Chapter 2:The Thirteenth Candle(Part 2 of 1)
"Nothing. Keep searching elsewhere. We'll pray for Mary." The three elderly nuns closed their eyes in unison, palms pressed together like stone tablets. Tasiya found herself edged backward by their synchronized piety.
The door clicked shut. She stared at the oak grain, sulfur clinging to the incense smoke seeping through the cracks.
The main chapel smelled of beeswax and lies. Mother Raynel stood motionless before the altar, her frost-gray eyes dissecting Tasiya. "You should be combing the barley fields."
"The mountain is vast as God's silence," Tasiya countered, thumb brushing the dried blood on her stole. "Do villagers wear our habits? I met an elder sister up there. You must've been informed."
Raynel's marble composure didn't crack. "No child goes missing in Viscount's territory."
"Then why did the elders panic at first?" Tasiya's reptilian gaze flicked to the cracked angel mural behind the pulpit. "Until they heard Mary's age."
Candlewax hissed. A wick exploded between them, scattering embers across the offering plate.
"The infirmary sister—" Tasiya snatched an unlit taper from the rack. "Shall I fetch a physician?"
"Tomorrow." Raynel studied the waterlogged footprints mapping Tasiya's path.
"Fine." The black-clad girl lit her stolen candle from the altar flame. She was halfway to the arched doorway when steel entered the Mother Superior's voice.
"Stop."
Tasiya turned, candlelight carving her profile into a gargoyle's smirk.
"Five copper coins." Raynel nodded at the dripping tallow. "And clean your trail."
For three heartbeats, the chapel held its breath. Then Tasiya marched back, jammed the candle into a brass lantern, and tossed coins that rang like funeral bells. "Expense account. We're saving your precious statistics."
"Tasiya."
"What now?"
"Stop dressing like a widow."
The girl's laughter echoed through vaulted ceilings. "I'll wear white when you stop lying."
Whispers in the Barley(Part 2 of 2)
Autumn night air hummed with the perfume of cut barley and cicada hymns. Lanterns dotted the fields like earthbound constellations—a scene almost romantic, had it not been pierced by desperate cries.
"Nora," Tasiya caught the lead searcher's arm, "you've combed every row?"
The freckled sister nodded, eyes raw as fresh wounds. "God help us, Tasiya—we've shouted until our throats bled. If she'd simply fallen asleep here…" Her voice frayed.
"Did you send scouts to the village?" The black-clad girl steadied her. "Raynel claims peasants might've sheltered her."
"Three sisters went." Nora scrubbed her face with a sleeve, smearing tears across sunburned cheeks. "Pray they—"
A shriek split the dark.
"FOUND! Mary's been found!!"
They ran. Barley stalks lashed their legs as they crashed through the fields, mud splattering habits. At the crossroads, a cluster of sisters parted to reveal the child—golden hair glittering with chaff, unscathed save for grubby palms.
"Oh, Mary! Sweet lamb!" Nora crushed the girl to her chest. "Where in God's name—"
Tasiya hung back, interrogating a breathless sister. "Where exactly?"
"Village outskirts. She claims she… napped while playing."
"Outskirts?" Tasiya's thumb worried her stole's bloodstain. "No witnesses?"
"None. We rushed her back." The sister frowned. "Why?"
"Curiosity." Tasiya's gaze locked onto Mary's hair ribbon—still knotted, yet oozing rust-colored dampness.
In the refectory, nuns fussed over the prodigal child. Mushroom soup steamed in Mary's hands as she swung her legs, laughter sugared and bright.
"Mary." Tasiya leaned against the wall, shadows pooling at her feet. "Did you take the western slope today?"
The girl's spoon clinked against the bowl. "Wh-what slope?"
"The merchants' path."
"No!" Black flecks danced in Mary's hazel irises. "I stayed near the creek!"
"Tasiya!" Nora shot her a reproachful glare. "Let her breathe!"
"Indulge longer, and she'll sprout horns." The girl pushed off the wall. "Where's your herb basket, Mary?"
The child froze. Soup dripped onto the table. "I… forgot it."
A chorus of disapproval erupted. Nuns circled Tasiya like crows. "Enough!"
"Let Raynel discipline her tomorrow!"
