The Trials of Hercules by Tammie Painter Page A

still keeps me from sleeping. This will be my first time sending someone under and I don’t know if I could face it even if it the convicted wasn’t Herc Dion. Rather than sleep, I spend the darkest hours of the night pacing my rooms, tidying up books, and rearranging ledgers hoping activity will push away my unease. It doesn’t.
    As the head priestess of the Herenes it is part of my duties to call on the gods to judge the convicted, to be there to hear the person’s final words whether they be for god or man, and to seal off the blood crime vault before it is lowered into the consecrated ground of the temple. I will also have to come back a moon’s turn later to see what choice the gods have made. The thought churns my stomach. I retch into my chamber pot, then plunk down into the chair at my desk too woozy to continue my restless fidgeting.
    When the ink of the sky changes from black to deep blue, I rise to prepare myself for my official duties. Acolytes, women who live with the Herenes but who are not part of the order, bathe me. Then Estia, a woman from the Califf Lands far south of Osteria, dresses my hair in a flat braid down my back. In silence, they wrap a white length of linen fabric around my body. The fabric is cut to be fitted at the top and flare at the bottom and is impossible for me to wrap properly on my own. I tried once with embarrassing results when I opened my office door to Maxinia and the dress slipped right off.
    Once the garment is on, Estia secures it by attaching silver peacock brooches at the shoulders and cinching a belt of embroidered silver cloth at the waist. I remain barefoot, but Estia—always mindful of the small details—slips a small silver ring over one of my toes.
    My horse, a large grey mare that belonged to the head priestess before me, is saddled and ready when I retrieve her from the stables situated behind the main building of the Herene complex. Despite Maxinia’s offer of company, I choose to ride alone to my duty.
     
    As it does every time I see it, Hera’s temple fills me with wonder. Perched alone in its field, the building stands as if proud of its aloof state. Leading up to the temple are twelve steps with elongated risers. Most temples in Osteria have only three steps, but the twelve steps of Portaceae’s temple are designed not only to raise the temple to a loftier height in honor of Hera, but to give the climber time to ponder each of Osteria’s gods on his way to the temple’s interior.
    Before the front of the temple stands an altar, a perfect rectangle of stone that was the sight of animal sacrifices until Portaceans gave up the harsh practice over a century ago. In front of the altar, just as with every temple altar in Osteria, rests the blood crime vault where anyone who has committed a blood crime is sent under to be judged by the gods. The thought of it, of being head of the ritual that will open and seal the vault, sends a chill through me that I try to ward off by clutching my riding cloak tighter to me.
    As I approach, I can see the vault’s massive cover stone has been shifted aside and the lid of the interior coffin is propped open. The Solonian Guards have already presumed to open the chamber—a job that should have been left until a Herene is present. A surge of anger over Eury’s disrespect washes over me until I remember what I am required to do and that I will need to do it without ill will in my heart. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. The morning air is laced with a calming scent from the hedges of lavender that surround the temple grounds.
    I dismount and, after collecting a bundle of incense from my saddle pack, I hobble my horse so she can graze. I know when I return from this grim duty, she will smell of lavender from nibbling on her favorite treat. Ignoring the monstrous Solonian Guards, I climb the steps and enter the temple, a right afforded only to Herenes, the Solon, and those we invite into the temple’s interior.
    Until