ Dormitories, Mona scrubbed herself clean with sand, then rinsed herself with a bucket of almost-boiling water that was brought to her chambers shortly after dawn each day and was already waiting for her when she arrived. The scalding water was her favorite part of each morning. It tickled her skin and was good for her circulation. Or so she told herself.
Once she’d toweled off, she walked over to her vanity, made of a dark and knotted wood, and grabbed a vial of rosemary extract from its top drawer. She tapped a few drops on the inside of her wrists, then rubbed them together. From her wardrobe, she grabbed a quick change of clothes—fresh underwear and a set of simple-cut black robes, without gold trim, unlike the dress robes she’d worn yesterday.
On her way out, she took a lingering glance at her single bed, still neatly made, sitting under a simple iron-and-glass window. Her space was small and efficient. After all, priestesses were not supposed to live in luxury. She thought of the Master’s chamber above, and almost laughed at the difference between it and her humble quarters. To think, the opulence upstairs was being enjoyed by a mortal soul. Wherever the real Greg-Theryx was, she doubted he was pleased.
The mortal was admittedly out of his depth. Foolish and naive. But he had been fun to torment, challenge, and play with. She couldn’t deny any of that. And there was something about him that seemed to already be changing—his determination, perhaps, or merely his understanding of his predicament. She shook her head and blinked her eyes. Despite his foolishness and his hopeless desire to learn magic, he’d already gotten under her skin.
It’s just because of what he looks like, she reminded herself. Because of who he was supposed to be. I didn’t get enough sleep. Thankfully, the other priestesses will have noticed I didn’t return last night, and they will know, or think they know, what that means.
She left her chambers and headed back to the elevator, down a corridor that curved along the outer edge of the tower, with windows that looked onto the towering mushroom caps of the temple gardens. When the elevator arrived, she breathed a sigh of relief to find it empty. She entered and pushed the button marked Temple Sanctum, and the doors began to close.
At the last moment, a green hand with pointy claws reached through the gap in the doors and gave them a jostle, at which point they obligingly opened again, revealing a green-skinned demon with tiny horns and a thin pair of spectacles that rested on her nose. Her silver hair was in a bun. She stood slightly taller than Mona, much to Mona’s chagrin.
“Cursed morning, Phaedra,” Mona said, trying to keep things light and pleasant.
“Cursed indeed,” Phaedra replied, taking a position next to the elevator’s opposite wall. In her hands, she carried a cloth package wrapped in twine. Mona stared at it, wondering what it was. “It is an auspicious day for us, Desdemona. I trust our Lord and Master is content.”
“More than content, perhaps,” Mona said with a smirk. “What brings you to the temple? I thought Priestess Lilith would be assisting me with the morning service.”
“You misunderstand, Lady Desdemona. I am headed for the Halls of War.” Phaedra leaned over and hit the button a few floors above the temple. “I assume our newly arrived Master will attend the session this morning?”
“I did not think priestesses were permitted in the Halls of War, Phaedra.”
“We are when we receive a personal invitation from General Shatterbone.”
“Ah.” Mona’s eyes traced back to the bundle in Phaedra’s hands. “Something you’ve concocted?”
“My research has proven fruitful, and the Generals wished for a briefing on its potential.”
“Ah,” Mona said coldly. “I see.” Less than a day after the False Master’s arrival, and Phaedra was already striving to make an impression. Priestess Midnight had always been too ambitious by half.
It was no great secret that Phaedra believed she should have been High Priestess. The reason she hadn’t been chosen was that no one liked her. The priestesses didn’t have any particular love for Desdemona, only grudging respect, but their feelings towards Phaedra were downright animus. After all, Phaedra had betrayed nearly all of them at least once or twice. Sometimes such betrayals were necessary to preserve one’s place in the hierarchy of the Order of Devoted Succubi, either to ascend or to avoid a nasty fall. This was the way of demons. But there was a time for restraint, too. Mona had made it this far with only a few true enemies.
Sadly, the worst one was now standing next of her. “And afterward?”
