Queensmen

Chapter 33

~A Saintess' Words~

Oris watched the white hair of the priestess warily as she led the group of male scribes to greet the Empress Dowager.

The woman wore a white gown with an impressive trail that needed four attendants to carry. Her skin was the color of baked clay, smooth and supple like the skin of a berry; her lips were painted with ash; tattoos of black ink swirled about half of her face and down her collar in bewitching patterns.

Her hair was a color purer than that of her gown and completely natural. It was cut short, with all of the tightly curled strands just inches above her scalp but the bold color was enough to make it stand out.

It was what made Oris know to not treat this test lightly.

This woman was a Deàdim, the currently vessel of Sūn and a priestess of the highest order. The combination was a rarity, seeing as the gods chose humans that were the embodiment of their ideals as vessels and priestesses were untouched, holy women with no ties to the mortal world.

How can a saint be the Deàdim for the god of war?

Oris found it strange that the title belonged to a priestess that looked two years her junior, and stranger still that Hermes wasn't Sūn's Deàdim-though she had to admit that white hair wouldn't have looked good on him. To be the Deàdim of Heshera meant being the consolidation of all the nation's spiritual power in one being.

If this priestess was not trusted by the Emperor, she would have been killed three times over. Once, for being closer to Sūn than Hermes; a second time for having the power to influence the masses through religion, and a final, third time for being more important-yet younger-than the Empress Dowager.

"Forgive me," the priestess said after rising. Her voice was loud and deep. It didn't sound like what should come from someone so small and frail-looking. "I am late."

"How could you be late?" the Empress Dowager laughed coldly. "I am sure that when you arrived was most auspicious."

If the priestess noticed the woman's scorn, she didn't show it. She bowed her head low then turned to face the rest of the hall, both her hands clasped and hidden by her sleeves.

"The first test of the selection will begin now," she said with a level voice. "Each candidate will be supervised by a scribe, with only the period of a burnt incense stick to complete the task before them."

The scribes dispersed in pairs.

Oris didn't take her eyes off the priestess. Her gaze scanning the petite woman from head to toe in search of an ounce of godly power.

She found none and felt disappointment creep up into her lungs and leave her in a long exhale.

She sensed, more than saw, two scribes occupying the seats on her left and right.

In that moment, she understood. Though the priestess said that everyone was supervised by a scribe, they were actually being watched closely by four.

First of all, the seats were not equally spaced. A candidate and their scribe sat closest to each other, with the scribe on their left-hand side if they were on the left side of the hall and the opposite if they were on the right. At the same time, the scribe of another candidate would still be a short distance from the nearest candidate. The was the case for everyone seat in the hall except those at the beginning and end of the line.

The scribes directly supervising three candidates-the ones by the side and the one directly opposite-could simultaneously monitor another candidate, and there was a guard behind every seat.