Rhene’s humiliation resumed immediately upon waking. The long hours of sleep did nothing to ease Haidee’s smug smile from her memory, so that Haidee rose earlier this sun-touched morning allowed Rhene time to breathe, stretch, and pretend everything was ordinary before facing her companion, who searched through her clothing chest. 

“They had high faith in your decision to stay,” Haidee remarked. “Even for a family so rich, is it common to have this many outfits on hand?” 

“It’s more than I had at home, but if I’ll be going about doing activities such as horse riding it makes sense to have many.” 

“You said you wish to learn to fight too?” 

“Please try to forget you listened in on that,” Rhene sighed, though she smiled anyway as Haidee scoffed an acknowledging laugh. “I meant more accurately that I enjoyed the freedom of being told I could learn to fight if I want. I don’t imagine I’d appreciate the sword or spear much, although a little for self-defense couldn’t hurt. Perhaps archery would suit me better. My interests do lie more in horse riding, dancing, and herbology.” 

“Herbology?” 

“Yes. There were so many plants I’d never seen on our way here. I want to know what they are and what they can do.” 

“I know a few things, if you don’t mind me as your first teacher.” 

“That’d be—” 

A knock came on the door. Jocasta slipped within after earning permission. She wore pure white today with silver ornamentation catching the pale light like stars, and she glided as the mist when, by request, Haidee went to the hallway to allow Rhene and her stepmother a private moment. Jocasta sat her on the stool and held a comb. 

“Do you prefer your hair up or down?” 

“I was made to wear it up, so I found having it down yesterday refreshing. The strands did move before my face annoyingly though.” 

“I have the perfect style,” Jocasta said confidently. She brushed Rhene’s hair before beginning to weave her fingers through her locks. “Such a beautiful harmony of wheat and crimson. I understand you were not married despite it being against Astagoria’s customs, but surely there were some boys earning the right to your fancy?” 

“There were none. Before this situation occurred, the last time I talked to a male my age who was not family...” Rhene glanced to the ceiling. “I cannot recall. It’s been years.” 

“Years?” Jocasta remarked. 

“Mater had my sisters and me following tradition regardless, but she grew especially adamant that I remove myself from the sight of any marriable man the moment she learned I bled.” 

“And you kept her wishes? There were no secret trysts? No fallings to the sway of youthful passions?” Jocasta curled down to press her cheek on Rhene’s, and she giggled from the absolute fire consuming Rhene’s face and ears. “You can keep all your secrets safe with me. We are not so rigid here in Samatis.” 

“T-There was nothing...” Rhene wheezed. 

“That is fine as well. Forgive me my teasing.” Jocasta grabbed a white band from the table to weave it with the loop of a braid she made with the top layer of Rhene’s hair. “We can change the topic. I know it is sudden, but I’ll send a light meal to your room as we wish to head out soon.” 

“To what destination?” 

“The temple. As an official ceremony to welcome you home and into the family.” 

“I’m honored.” Rhene didn’t say anything further for a while, and neither did Jocasta as she spiraled the braid upon itself to leave most of Rhene’s hair down yet with the strands most likely to bother her face held fast. Rhene spoke then. “Is Sebasteia feeling better this morning? I hope her fever hasn’t grown.” 

“She’s much better. I’m leaving her to sleep for now, but I’ll let you meet her after the ceremony.” 

“I can’t wait,” Rhene beamed. Her tiniest sister had been kept from her yesterday due to a cold. What Rhene wouldn’t give to hold that warm, squishy babe before the ceremony, but she obediently changed into a chiton of white at Jocasta’s request. Aetion and Orius wore white as well. Kypris and Merope whined over their exclusion from the event. Rhene confessed the contradiction of them held back from a ceremony celebrating family, yet Orius explained they were simply not old enough. Rhene, not knowing of Samatis’s customs, let the matter drop. Haidee was given leave to join the excursion though she and the other two slave women brought along would have to wait outside. One more was also missing. 

“Evelthon departed early this morning before the sun rose,” Orius revealed, sympathetically shrugging at Rhene’s stupor. “He surprised me as well. I did ask him to give our family some privacy, but I certainly didn’t express an urge for him to run off so quickly. It’s not entirely out of the ordinary for him though. He’s wandered and never stuck to a place for as long as I’ve known him.” 

Rhene absentmindedly fiddled with her fingers the whole carriage ride to the temple. She hadn’t run him off, had she? Had her words pushed him past a line he wasn’t ready to cross? Evelthon hadn’t shown such stalwart rejection the first time they conversed of the matter, but perhaps he hadn’t thought Rhene would stick to it seriously after meeting her proper family. She didn’t get any closer to figuring out that confusion when another perplexing matter landed before her. 