“Well, of course I’ll be joining you all for evening services, after the feast.” The Feast of Return, a celebration of Greg-Theryx’s arrival. Mona would have to brief Greg on all of this later. If he hasn’t already fucked up, she thought. If the tower guard doesn’t arrest me during my sermon.
The elevator dinged at the Temple Sanctum level, and Mona paused for a moment at the threshold, looking back over her shoulder into Phaedra’s dark, unblinking eyes.
“Make sure to pray for a good crusade today, Priestess Phaedra. Since you’ll be missing services, I wouldn’t want you to forget.”
Phaedra’s lips curled into a smile, but her eyes didn’t seem aware of it. “As you know, High Priestess Fell, Verse 7:13 of the Book of Grievances teaches us that action, too, can be a form of prayer. Do you think Greg-Theryx will reward me if I grant us victory in the crusade? If we plant our flag upon the shattered ruins of the gates of heaven?” She looked as if she was considering what she might ask for in return for such a prize. “I will pray as well, of course,” she added, the smile dying on her lips. “I would do anything to serve our Lord.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, Mona thought, leaving the elevator with a curt nod. I’d better watch out for her. Mona knew she was a better sorceress, but who knew what Phaedra had concocted in her lab, if she thought it would give her a chance to be at their god’s side.
If Phaedra one day achieved her goal, how long would it take her to learn the truth? And how disappointed would she be?
Mona thought she was taking her new situation rather well. She had always been somewhat cynical, service to the Order being her path to learn magic legally and the only way out of the slum. It had always been in Mona’s best interest to be a priestess.
On the other hand, Phaedra had come from a wealthy family, the only daughter of a now deceased General. She’d never needed to join the Order. Only one thing seemed to drive her—Phaedra’s thirst for blood. She wished to destroy their enemies, not content with mere peace from their terror.
Mona’s faith had always been rooted both in devotion and in fear. But her devotion had died last night. Her fear was still clinging to her spirit, but the things she was afraid of had suddenly changed.
It was strange, Mona thought, how until yesterday she had toiled her entire life under the absolute conviction that Greg-Theryx would return as promised. He would lead the Seventh Crusade, and Mona was lucky enough to be born in a time when she might strike a blow for all Demonkind, and the Void-touched, against their oppressors. She would be privileged to rain destruction on the light-worshiping heathens who intended to invade and pillage the Voidlands. All of this assumed Greg-Theryx decided to keep her around, of course. But she had always held out hope she would survive.
It was true—many priestesses had been thrown from the tower. But Mona had understood their fatal mistake. None of them had managed to make themselves indispensable. And in one way, she was. She could conjure more flame, with far more control, than any of the other pyromancers in the tower—making her the single most destructive sorceress.
She wasn’t particularly talented at other schools of magic—not a telekinetic or a seer, an alchemist or a stormcaller—but she embodied destruction. Not merely a beautiful companion, she was a military asset. A weapon, one who could not easily be thrown away.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
But now her fate was in entirely different hands, and she had no idea what to do about it. Sadly, there were some problems no amount of fire could fix.
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When Mona entered the Sanctum, she found Lilith already placing Books in each of the pews. Smaller than the tome she’d shown to Greg, it was an abridged version with only a selection of daily prayers and readings. Lilith was a dark red-skinned priestess, a junior in rank despite graduating from the academy decades before Mona.
There was a stereotype that demons with red or pink skin like theirs were better at pyromancy. Mona had always resented that. It took away from her accomplishments. No one but her would ever know the countless nights she’d spent studying, the way her mind had frayed from lack of sleep and endless hours of meditation and training.
On the other hand, Lilith had barely been able to light a campfire at the academy, and if anything her abilities had grown worse over the years. The most unmistakable sign that Lilith had given up on pyromancy was the length of her hair, which fell well past her shoulders. Despite her poor performance at the academy, Lilith had graduated mainly through service credits, which was always a path, doubly so for a girl willing to work in the Hall of Pleasures. But those days were now behind her.
“Cursed day, Lilith,” Mona said, and the woman nodded without looking. “Thank you for setting up. I still need to work on my sermon.”
