Ava put together a modest plate of bread and cheese. After some deliberation, she grabbed a small bottle of wine as well. Mia had paid her tithe in full. Ava decided it was alright to make up for the meals she had lost during her fast.
The kitchens were empty. All the other maidens, servants, and priestesses were sound asleep. Only the stars illuminated her path as she tiptoed quietly back to the inner sanctum.
“Damalia?” she whispered upon entering. She smiled at the familiar rustle behind an opaque curtain. This had been their routine for nearly a month now. They nibbled, discussed nothing of consequence, and occasionally drank together.
The maiden settled herself beside the fabric, laying the plate on the floor. A slender hand reached out for a slice of bread.
“Is there anything else you’d like me to bring you?” Ava offered. She was absolutely thrilled that Damalia had continued her visits. Her excitement was rivaled only by her nerves. What if this mysterious new woman grew bored of her? This was quickly becoming the best part of her day; she wanted to make it last.
Damalia hummed. “Actually, I was wondering if you have any books I could borrow. My personal collection is practically ancient. I am curious to know what people are writing about these days.”
Ava laughed. “No, I can’t say that I own any.”
Damalia gave a knowing sigh. “Ah, do the priestesses not ‘let you cultivate earthly positions’?” Her tone mocked Kalliope so closely that wine nearly shot out of Ava’s nose.
She coughed and snorted. “Well, yes, but it also doesn’t make sense for me to own any. I can’t read.”
The young maiden was met with silence. “What?”
Ava shrugged. “It’s never been an issue. I’ve just memorized all of my prayers.”
“But your parents never taught you before they brought you to the temple?”
Ava wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging herself. “Um, no. I never met them.”
“Oh.”
She knew Damalia would be too polite to ask for specifics, but she continued anyways. “I was abandoned. After my mother gave birth to me, she left in the night. Kalliope says she was a whore. Rita, the former head priestesses, decided to keep me here rather than give me to the orphanage.” She cleared her throat before explaining further. “I’m sure you know that orphans can choose to become temple servants as they start puberty. It’s unheard of for a child to be raised at any temple, but Rita said it was what Eupheme wanted.”
“So you have spent your whole life….”
“Yes, this is the only home I have ever known. I leave the building, occasionally. I make purchases at the market and whatnot, but I’ve never been outside of Arlen. You seem to know so much about the world. It’s one of the reasons I love speaking with you.”
She was met with a heavy, prolonged silence. Ava’s heart stilled. Did Damalia care she was the daughter of a harlot? Did she look down on her for being illiterate?
“I enjoy talking to you as well.”
The blonde released a relieved breath. “Good. I’m glad the feeling is mutual.” She smiled. “I can find you a book if you’d like, but I couldn’t vouch for the contents.”
“Do not worry about it,” she replied dismissively. “I can hear you drinking. Focus on sharing that wine instead.”
-
The following evening progresses similarly. Ava was attempting to tell a story, but kept breaking into a fit of giggles.
“Then, then-” she cackled. “The flour went everywhere! Both of them were completely covered!”
Her companion had chuckled along, but had seemed distracted the entire night. When Ava had regained her breath and wiped her eyes, she heard a distinct rustling sound from behind the curtain.
“What are you fiddling with back there?” she questioned.
“Well, I brought you something,” a pleasant voice replied.
“Another orange?” she asked hopefully, perking up. The last one had been so delicious, she felt like she was eating sunshine.
“No. I brought a book.”
Ava frowned. “You already know I can’t read.”
“Yes, I am aware of that. I… I thought I could read to you. If you want.” Damalia’s smooth, composed voice sounded uncharacteristically nervous. The shift seemed to render Ava temporarily mute.
“If not, that is fine,” the other woman backpedaled. “I just thought I would offer.”
“No, please do! I would like that very much.”
“You really want me to?” Damalia replied skeptically. “You don’t have to say that.”
Ava nodded vehemently, then realized her companion couldn’t see her. “I’m saying it because it’s true. What is it about?”
Damalia cleared her throat. “It’s a tale about a man who left his wife to sail to an island of the gods, in search for power.”
“Looking for the gods is never a good idea,” Ava frowned. “Why would he do that?”
“I said it was about a man. Why do men do half the things they do?”
The blonde giggled. “Fair point. Please do continue.”
Damalia was an excellent storyteller. Her smooth voice embedded and flowed like a tide, pulling the listener along.
“But then she discovered that it was not a minotaur at all! As she pulled on the horns, she realized it had been Castor dressing in disguise.”
Ava gasped at the unexpected twist. “No! Not the whole time!”
“Yes!” Damalia replied in an amused tone. “And I think that is a good stopping point for tonight.”
Ava hadn’t realized she’d been leaning forward in anticipation. “What! I need to hear more! What is she going to do about Castor? Also, what happened to Aleta and the tailor? Did he ever confess his love to her?”
“I guess you will just have to wait and find out tomorrow.” She could hear the smile in the other woman’s voice. “You need your sleep. The other maidens will notice if you are tired.”
She yawned. “I suppose you're right. You’ll keep coming long enough to finish the story, right? I must know what happens!”
“I will come for as long as you would like me to.”
“Promise?”
She could hear a small laugh behind the curtain. “Yes, I cross my heart.”
Damalia’s was leaning back on her hands, one of which poked outside of the curtain. Ava took it in hers and squeezed it. A thrill ran through her body.
“Good.”
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