"Must you haunt her like some—"
"Fine." Tasiya drifted toward the exit, eyes lingering on Mary's ribbon. "Last question—unrelated." Her hand gripped the iron door ring. "Who's missing a hair tie lately?"
Silence curdled the warmth.
Mary dropped her spoon.
Chapter 3:Sickle and Sacrifice(Part 2 of 1)
"None." The nuns' denials clattered like dried bones. Someone added, "Check the storage logs yourself, Tasiya. Everything's recorded."
The girl exited without ceremony.
"Wait!" A sister seized her wrist. "Your hand—let me bandage it."
"Just a scratch."
Tasiya strode to the elders' dormitory. She knocked, waited for their prayers to cease, then delivered her verdict: "Mary's found. Your prayers worked." The door shut with finality.
Barefoot, she crept back to eavesdrop.
"—told you not to panic! This isn't your cursed homeland!"
The second voice cracked. "You've never seen what happens when they skip the Offering! My village lost seventeen children one year—"
A third nun interjected, "Harvests thrive here. The Viscount's line honors the Bargain."
"Trust the cycle," wheezed the first. "More hands mean greater blessings."
Tasiya's damp shoes squelched as she retreated. In her cell, she peeled off mud-caked garments. The communal washbasin's icy water bit into her gashed palm.
Missing. Offerings. Calamity.
The elders' words coiled like smoke in her mind. Sacrifices tied to age. Her mother's disappearance. That ribbon in the woods—
"Nora's shriek shattered her trance. "God's teeth, Tasiya! Washing wounds with ditch water?"
The freckled nun commandeered the laundry, shouting over her shoulder, "Bandages! Now!" Sisters swarmed, pressing linen to Tasiya's raw flesh.
Nora tsked. "Is this how nobles treat themselves? No wonder your father—"
The night ended with Tasiya pinned to a cot, her protests drowned in herb-smudged bandages.
Madder Roots and Moonlight(Part 2 of 2)
Dawn bled into the refectory. Nuns clattered bowls as they chattered:
"Sister Melarda's fever broke!"
"Praise the Bargain!"
"Can we visit her before—"
Tasiya slipped away. The storage room's ledger lay open—no hair ties issued this year. Last year's records were conspicuously absent.
Her fingers brushed a dust-caked cleaver leaning against the wall. Its cross-shaped hilt fit her palm like a cursed relic.
In the mist-shrouded fields, Tasiya hacked at barley. The cleaver's weight mocked her—too clumsy for harvest, too sacred for bloodshed. She switched to her sickle, blades whispering shick-shick like vertebrae snapping.
Four years ago, she recalled as golden stalks fell, Father exiled me here to "humble my barbaric spirit."
The Viscount had expected tears, repentance. Instead, Tasiya learned to swing a scythe harder than any orphan. Raynel taught her to parry with farm tools—"Defend the harvest, girl, not your pride."
Now, calloused hands gripped the sickle. Sweat stung her bandaged palm.
"Tasiya?" A whisper threaded through the barley.
Mary emerged, clutching a basket of madder roots. "I'm sorry about yesterday."
"Lying for 'good deeds'?" Tasiya didn't lower her blade.
The child thrust the basket forward. Roots oozed crimson sap. "For dyeing your clothes! You're not even a real nun!"
"Black suits me."
"But you promised Mother Raynel!" Mary's smile glinted too sharp. "She said you'd wear white when the Offering's fulfilled."
The noon bell tolled. Tasiya froze.
When the Offering's—
"Tasiya!" A cook's shout shattered the moment. "Nobles at the gate! They're taking Mary!"
The sickle clattered. Tasiya sprinted past stunned harvesters, madder roots staining her boots like fresh blood.
At the courtyard, a carriage loomed—gilded, reeking of bergamot and lies. A couple scrutinized Mary, their eyes inventorying her golden curls.
"Such a precious lamb," the woman cooed, gloves squeezing the girl's shoulders. "We'll have her ears pierced for pearl drops."
The man adjusted his monocle. "Hair needs lightening. Country grime, you see."
Nora wept into her apron. Raynel stood statue-still, ledger clutched to her chest.
Tasiya stepped between Mary and the carriage. "She's allergic to pearls."
Silence.
The noblewoman's smile hardened. "Darling, fetch our donation chest. The… charitable sort prefer silver over impertinence."
