The Maiden (The Cloister Trilogy 1)

“Protectors.” He motions everyone to form a circle around him. “We are set upon our work with full hearts. Continue to do my will in all things, and you will be rewarded. Disobey me—” he shoots me a glare “—and face the consequences.”

“Yes, sir.” All in unison.

“We have the issue of Protector Newell to discuss.” He clasps his hands in front of him and adopts a thoughtful look, even though I know he’s already decided who he wants to fill the position. “God and the Father of Fire have both informed me that Trey Reynolds—one of our longtime associate pastors and a devoted servant to the ministry—is the correct choice. He will take over Newell’s Maiden. Parker?”

“Yes, sir.” Zion Parker steps forward, his bald pate shiny under the candlelight. Many of the Protectors are almost twice my age—their shirtless bodies pudgy and pale. Juxtaposed with the young, nubile Maidens, it makes my stomach turn.

“Have him and his family settled on the campus, and make sure his daughters are enrolled in the school. We don’t need any more worldly influences dirtying their minds.”

My father—though a charlatan through and through—is also a clever visionary of sorts. Instead of pulling Maidens from society, he’s decided to engineer the future of Heavenly Ministries through his separate schools for boys and girls. The schools, though new, are growing rapidly and solidifying the Prophet’s stranglehold on the community. Not to mention all the new additions that show up from the Cathedral.

“I’ll get to work on it first thing.”

“Good man.” My father pats him on the arm, then turns to me. “As you know, Newell was in charge of the celebrations for the winter solstice in a month. The Father of Fire will be displeased if we fail to honor him through our rite. Since you are the reason Newell is no longer with us, the preparations now fall to you.”

God-fucking-dammit.

“I expect this year’s celebration to be the best we’ve ever seen. You are required to work closely with Grace to get this done. I take it that won’t be a problem?”

“No, sir.” Not a problem, no. Likely a huge fucking calamity. But a problem? Not at all.

He regards me with a knowing smirk. “Good. And with that, our business is concluded. I expect you all to continue educating the Maidens as is your duty. Report any problems to me. We already have plenty of interest in this year’s crop, and the trials will be here before we know it. Otherwise, enjoy your spoils.” He grins, the wolf finally showing through.

“Yes, sir.” Another chorus of assent circles the room as we’re dismissed.

Noah hurries toward the door, and I follow.

Once we’re out in the night, a chill breeze cutting through our clothes with ease, he turns and faces me. “Not Gregory. He’s like a friend.”

“He’s a lizard.”

“He’s mine.” The word ends on a choked sound from his throat.

God, his face reminds me of when we were still kids. Or, perhaps, it was just when he was still a kid. I grew up fast once my father anointed himself the Prophet and began Heavenly Ministries. Five years separated Noah and me, but it may as well have been a lifetime. The anguish in his eyes turns into anger as he whirls and stomps toward our houses.

“Noah, come on.” I pointed toward one of the many golf carts on the property. “Let’s ride over. It’s freezing.”

“And make it go quicker? Kill Gregory faster?” Each of his steps thumps hard on the pavement.

“No.” I catch up and stuff my hands in my pockets. “I’ll walk with you.”

The movement brings the pain in my back to life, and I wonder if I’m bleeding through the bandages. Doesn’t matter.

“I can’t do it.” He runs a hand through his light brown hair. “I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“No.” He crosses his arms over his chest as we climb the first ridge toward the front of the campus. “I’ll take the lashing instead.”

“It won’t be just a lashing. Not for this. He’ll take it further, and you know it.”

He stops, his eyes wild as he turns to me. “He wouldn’t.”

“He would.” I hold his gaze. “To save face in front of his goons that heard his pronouncement. He definitely would. You know how this works, what he’ll do.”

“Fuck!” He walks a few more steps. “Maybe, maybe we could burn something else and then—”

“He said bones, Noah. Bones. He isn’t going to take anything else.” I want to save Gregory. I really do. But the price is too steep.

We trudge in silence, our breaths steaming out into the moonless night. I know Noah. I know he’s wracking his brain for any possible way to snow our father, to grant Gregory a reprieve.

When we make it to his house, next door to mine, we push through the back door and into the den area. Two girls from the Chapel are laid out on his couch, their faces painted in bright hues and one with a distinct white ring around one nostril.