Even in her younger years when her joints were supple, Dasha did not care for the colder season. In those days she could still see the beauty inherent in winter; moonlight reflecting off freshly fallen snow, the blood red of the holly berries against their sharp evergreen leaves, the clear sky filled with stories told by constellations: the dread beast pursued by the huntress and her pack of dogs, the twin daughters, and the river of tears. Now, those moments of beauty existed beyond her grasp, leaving her only darkness and pain as the nights grew longer and colder.
Since the cold came down in earnest, Dasha spent most of her time seeking warmth and comfort near the fires in the kitchen, away from the priests and soldiers who considered food preparation to be women's work. These rooms full of heat, the sound of women's voices, and the smells of food cooking over pleasantly crackling fires filled some of the void left by the loss of her sons and her sense of sight.
The inhabitants of the temple kitchen did not feel the same warmth towards the Holy Mother, though they dared not speak it aloud. Even though she had been stripped of her official rank and power, she still held authority over every Adyllian employed by the temple. And it seemed she would hold court beside the kitchen fire every day until the next Day of Between when the warmth of spring returned.
"Jul!" called the high priestess from her place by the ovens. "Jul! Send one of your girls for the tea blend I drink for my joints."
"Of course, ma'am." Jul managed a quick half bow more from habit than respect before motioning one of the scullery maids to find the herbs needed for the tea. In her position as the head cook for the temple, she was as unhappy with her permanent guest as she was with the lentils she prepared every day.
The young woman hurried to comply with the old woman's request. Finding the crock in the pantry empty, she headed out the door of the kitchen to search for more of the tea in the storehouse. She found herself face to face with a temple priest clothed in white woolen robes and thick furs. A hush fell over the room as every woman present dropped their gaze to the floor and pulled their veils over their faces. The young scullery maid dropped to her knees before the priest.
"Where is the old woman known as the Heresiarch?" demanded the man.
Jul kept her head down and silently pointed towards the place the old high priestess sat at the fire. Dasha struggled to her feet with the help of her cane.
"His Holiness requires your presence immediately in the library," said the priest as he approached. "I will lead you, there is no need to summon the girl who serves as your guide."
"I do not need my Eyes to walk myself across my own courtyard," grumbled the Holy Mother under her breath as the priest took her hand and placed it within the crook of his elbow. He said nothing in response as he escorted her out of the room, down a hallway, and out the door to the courtyard.
Dasha braced herself for the cold outside, but she was unprepared for the winds that whipped her robes about her and the snow flurries that felt like a knife where they found bare skin. The wind felt sharper than it had in past years when she would have spent her winter in the comfort of her private quarters being waited upon by her own staff of servants.
I should be selecting candidates for my successor and playing with grandchildren. If only I had been blessed with daughters instead of sons, surely I would have at least been a grandmother by now! Perhaps it was my punishment for some unknown sin to be cursed with sons. Or perhaps it is a blessing to not worry for the future of grandchildren I will never have. Instead, I can focus on following a filthy foreigner leading me across my temple, following the orders of yet another male who thinks he is my better simply by virtue of what hangs between his legs.
Baraz was waiting for her just inside the door. She could tell by the smell of rosewater and sweat as soon as the door closed.
"Leave her with me," said Baraz. "Stand guard outside until I call you again. The matter we need to discuss is private, and you will not speak of this meeting to anyone. Do you understand?"
"Yes, your holiness." The priest removed the Holy Mother's hand from his elbow and bowed low before leaving to stand in the cold outside the library door.
"Heresiarch," said Baraz. "I have much to discuss with you."
"I am here only to serve," said Dasha. "But these old bones don't enjoy the cold as they once did. If it please you, perhaps we could have this discussion seated? And somewhere free from the drafts of this old door?" She began tapping her way towards the center of the library with her cane, passing the priest along the way.
"Perhaps the place your people hid the scrolls is warmer than this drafty library?" sneered the high priest, taking hold of her arm and almost knocking her off balance. "Perhaps you could tell me their location and I could lead you there?"
"I know not what you speak of, priest," said Dasha, her mind racing. "I told you before, the Queen ordered the oldest books burned before she surrendered the city for fear of the God-King."
"Forgive me, Heresiarch," said Baraz. "I sometimes forget that you cannot see. Let me describe for you the document I hold in my hand at this moment. It is a scroll of great age, black ink paints the words in an elegant script. It tells of old legends of a blood drinking king of the east who drank the blood of children and how he was burned to death by his own people."
"Ah, a story of the strigoi-viu!" said Dasha. "A story told by old men to frighten children. It is nothing of concern."
Baraz grabbed the old woman by her wrists, forcing her to her knees as he whispered in her ear, "The teachings of the Locust tell us those of your sex are treacherous by nature. But never have I met one who can lie to my face with such temerity, crone! You will tell me where the rest of these books are stored, or you will face the same fate as the blasphemous Zora."