“Yes, High Priestess.” Lilith placed her hands together and bowed quickly before returning to her duties. Mona headed to the front of the temple, then stood behind the altar. Parchment was waiting for her, with a pot of ink and a quill. Usually she had no problem coming up with something to say. But today, Mona found herself at a loss.
She had been staring at the page for almost ten minutes when she heard Lilith clearing her throat nearby.
“You’re finished?” Mona asked. She almost asked Lilith to prepare the wine, before looking over and seeing the line of trays on a table against the wall. Everything, it seemed, was ready for today’s service. Everything except for Mona. “That was fast.”
“Yes,” Lilith replied and took a few steps forward, craning her neck to get a look at the blank page on the podium. “Oh.” At the sight of the blank page, she looked a little deflated. “Having trouble, High Priestess?”
“It is a momentous time, Lilith. I suppose I am having trouble putting the greatness of it into words.” Mona smiled through her teeth. Some of her tension must have shown, for Lilith chuckled nervously and stepped backward, ducking her head in a bow.
“Do you wish me to leave you to it, High Priestess? I can return before the service begins.”
Mona was about to let her go, until she had another idea. “Just a moment, Lilith,” she called, and stepped away from the dais towards the woman. Lilith shrank back, but Mona leaned in further. “What’s the gossip among the priestesses?”
Lilith looked nervous for a moment, blinking. “Oh, certainly nothing much, High Priestess.”
“Lilith, I would never divulge what you tell me. I promise.”
“I know, High Priestess.” The woman looked down at the floor but refused to take a step. Technically, she was forbidden to leave without Mona’s permission. If Mona released her, the skittish woman looked like she might take off running.
But there were certain things Mona needed to know. “Lilith, the other priestesses must have an opinion on the arrival of the Great One. There must be discussion, even gossip.”
“Ah, they’re most pleased, of course, High Priestess, they’re all thrill—”
“Excellent. Perhaps there is talk of me, and Phaedra, as well.”
Lilith sighed. The older woman stared at Mona for a long moment. “Ah, shit, Desdemona. Really? You’re usually much more subtle than this.”
“I’m on a deadline,” Mona said coldly. “Please, Lilith. Have you heard anything?”
Lilith leaned in and whispered, while Mona strained to hear her though they were the only ones around. “Phaedra has been bragging to anyone who would listen that she was going to win the Master’s favor with some new weapon of hers and have you dropped in the chute. But obviously you’re still here, High Priestess, so it’s probably just Phaedra being Phaedra.”
Phaedra being Phaedra.
Mona said nothing but must have been seething, for Lilith took a step back. Mona felt her Will rising unbidden, a surge of power in her diaphragm coursing through her chest and flowing down her arm. She realized an ember had begun to grow in her palm. With a thought she extinguished it, and the magic dissipated with a faint hiss. A wisp of smoke rose from her hand.
Lilith had her hands up, and her eyes were wide with terror. The fact she hadn’t run meant she was more afraid of breaking protocol than of Mona lighting her on fire. If Mona didn’t know of the Master’s predicament, she might have done the same in Lilith’s situation. But now the hierarchy between them seemed arbitrary and useless.
“Sorry,” Mona said, almost wincing as the word escaped her, as for a moment she felt like a feeble-minded human. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Mona’s anger hadn’t been meant for Lilith, after all. It had only ever been for Phaedra, but she wasn’t here.
Sadly, Mona’s apology didn’t seem to have an effect. Lilith nodded but said nothing, her hands shaking by her sides.
“This won’t involve you any further,” Mona continued. “You may take your leave.”
It took Lilith a moment to reply. “Thank you, High Priestess.” She bowed, then turned and hurried towards the exit. The sound of her footsteps receded until she reached the tower’s central stairwell, and then she was gone.
Mona returned to the dais, placing her hands upon it and trying to imagine herself proselytizing to the congregation. The pews were full, and everyone’s faces were rapt with attention.
She looked down at the utterly blank parchment once again. How could she stand here and act as if nothing was wrong, when Phaedra was upstairs trying to usurp her position and steal her life? How could she concentrate on a sermon for a god who might as well not exist?
