To Kill a Wizard: Rose's Story (The Protectors of Tarak Book 1) Read Free Page A

the three steps, I entered between the two pillars, and walked across the gray marble, towards Demia’s statue. A dozen villagers could’ve prayed in this space with ease, but today it was thankfully empty.
    Falling to my knees, I stared at the statue. Demeia was an older goddess than most, although still looked to be in the prime of her life. With long, full hair cascading down her body, scrutinizing eyes, and the grim face of someone passing judgment, she was both lovely and terrifying.
    Chests of offerings lined the walls behind her, no doubt filled with wealth enough to make all my problems vanish. And bring the wrath of the goddesses on me if I took a single item.
    “Goddess…” I started, awkwardly. “Demeia.” I paused again, not quite sure what to say. “It’s Rose.” Taking a deep breath, I just let the words fall out. “If I could be Chosen… well, I think I could make you proud.”
    I swallowed the lump in my throat. Where had that come from? I doubted anyone had been proud of me in my life, so why should it matter now?
    And yet, if I became a Protector, I’d be doing something amazing. My job would be to keep everyone in the kingdom of Tarak safe using magic. Who couldn’t be proud of me then?
    Immediately, I realized what a fool I’d been. I should’ve asked for help. For money. For a way out of my looming marriage.
    I opened my mouth, but only thank you tumbled out.
    Feeling foolish beyond words, I rose and turned to leave.
    A loud crash came from behind me.
    I spun and stared, my heart pounding. Disappointment grew. I’d half expected to see the goddess herself standing behind me. Instead, a lid on one of the chests had come open.
    Frowning, I climbed the steps, even knowing that only our town priest should touch the chests. But when I came close to it, I saw that it was empty. Closing it anyway, I hesitated, my hand on the lid. My father had chests similar to these, old and well-made. They were stacked in the loft, creating a hiding spot for my father’s old sword.
    Maybe I should search the chests back home? I knew they held my mother’s things… items I’d searched without finding anything of interest. But now I was in need of a dress, and I knew she’d left at least that behind.
    “Did you find what you came for?”
    I spun.
    Our town priest Ranter stood between the two pillars, with his typical serene expression. He was an old man, with spots like ink stains on his balding head.
    I locked gazes with him, hoping he didn’t think I was trying to steal. “Today seemed a good day to pray.”
    He smiled. “Every day is a good day to pray.”
    “But today especially,” I blurted out.
    His smile widened. “If you’d come earlier, you would have found many girls praying to be Chosen.”
    I laughed humorlessly. “I guess I’m not the only desperate one then.”
    Looking at the statue of the goddess, he spoke, as if to her. “When I was a young boy I thought that becoming an Oracle was the only way I could ever be happy. But when I realized the goddesses heard me no better than the average man, and that they refused to speak directly to me, I had to accept that I was meant for something else.”
    His words hit me like stones. “So whatever fate they’ve set out for us, we can’t escape.”
    “I didn’t say that.” He softened his tone. “I just meant that it doesn’t matter whether or not you’re Chosen, you can still accomplish great things. Your life path may simply lead you elsewhere.”
    His words were exactly what I didn’t want to hear.
    Shifting, I looked down at my feet. “I should go get ready for the ceremony.”
    “Of course,” he said, smoothing the fabric of his gray robes. “But remember, the goddesses can only answer you if you pray to them.”
    I nodded, even though I knew better than to believe such foolishness.
    Climbing back down the stairs, I passed Demeia’s smiling statue and Ranter, who watched me closely.
    Then, I paused, realizing that if