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“In not so many words. I pulled my knife on them.”

Ever gives me a concerned look. “Has anyone ever mentioned that you’re a little stab happy?”

“I didn’t actually stab anyone. Yet.”

“I seem to recall you making Bellamy bleed.”

“It was a flesh wound.”

“I hate that word.”

“Flesh?” I can’t help making a funny face as I repeat the word. “Fleeeeesh. Flesh? Okay, now it sounds weird to me.”

“That’s because it’s disgusting,” Ever says as we make our final descent.

Dozens of paranorms are heading out of the Vanguard spire. The annual tithing ceremony is in the Temple of the Goddess, a building in the heart of the campus that I’ve yet to visit. Generally, I don’t pray to the Goddess. I’m a little worried my inability to access my magic will displease her.

But everyone attends the tithing ceremonies. Mr. Peters used to drag me to them, no matter how hard I tried to get out of going. There’s too much attention on me to skip the ceremony tonight. If I didn’t go, people would speculate as to why, someone would inevitably assume that my lack of proper respect for the Goddess is why I’m such a fuckup, and I wouldn’t put it past Tweed to insist that I tithe daily as recompense.

The sky holds the last vestiges of light from the sunset, and with no clouds, it’s easy to spot the first stars of night. “Look, there’s Bree.” I wave her over.

She breaks away from a group of Bastion students and joins us on the short walk to the temple. Her normally cheery expression is withdrawn. “Right, so, I’m officially out of my situationship.”

“Oh, no,” Ever says. “What happened?”

“Nothing bad.” Bree shrugs. “It was fun for a while, but we got past hooking up and started talking about our feelings and hobbies and turns out, while we’re compatible in bed, not so much in life.”

I hum in understanding. “So, she liked country music?”

Bree chuckles. “For the record, I like country music. No, I guess it was more about how she wants to have kids and I don’t. She’s set on at least three, and I can’t even imagine having one. Not with having to fight demons. I’d never leave my kids without parents.”

I stare at the many steeples of the temple to avoid saying anything, but I hear Ever’s whispered reprimand. They don’t know much about my life, other than my last name. Frankly, I don’t know much about it, either. It’s entirely possible that demons killed my parents.

“I’m so sorry, Raina. I didn’t mean to be insensitive,” Bree says, genuine remorse in her tone.

Looking at her, I wave off the apology. “You’re right. It sucks not having parents, so I respect your decision.”

Relief washes over her, but before anyone can say more, we reach the reflection pool, and a stark hush falls over the crowd of students shuffling toward the entrance of the temple.

The building itself has six spires clustered together at the central peak. Their reflection ripples in the water, as if reaching downward toward the realm of Vaedor, balancing out the otherwise top-heavy structure. Like the rest of the students, I dip one finger into the pool and place the wet pad at my lips while I make the symbol of the Goddess over my heart, acknowledging Destruction’s role in our world but remembering the importance of Creation. One cannot exist without the other.

Our little group passes through one of the many double doors and files inside.

“Goddess above, it’s beautiful,” Bree breathes.

I hum my agreement. Each temple of the Goddess is mirrored after the first. With three levels, the walls rise dramatically high, the vaulted ceilings supported by many beautiful beams. The stained-glass windows begin on the first floor, growing more dramatic with each level; the pink, purple, red, and blue glass is probably beautiful in the daylight, but it’s striking at night in the warmth of the candlelight.

We take our seats near the back of the temple, waiting for the rest of the students to find theirs. Those who are more devout came early and took the seats in the front, closer to the bronze statue of the Goddess with Vaeloria’s likeness. The Goddess wears a peaceful smile, and her hands are outstretched, welcoming us all.

I can’t help feeling out of place as people begin to dip their heads and pray to the Goddess. They hold her in reverence, but there’s no denying the anger in my heart. If the Goddess creates everything, is she responsible for Mr. Peters? Or Rodderick? Why would a Goddess so set on protecting the humans do nothing to stop the horrors of the world? I’m not alone in my suffering, that much I know, and I’ve never understood why the Goddess never intervenes.

If she loves us so much, why doesn’t she help?

The murmured prayers and conversations cease as the priestess ascends the stairs of the pulpit. It’s said that the priestesses are living vessels the Goddess can use at any time, and that divine channel is what makes their shimmering, golden gauzy gowns flutter, as if whipped back by a celestial wind.

“The Goddess blesses you all,” the priestess says, voice soft and ethereal. “Today’s tithing ceremony celebrates the essence of the Goddess running through our veins. Each of you retain Vaeloria’s blood, and each year, we offer a drop of our own to the Goddess in appreciation. But first, a prayer⁠—”

I tune the priestess out as she recites a prayer, moving my lips but not actually speaking the words. The defiance may cost me at the Goddess Trial, but I can’t bring myself to praise her. Not when resentment lives like poison in my blood.