As the man heaved a coin-stuffed trunk, Tasiya noted his hands—smooth, unmarked by the crescent scars all devout nobles bore from childhood Offerings.
Mary's basket tipped. Madder roots rolled toward the visitors, sap pooling like an ill omen.
"Wait." Tasiya crouched to gather the roots. "Your carriage axle's cracked. Best check it before the mountain road."
Panic flickered in the woman's eyes. They fled without their trunk.
That night, Tasiya soaked madder roots in the washbasin. The water turned wine-dark.
Nora peered in, aghast. "Why waste dye? You'll never use—"
"Testing a theory." Tasiya wrung out a root. Crimson dripped like aged blood. "Madder takes years to stain this deep."
She lifted Mary's hair ribbon from the sludge—its "rust spots" now screaming scarlet.
Chapter 4: "Gilded Lies and Violet Blades"
Part 1: The Human Curtain
The chapel's bone-dry fountain spat its first water in decades, flinging autumn leaves like silvery minnows. Nuns formed a living dam against the spray—a corps de ballet frozen mid-curtain rise.
Tasiya slipped into the rear ranks. Even the rowdiest novices stood sentinel-stiff before the visiting nobles.
"They're taking Mary today," whispered a sister.
"Paperwork done?"
"Formalities don't bind wolves to lambs."
Through gaps in the human curtain, Tasiya glimpsed Raynel's strained negotiations. She unleashed three thunderous coughs.
"Bless you, child!" Raynel hissed through clenched teeth as Tasiya breached protocol.
The black-clad girl extended a bleeding palm to the noblewoman. "Tasiya Norsa Vincente, youngest daughter of the Marchioness. Your gloves—Ognivo lace? Exquisite."
The couple exchanged glances. "Alessia and Moren Diaz," the man bowed. Velvet smoke curled from his silver-chased pipe.
"Father's hosting my sixteenth gala soon." Tasiya's smile glinted like a blade. "My sisters would adore your Ognivo fashions."
Raynel's knuckles whitened on her rosary. "Lord Diaz isn't—"
"Three days," Tasiya overrode her. "Time for Mary's farewells. Surely Ognivo's gentry respect... sentimental debts?"
Moren's gaze lingered on Tasiya's Vincente-black hair—the exact shade as the beheaded Marchioness in court portraits. "Three days," he conceded.
Nuns swarmed Mary like moths to flame as Tasiya retreated.
"Lying to nobles? Brilliant!"
"Will your father really host—"
"My sisters' suitors will keep him occupied." Tasiya shrugged. "Now, who's seen my old violet gown?"
Part 2: Violet Veils and Rusted Truths
The nuns' gasps fluttered like startled doves. Nora crossed herself. "Lying to nobles? That's a mortal—"
"—necessary evil," Tasiya finished, plucking a burr from Mary's hair. "Ask the orphans in the ossuary if they'd prefer candied lies or starving truths."
Mary tugged Tasiya's sleeve. "Thank you, but… Mother Raynel knows your birthday's in winter."
"Let her denounce me." Tasiya strode toward the cloister's heart, where Raynel's chamber crouched behind iron-banded doors.
The corridor smelled of damp stone and wormwood. Tasiya's boots echoed like a condemned man's heartbeat.
"Enter." Raynel's voice slithered through the door cracks.
The abbess stood before a reliquary, her shadow swallowing the martyr's bones within. "You gambled with a child's soul."
"Better than selling it." Tasiya tossed the madder-stained ribbon onto Raynel's desk. "This reeks of Offering rituals. Maria Luz's hair was found with identical dye."
Raynel's thumb stroked the reliquary key. "Madder root stains fade in three moons."
"Unless preserved by sacrificial ash." Tasiya leaned forward, her mother's obsidian pendant swinging like a blade. "Why did last year's storage logs disappear? How many girls 'left for noble families' never reached Ognivo?"
A sparrow crashed into the stained glass. Crimson light pooled around Raynel's feet.
"Some truths," the abbess whispered, "are heavier than a cleaver. Drop this, child, lest you sever more than threads."
Tasiya turned to leave. At the threshold, she paused.
"Funny. Mother's last letter mentioned a 'Raynel' who once wore violet—the martyr's color."
The reliquary key clattered to the floor.