“The Holy Council has called for a formal inspection.”
High Priest Aldric’s voice carried through the antechamber with the particular nervous cadence of a man delivering news he knew wouldn’t be welcome.
“Before the grand pilgrimage next month. A public confirmation of Lady Caelia’s purity, presided over by High Bishop Malachi himself.”
Ren’s stomach dropped.
Beside her, she felt Lucan go very still.
“On what grounds?” Lucan’s voice stayed level, though she’d learned to recognize the particular stillness in his shoulders that meant fury barely contained.
“She’s already performed a public purification. Successfully.”
“The Council has… concerns.” Aldric wouldn’t meet either of their eyes.
“Rumors have reached the High Bishop. About the frequency of your private inspections, Grand Inquisitor. About certain irregularities in Lady Caelia’s aura that some among the clergy believe warrant closer examination.”
“Rumors,” Ren repeated carefully.
“The Council wishes to see for themselves.” Aldric shifted uncomfortably.
“The ceremony will take place in three days’ time, in the Grand Cathedral. Before the full Holy Council and High Bishop Malachi.”
After the priest left, Ren turned to find Lucan’s jaw locked tight, dark magic curling faint and agitated around his clenched fists.
“This is Malachi,” he said flatly.
“He’s finally decided to act instead of simply gathering suspicion.”
“What does the ceremony actually involve?”
“Public purification, same as before. Except this time performed under the Council’s direct observation, without my hands guiding your mana to keep it stable.” His eyes met hers, dark with worry.
“If your light reacts the way it did at the fountain — violently, uncontrolled — in front of the entire Council, it will raise exactly the questions Malachi’s hoping for.”
“Then I control it better this time.”
“It’s not that simple, and you know it.” He crossed to her, gripping her shoulders.
“Your power isn’t unstable because you lack skill, Caelia. It’s unstable because it’s not purely holy. It’s tangled with something else — something older, sharper, born of survival instead of divine grace. The Council will sense that the moment you’re forced to perform without me buffering the reaction.” Visit novelping dot com for the full chapter.
The Grand Cathedral was packed three days later, every pew filled with priests in white and Council members in ceremonial gold, High Bishop Malachi seated at the head of the dais with an expression of solemn concern that didn’t reach his calculating eyes.
“Lady Caelia.” Malachi’s voice boomed through the cathedral, carrying easily to the highest rafters.
“The Council has gathered to witness your purity confirmed before the grand pilgrimage. Step forward.”
Ren crossed the marble aisle alone — Lucan had been forced to stand among the assembled Inquisitors rather than beside her, his presence too close to the accusation Malachi was clearly building toward.
She felt his eyes on her the entire walk, dark and helpless, a man watching danger approach the one thing he couldn’t protect directly.
“Begin the purification,” Malachi commanded.
Ren raised her hands over the ceremonial basin at the cathedral’s center and reached for the light.
It came too fast, exactly as she’d feared — wild and desperate without Lucan’s steadying presence, spilling from her palms in violent, uncontrolled bursts that scorched black marks across the marble instead of the gentle golden glow a proper Saintess should produce.
Murmurs rippled through the assembled Council, priests exchanging worried glances, and Ren fought to rein the power back under control even as it fought her every step of the way.
“Interesting,” Malachi said, rising slowly from his seat, voice carrying a note of triumph he didn’t bother fully concealing.
“Most unusual, for a Saintess of your supposed strength to struggle so visibly.”
“The power is simply young,” Aldric offered nervously.
“Newly awakened—”
“Newly awakened three weeks ago, and already reacting like this?” Malachi descended the dais steps slowly, circling Ren with the same predatory patience she’d once thought was Lucan’s alone.
“I find myself troubled, Lady Caelia. Troubled enough that I believe a more thorough examination is warranted.”
Across the cathedral, Ren saw Lucan’s hand drift toward his sword hilt, knuckles white, every line of his body coiled and ready to intervene the moment Malachi crossed from suspicion into open accusation.
“The Altar of Truth,” Malachi announced, and the murmuring in the cathedral spiked sharply.
“An ancient relic, kept in the deepest vault beneath this very cathedral, capable of forcing hidden souls to reveal their true nature. I propose Lady Caelia step onto it, before the full Council, to settle this matter definitively.” This story is hosted at g.com.
Ren’s blood ran cold.
“High Bishop,” Lucan’s voice cut through the cathedral, sharp and dangerous, drawing every eye toward him as he stepped forward from among the Inquisitors.
“That relic hasn’t been invoked in over a century. Its use requires unanimous Council approval, and even then, the physical toll on the subject can be severe.”
“Are you questioning Council procedure, Grand Inquisitor?” Malachi’s smile turned sharper.
“Or simply protective of a candidate you’ve spent an unusual amount of private time with these past weeks?”
The accusation landed exactly as intended, and Ren watched several Council members’ expressions shift toward wary calculation, exactly the seed of doubt Malachi had clearly been cultivating.
“I’m questioning the wisdom of endangering a Saintess candidate’s life over unfounded rumor,” Lucan said, voice carefully controlled despite the fury radiating off him in waves.
“Nothing more.”
“Then you have nothing to fear from the Altar confirming her purity, do you?” Malachi turned back to Ren, gesturing toward two priests already moving to retrieve the ancient relic from its vault.
“Step forward, Lady Caelia. Let us settle this matter once and for all, so these troubling rumors can finally be laid to rest.”
Ren met Lucan’s eyes across the cathedral, and saw in them exactly the same desperate calculation racing through her own mind.
Refusal now would confirm every suspicion Malachi had planted.
Compliance meant stepping onto a relic specifically designed to strip away every carefully maintained lie standing between her and the pyre.
There was no safe answer left.
Only a choice between two different kinds of exposure, and precious little time left to decide which one she could actually survive.
“Very well,” she said, forcing her voice steady despite the fear clawing up her throat.
“I’ll step onto your Altar, High Bishop.”
Malachi’s smile widened with poorly concealed triumph as the priests carried the ancient relic — a wide, flat disc of white stone inscribed with runes so old they’d worn nearly smooth — to the center of the cathedral floor and set it directly before the assembled Council.
“Excellent.” Malachi gestured toward the relic with theatrical solemnity.
“Step onto the Altar of Truth, Lady Caelia. Let every soul in this cathedral witness exactly what you truly are.”