“Now, who is the deceiver?”

My mind grows hazy, and my palms begin to burn. Did she serve me tea, and I’ve forgotten? I stumble towards the red chair but collapse on the floor and press my hand hard against my brow. I squeeze my eyes shut and begin praying to The Lady. For forgiveness. For safety.

“Do you often spend your time praying to gods who do not answer?” The woman cuts in.

I look up from under my lashes; she’s towering over me.

“The gods do answer,” I say on a half breath. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

“You poor girl. The delusions you will believe,” she says, and her voice drips contempt.

“They answered! They came down–”

Effortlessly, silently, she drops to the floor next to me. I don’t hear a single creak; not even my young knees are that strong. Her unwavering stare unnerves me.

“They came down when their names were sworn in anger. But do they come when their names are invoked for mercy? For health? For food?” Her eyes gleam. “You count Baelliles’ King and his people as your enemies, do you not? Because he decimates your troops and slowly starves your people. Yet, you humbly serve gods who do worse! Your gods lord above you all from a secret place, watching thousands die each day! Women and children suffer before their eyes, and what do they do? They remain silent. They remain hidden. Tell me, why should anyone worship such a thing?”

My palms simmer, and my body flushes with a white heat. The sacred texts flood my mind. My mother used to make me declaim adages from their pages, but once she passed, my father’s desire to teach them died with her. “It is their promise of the afterlife that we set our hopes to,” I recite on a shaky breath. “The affliction we face here cannot cross into the Great Lands. There, we will know no pain.”

“Then why are you still so angry about your mother’s death?” Her voice cracks against me like a whip. “Why mourn the dead at all? Why brew vengeance for those taken? Should we not all wish for swift death? Tell me, Idalia, if pain only exists in the life we now live, then why is our most basic instinct to preserve it?”

Distraught, I try to follow her words. “I’m no philosopher or teacher of sacred texts,” I stammer. “I can’t answer those questions. But I saw them. I saw the Lady and the Guard kill people. And I felt it when She cursed me! I don’t care if you think I’m stupid or if you think I am lying!”

“I know you are not lying.”

“Then why are you hounding me like this?!” I cry.