Threads 503-Temple 3

The procession paraded around the shrines, from the flower bedecked interior of the Mother Moon’s shrine to the perfect symmetry of the hall of gates in the Reflecting Moon’s sanctum.

The Grinning Moon’s shrine was almost spartan enough for her to think it proscribed as well, but open halls and labyrinthine halls that channeled the winds to howling speeds were really all her patron needed. The Bloody Moon’s shrine was a dark tower of tiled roofs, black on red, where a grim-faced priestess in an iron mask daubed blessed blood on the cheeks of the brides, warding away retributions.

The hall of secrets, the shrine of the Hidden Moon, was filled with a darkness that devoured light and dampened sound, even to senses like hers. To mortals, it would have been utterly impenetrable, although then again, this was the cloud district where a mortal could not even breathe unassisted.

To her, the contours of the temple halls appeared as something like lines of white chalk drawn on a board. Likewise, those who surrounded her were outlined in stark, harsh lines, as if they were all existing within an inverted ink painting.

The procession passed through whispering halls filled with the suggestion of towering shelves of tomes and coyly hidden vault doors, until at last they came to the center of the shrine where four bridges crossed over what sounded like a gently lapping pool of unseen water. At its center, the brides vanished, stepping through the unseen doors with the temple’s priest to its innermost sanctum where the rites would be performed.

This left the rest of the procession to proceed with their own business, of course. While she did not know when she would receive the last of her suits, simple logic dictated that it would be here.

If the Dreaming Temple had been open, the Meng would have made their case there, among the trappings of the Pure Way. As it was, the Hidden Moon was where the best connection was laid. She was a patron to both Meng Dan and herself, and the Meng were hardly averse to secrets.

“Grandmother still woulda been way better,” Sixiang asserted. “Gonna be all dour and formal here. You coulda done something cute with us, like sharing a drink from the same cup!

Sixiang! Honestly, her spirit was just too shameless.

She had taken up a station by the edge of the pool to wait. If she listened closely, the unseen waters below seemed to whisper soft and breathily, the promise of knowledge lost, but she knew better than to be tempted. Even if the offer was real, going off on an adventure right now would be very rude.

“You’re so jittery, you’re thinking of doing so,” Sixiang accused.

She was not—not seriously anyway.

In the strange perception of the Hidden Moon’s temple, Meng Diu stood out starkly. The inky lines that differentiated her robes and intricate cosmetics was shifting constantly, painting chaotic patterns across her silhouette. And unlike with the other offers, her actual suitor was here as well, walking behind his grandmother, a jittering outline of white strokes.

“Baroness Ling.”

“Lady Meng,” Ling Qi greeted respectfully, bowing low once again. Sparks of light dripped from the hems of her gown like fireflies before winking out. “It is pleasing to see you still in good health.”

“I am not to be worn down by dealing with miscreants,” Meng Diu replied. “Your compliment is appreciated.”

Meng Dan’s smile was a flashing crescent of white in the dark. “This humble one is here to make a request of you, Lady Ling.”

“I do not think you need to be so self-effacing, Sir Meng. Without your integrity, my accomplishments would not have been possible,” Ling Qi replied. “Please, Lady Meng, speak as you will. I will always have time to hear your words.”

“The baroness is too humble. Without her investigations, a much worse tragedy may not have been averted. It is clear to the Meng clan that we are in your debt,” Meng Diu returned.

That brought Ling Qi up short, and from the rippling fluctuations of qi out in the temple’s dark, she was not the only one. A public statement of debt to her was very different from a private one. And Meng Diu would not have been able to say it, if she did not have the approval of her brother, the clan’s head. Given the precariousness of their situation with the internal traitors, it wasn’t totally unexpected, but Ling Qi hadn’t expected that degree of public contrition directed at her. She let those thoughts flow out of her head.

“And it is in that vein that I must propose my suit, Lady Ling.”

Meng Dan bowed his head, lower than was strictly necessary. “Your decisiveness, your skill, and your bravery are without match. Your beauty leaves this one breathless; your ambitions stir the soul. If you would have this humble scholar, I would gladly join myself to your clan.”

Ling Qi made a small noise in the back of her throat. She did not want to call it a squeak, but that was probably the only thing she could call it.

“My grandson shows the air for the theatric that sleeps in the hearts of our clan,” Meng Diu commented dryly. “But yes, it is my belief that the Meng clan would benefit greatly from being bound to the foundation of your Ling clan. There is a way forward, and it does not lie in stillness and fading groves.”

“I am honored to accept,” Ling Qi said, just a little too quickly for her own taste.

“You sound fine,” Sixiang reassured her. “Relax, Qi.”

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“Please raise your head, Sir Meng. There is no need to be so effusive with your praise. I am honored to accept your offer.”

There were outright whispers this time. She was never quite so glad for the bodily control that came with cultivation, letting her ensure that heat didn’t flood her cheeks the way it wanted to.

“Whatever the outcome, the Meng clan is pleased to continue working with you into the future, Baroness,” Meng Diu said. She was just the faintest bit amused.

“I will not pretend that I do not prefer one outcome over the other,” Meng Dan pressed lightly, straightening up.

“No doubts there,” Ling Qi said too casually, only catching Meng Diu’s eye afterward as she looked at the two of them with unimpressed eyes, causing both of them to hunch their shoulders.

The ripple of energy from the center of the shrine, and the parting of the curtain of darkness as the Duchess’ light reemerged from the inner sanctum of the temple saved her from any further awkwardness.

“My thanks again, Lady Meng. I, too, hope our clans may remain in good stead for long years to come.”

That was the last one, at least.

***

Their paths wound through many more temples, each one slowly decreasing in grandeur from the harmonious precision of Immaculate Angles Everlasting and the Jade Archivist’s temple workshop to the sharp, barracks-like atmosphere of the great hall of the Unity of Blades where the officers who would lead the nascent Horned Legion were housed. They continued down to the more minor shrines to still-embodied spirits, such as the Patriarch of the South, who commanded the province’s weather courts, or the Strider of Groves, the ancient deer spirit which still blessed the province’s road networks.