“The temple of Nelephyrus?” The carriage halted before the massive structure of three-story height with stone columns intricately carved and flecked with natural veins of silver supporting the perimeter. Friezes too high to discern design still shone radiant in morning’s low light while walls painted an earthen green radiated cold from night’s lingering chill. “Not the temple of Aphrixus or Melinna?” 

“Nelephyrus has been a patron to me for many years. I would not have made it as far as I have without the cunning he grants. It is he who holds my thanks,” Aetion explained, helping her to the ground. 

Compared to his assured grasp yesterday, his hand was cold, clammy, and shaky. Could Sebasteia’s cold have spread? Aetion’s jaw pulled tightly, and he blinked rarely. Rhene didn’t thus push him. She nodded farewell to Haidee before following her birth father into the temple with Jocasta and Orius behind them. Six guards worked the tall double-doors with numerous patrolling outside the building. Rhene didn’t understand why until after she observed the reflecting pool not far past the entrance, the marble donation troughs overflowing with gifts, the sizeable altar before the larger-than-life statue of Nelephyrus, and a smaller though well-dressed collection of officials and citizens sitting on stone pews lining the long walls. The king of southern Samatis, Demri, sat amongst them. 

“The king?!” Rhene whispered to Aetion. 

“We are close due to me serving him for so many years with success. He desired to witness the ceremony.” 

That brief chance of conversation ended. King Demri stood and so too did the crowd in response, all quieting with unnerving synchronization. His size was remarkable at half a foot past six with a godly sculpted body untouched by his near seventy years. The hue of olive was his skin with a paling tone the only sign King Demri’s attention shifted away from physical conflict to governmental matters. Braids and clips decorated a white beard stretching past his collar bone. Rhene half-slid behind Aetion. 

“Welcome, friend Aetion,” King Demri greeted, voice weighty as the mountains shaking the high ceiling. “The fair woman behind you is your long-lost daughter?” 

“Yes, my king.” 

“An arrival most fortunate. We have all here,” King Demri declared as a middle-aged couple filed into the temple behind their group, “so let us not waste time and begin.” 

“As you command.” 

King Demri sat. The others did as well, including the last couple. The guards at the doors shut them with a solid thud, darkening the room significantly and allowing the bittersweet tang of burning herb incense to increase. Jocasta and Orius abruptly departed from their side without word or eye contact to take seats. Aetion held Rhene’s shoulder and guided her before the altar as she flustered from the confusing separation. Three priests of Nelephyrus awaited. Rhene spared a brief glimpse at the awe-inducing statue towering over them. The speaking head priest—dressed in white like the crowd—forced her attention downwards. 

“Aetion of Pergeos, trusted servant of King Demri—you accept the woman by your side as your true daughter of blood?” 

“I do.” Aetion spoke clearly though with an unusual slowness to his words. 

“You have made this declaration before the careful eye of Nelephyrus. He knows all lies, and he knows all truths.” The head priest paused. The other two each brought forth a small cup to set before Aetion and Rhene. His was a thin, milky substance whiles hers was brackish. The priest motioned to the cups. “Drink.” 

Rhene wished she’d asked more questions. She’d assumed the ceremony would be explained before its beginning. Though her fingers shook with nerves, Rhene carefully held the cup and brought the edge to her lips. Potent acrid scent insulted her nostrils while the liquid slogged down her throat with rancid burn. Determination and social pressure saw her gulping while puzzlement over Aetion’s delay of drinking his own offered distraction. Every eye watched his hand freeze upon touching the cup, but it was only when Aetion met her eye that he slammed it back. Next he shifted a step away. Rhene stumbled upon her feet attempting to mimic, but he moved faster to merely stand behind her with hands once more on her shoulders. The bottom of his beard tickled the back of her head. 

“Daughter of Aetion, close your eyes and hold out your hands above the altar.” 

Rhene obeyed. An icy wave coursed through her veins followed by a rush of heat. Nerves? Or an effect of the drink? Sounds signaled the movements of the priests, Aetion’s breaths turning irregular, and the shifting of something metallic. Rhene gasped as the heavy metal ended up falling upon her wrists, then around them. Too surprised to keep her eyes closed, the surprise transformed into thought-stealing bewilderment finding a thick pair of shackles trapping her. Rhene jerked away from the two priests confirming the locks only to press against the solid wall that was Aetion. His grasp tightening kept her in place. 

“Aetion of Pergeos,” the head priest continued. Rhene's heart raced, and her knees locked. “Though a trusted servant of the king, we gather here now as you continue your role as Nelephyrus’s faithful steward. To prove your dedication to your cause, you present to him his demanded offering—the sacrifice of a virgin daughter of your blood.”