Chapter 134

Olivia POV

I awoke at dawn, and the sky was a delicate pink spreading out from the horizon against the lightening blue of the fading night. I dressed in warm Luna robes, raised my hood to indicate I did not wish to converse with anyone, and then slipped down to the kitchen, where I loaded up a small sack with food that made my stomach rumble amicably.

I nodded to a Palace guard as I walked out into and then through the garden to the Temple of the Goddess set far back from the everyday lives of the wolves who worked and lived in the Palace. In fact, after I had walked into the foliage and taken two turns on the path, I felt like I was the only one for miles around, which was the point.

I stood at the edge of the temple grounds and paused, listening, but I heard no one inside the temple.

Well, not quite no one.

Rising up before me were eight stones steps each engraved with a phase of the moon. On the third step was Skirit, regarding me with brilliant blue eyes.

“Good morning,” I told her.

She meowed back. I knew she was scenting the contents of the bag I held.

Cats were sacred creatures to wolves, respected co-hunters of the land. I’d seen many an alpha pause in caution when they had to pass by a cat, and there were a hundred jokes about the cat who made the wolves behave.

My favorite was a simple one. An Alpha sees a cat on the path and stops.

“Please,” says the Alpha with great respect. “If you let me pass without harm, I will kill a hundred mice for you. I will tell my Pack to care for your kittens. I will make up a song for you and your lineage to praise you for a thousand years.”

The cat licks her paw and asks, “What’s in it for me?”

I smiled and moved gently to sit down beside the calico and open up the sack so we could share a breakfast of dried fish and a little flatbread. She purred for me when I scratched her ears, then I put the empty bag in a pocket of my robes and ascended the stairs to the wading pool I would need to cross to enter the temple.

I heard a few birds chirping to each other in their morning ritual, but that did not detract from the quiet, calming sound of water lapping against the sides of the pool as I gazed over it. The pool was surrounded by a hip-high stone wall with cut-out shapes of moons in the eight phases again.

The sunlight came through the openings in shimmers and flashes on the water that welcomed me as much as Skirit’s purrs had done.

I took off my shoes and walked through the path-wide opening in the wall while gathering my robes in my hands. The water was warm on my feet, then cool, then slightly cool as I descended eight shallow steps and the level rose halfway up my calves. A breeze wafted through my hair, and I smelled cut grass. A Palace gardener had been up even earlier than I had.

For a few minutes, I stood there both within and without the crystal-clear water. I was letting go of the usual world with its hundreds of tasks and worries. I wanted to be as purely myself as I could be before I consulted the Goddess. Faintly, I could scent lilac and honeysuckle.

When I had become as serene as I could at that time, I rose up on the other sides with eight more shallow steps, and then I was at the entrance to the temple. It rose up before me with white limestone carved in, again, the phases of the moon.

These phases were central to wolves. The New Moon reminded us that there was always a new way to start afresh. The Waxing Crescent demonstrated the rising power we could find within us. The First Quarter allowed a moment of rest and reflection, a triumph over the forces that had caused that new beginning.

The Waxing Gibbous spurred us on. Progress could be measured. Goals were in sight.

The Full Moon was that glorious moment of triumph, or perhaps the quiet moment of contentment. It was the fulfillment of promise, or of promises. It was glorious. It was quiet. It shone. And it would end because that was the nature of things.

So, the Waning Gibbous was simply a transition to the next stage, and though it might seem lesser, it was a vital part of the cycle. The Third Quarter was its own time to gather resources, to store the harvest and preserve the kill.

The Waning Crescent was a promise for the next cycle. I found my eyes lingering on its signs.

Tall columns stood before a small courtyard that looked, perhaps unexpectedly, like a good place for a garden party. As the temple was often the site of weddings and other celebrations, this part of Goddess Temples was affectionately known as the Waiting Room where guests of the bride and groom or proud parents would wait while the formal rituals were being conducted inside.

There were even books protected inside glass-fronted bookshelves, plush green chair perfect for reading or talking with friends, and hanging lanterns painted green to match.

I took a deep breath and entered the temple. I had been there before many times, but again I was struck by the stark power of the place. The round room served as a setting for the jewel in the center: a perfectly smooth round orb of white marble, a fitting and beautiful depiction of the Orb of the Goddess.

I looked up. I couldn’t help it. Above me was a painstakingly ornate dome of icy white marble and circles of cool green jade. It was all so insulated from the world around us, everything slotting perfectly into place as though to reassure the viewer that all would be well.

From my pocket not holding my breakfast sack, I drew a vial of water collected under a full moon and poured it into the small basin by the door. Then I took one of the white pillows stored nearby, put it on the floor, and knelt in prayer.

Guide me, Goddess, I prayed. Tell me what to do.

Then I reprimanded myself. The Goddess wasn’t going to dictate my next actions. I was in charge of my life. I decided to try again.

Guide me, Goddess. Help me to find the right actions in my heart.

Yes, that was better.

I can tell Emma is bad for Lunaris, but I cannot speak the words. I cannot even formulate them in my mind.

I had a sudden memory of the pregnant beta of Moonshadow Pack asking me so blasphemously to bless her child, as though I were an object to be worshipped rather than a simple conduit. I saw her standing on the blood battlefield with the late sun in her slightly graying hair, her uniform in disarray, the sweat of exertion on her skin.

And she had been asking me, “Please, I ask you to bless my child,” as she indicated her stomach only slightly swollen enough to indicate her condition.

And then the memory was replaced with my imagination, and I saw Emma standing there in my place being asked to bless a child; I knew with soul-deep certainty she would have been flattered. She would have done it. She would have blessed a child as though she had the power within her.

And I felt fury on the Goddess’s behalf.