They had entered the Order in the same year. Both were considered talented junior priestesses. They had once been friends, and possibly something more, for a brief moment that was best forgotten. And then Phaedra had been Phaedra.
It had been their final year of training. Mona had been chasing an appointment as a junior priestess in the tower for years, which she would tell anyone who cared to listen. It was the perfect first posting for a priestess who had dreams of one day leading the church. But only the best and brightest, with a stellar record, were privileged to serve in the tower.
On the day their final grades had been posted, two long rolls of parchment were pinned in the hall outside their dormitory. Mona hadn’t understood what had happened. Not at first. But she knew in her bones she had aced her final tests and assignments, just like all the others. Until she thought it over, and she remembered Phaedra’s charming smile, acting so innocent and helpful, Do you want me to drop this in the box for you? I need to go there anyway.
Mona hadn’t thought twice about it. They had been friends since the second half of the first year and had done favors for each other plenty of times—handed in assignments and tests, picked up or dropped off paperwork, covered for each other’s shifts in the kitchen when one was sick. Phaedra had never broken her trust, ever.
It was true that Phaedra had a way of tormenting their fellow students, and hated to lose, but Mona had always passed this off, and had always made allowances for her only close friend.
After almost four years of friendship, three whole days before their time at the academy would end, Phaedra had burned one of Mona’s final projects rather than deliver it. It was a thesis on the political realignment of the Void-touched nations following the Fifth Crusade, and Mona could no longer remember what it had even said.
Rather than her place in the top five of their class as she’d expected, Mona found herself in the low thirties. Mona’s history teacher had no sympathy—the woman had never much liked her and did not believe Mona’s story that her friend had burned her homework rather than deliver it to the dropbox as she had on many previous occasions.
Phaedra dodged Mona successfully for almost two days, before Mona finally managed to corner her in the church gardens by a hedge of mushrooms. Mona had expected denial, perhaps a fight, yet Phaedra had only smiled and laughed. She seemed proud, as if she’d played a long, complex game and had, at last, secured her victory.
“Is it so surprising?” Phaedra had asked. “You know it had to end like this.”
“No, it didn’t, Phaedra. I trusted you. I wouldn’t have—”
“Not yet, but some day, you would have. We have similar ambitions, and only one of us will ever be able to achieve them. Eventually, you would have crushed me to get what you wanted.”
“I really wouldn’t, Phaedra. I’m not like that.”
“More to the point,” Phaedra said, her voice dropping into a whisper. “I don’t want to share the tower with a woman I’ve fucked.” In the stunned silence that followed, Phaedra slipped under Mona’s arm and escaped into the maze of fungi.
Those words were still seared into Mona’s mind by grief and hatred. For days Mona wanted to kill Phaedra, and had gotten quite close to doing so, but then a week passed without her committing murder, and the actual appointments were released.
Mona had expected to be sent to a parish in the outer territories or perhaps one of the outer wards of the city at best. In a way, it would have been fitting—she would be a priestess for people like her mother.
But to her surprise, she had made it to the waitlist for the tower. Only two people needed to drop out for Mona to make it. Her other grades, she supposed, had been good enough.
Mona made a new enemy that week, blackmailing a priestess into dropping out who’d been sleeping with one of their instructors. A day later, Mona was blessed—someone dropped out of their own accord, having decided they’d rather do less work somewhere in the country.
She had made it to the tower by the tip of her horns, but in the end, that was enough. The look on Phaedra’s face when she saw Mona on their first day at the tower was priceless. But perhaps it would have been better if Phaedra had succeeded. A quiet country life didn’t sound so bad any more.
Mona took a deep breath to center herself and returned to the present. Many minutes of non-productive rumination had passed, without her spilling even a drop of ink. It was hopeless.
After a moment’s reflection, she took the elevator back to her quarters and dug through a trunk by the foot of her bed. Eventually, she found a stack of parchment containing one of her old sermons that was vaguely appropriate. In the end, Mona didn’t bother to change a single word. And other than Lilith, who gave her a suspicious look, no one seemed to notice.