Chapter 31: A Holy Game Of Chicken

The priestess didn’t move for a second. Her eyes stayed on Nova’s face, disgust written in all caps. All the priestess was going to find was a girl with a bruised cheek and a swollen lip and a blank expression that gave her absolutely nothing to work with.

She was clearly waiting for Nova to put her hand down. And Nova was clearly waiting for the priestess to do her job.

Eye contact was free. Patience was the only weapon Nova had.

The slaves had looked at Nova and decided she was worth the punishment, and if a thousand women in silver could be brave for her, Nova could hold her hand out for thirty more seconds in front of a priestess who didn’t think she deserved to be here. She owed them that. She owed them more than that. She owed them the version of herself that didn’t flinch, and she was going to deliver it if it killed her.

Five seconds passed. Then ten. Nova didn’t lower it. She didn’t tremble. If this woman wanted to make her stand here with her palm open until the sun came up, then so be it. Nova would hold her goddamn hand out with the patience of a steel-spined survivor who had outlasted worse women than this one.

A good thirty seconds went by before someone cleared their throat. A friendly reminder that the Goddess and every major person in Helix was watching. Effective. The priestess snapped back to the present and looked over Nova’s shoulder towards the elders.

Whatever she saw made her nostrils flare. She looked away from the elders then proceeded to give Nova a once-over. The kind that Nova had been on the receiving end of before, never by a priestess. That was new.

Then she grabbed Nova’s hand and pricked it. The motion was sharp, harsher than she had with the others. Nova wasn’t expecting gentle, but damn, that was more painful than it needed to be.

Her expression said it was the most abhorrent, vile, blasphemous thing she had touched or witnessed all day, which, given that she’d seen countless women’s spirits absolutely crushed by this fire, was an accomplishment.

As soon as her finger was pricked and the drop of blood fell from her hand, she turned away from the fire. Already walking. Already moving towards the tree line and the trail and the twenty-mile run back to a world where her auction was waiting.

The priestess wanted her to wait. The flame wanted her to watch. Nova wanted to be done. Two out of three didn’t matter.

Yes, it was a tad disrespectful to turn your back on the sacred flame. Nova was aware. The day had given her exactly one thing she hadn’t asked for and it was audacity.

Maybe it was the kindness shown by that Thunderfang man earlier. Maybe it was having a thousand slaves salute her in an arena. Maybe it was the fact that a princess had waited on a dark trail and offered her back and called her a friend. Whatever it was, it was something she hadn’t started the day with and it was something she was willing to face the consequences for.

WHOOM.

And there it was. Nova knew the sound at this point without needing to look. It was the flame vacuuming down to nothing, providing confirmation to Starborne and everyone else that, no, a slave was not worthy of a flame color. The Goddess had spoken and the Goddess had said no.

She continued moving towards the treeline. The walk of shame, sacred edition. Complete with torch lighting and an audience of thousands who had front-row seats to her rejection, lined with faces that ranged from pity to indifference to relief that it wasn’t them.

But, to her utter shock, something happened.

THUM.

The sound hit her before she understood what it was. Over half of the draftees still there thunderclapped their fists to their chests for her, just like the slaves had.

Maria Emberclaw’s fist included. She had just painted a target on her own back with her own knuckles and the look on her face said she would do it again before the bruise faded. The other princesses looked at her with disgust, and Nova understood what that cost her to do.

All of these women just supported her. These were not slaves. These were daughters of warriors and nobles and Gammas and they were saluting a girl in silver cuffs who had just been told by a priestess that she didn’t belong on sacred ground.

Strangers. Women she had never spoken to, never helped, never given anything to. Women who owed her nothing and were handing her everything. They were disagreeing. Publicly. In front of every Alpha, every elder, and a Goddess who had just rejected the woman they were saluting. The cost of that gesture was not small and every single one of them was paying it anyway.

Her foot hovered above the ground for a full second. Her body had stopped before her brain gave the order because her body understood what was happening before her mind could catch up.

Her throat constricted so violently she couldn’t swallow. These women were telling her she mattered. In a clearing full of wolves who thought she didn’t. They were saying: we saw you. We see you. You are not walking out of here invisible.

She pressed her fist against her sternum, her chin dipping once, and every ounce of gratitude she possessed compressed into that single motion because words were not available.

Then she continued forward.

Faster now. Composure had a shelf life and it was expiring with every step and the tree line was the only place in this entire forest where she was allowed to fall apart and it was still too far away.

The crowd was dead silent. The only sound was her footsteps.

Sole slave? Check. Half the draft class throwing salutes? Already in the bag. Turning her back on a priestess? Done. Nova had completed the unholy bingo card.

THOOM.