Mari could not exit the house fast enough. She shoved out the door, ignoring the smattering of farewells she received from those within. Her eyes cast firmly to the ground, she wandered aimlessly through the street. She tried not to dwell on her failure, nor on how she would endure the following day. Lycaena’s execution would come, and she could only watch. Not fight. Not protect her sister, or wage war against the empire. Just watch, useless and helpless. To make it worse, she felt Endarius hovering about her still. She could not shake the scent of tall grass, nor the feel of soft dirt beneath her feet despite the street’s cobblestones. Why did he follow her? Why did the Lion god keep close, if she was so unworthy of his gifts?

Lost in her own mind, she paid no attention to the four imperial soldiers marching toward her. Mari sensed their presence too late, and she tried, and failed, to step out of the way in time. One of the four pushed her aside with her shield as if she were a stubborn horse.

“Move,” the soldier shouted in broken Thanese. Mari lay where she’d fallen, careful to keep her expression calm and indifferent.

“My apologies,” she said. The soldiers continued, paying her little attention. A crowd gathered ahead of them, and curious as to the reason, Mari followed after. A man was protesting the goddess’s execution by sitting underneath an awning adjacent to the main road. One of Lycaena’s priests, she realized. The elderly man sat with ashes sprinkled across his naked body, which he’d shaved from head to toe. His formerly colorful robes lay folded in his lap, and they, too, were covered with ashes. He said nothing, not a word of protest, as the soldiers shouted for him to leave.

“Servitude,” the priest sang, seemingly oblivious to their presence. “I am your servitude, your servitude, your servitude. Hear me, O goddess, your servant, your servant, your beloved servant.”

The soldiers beat him to cease his song. They kicked his teeth to end the words. The priest continued in spite of the beatings. He sang despite the blood that flowed and the bruises that piled up.

“Beauty,” he cried. “I am your beauty, your beauty, your beauty…”

The crowd was growing, filled with those disgusted by the violent treatment of a priest. Before the Everlorn Empire had invaded, these holy men had dedicated their lives to spreading their goddess’s glory across the island. They were known for their love and joy, or so Mari had been told by her father when they first stepped off the boat after a three-month journey across the Crystal Sea.

“We said be quiet!” one of the soldiers shouted at the priest, though it was in the imperial tongue, and Mari doubted any present but her understood him.

“Forget it,” said the lone female soldier in charge. “He knows what he’s doing. End it.”