In my suite, I tried once more to comm Ceilos, but he did not answer. My stomach knotted with worry as I wondered if the geroi had taken him aside for an interrogation of his own. But even if they’d noticed that I’d gone off the grid temporarily, they wouldn’t necessarily have linked it to him.

I resolved not to worry about it. Ceilos was good at disappearing. He’d come back around when he felt like it.

The hot spring had been channeled to run below the floors of the villa, and it warmed the tiles under my feet, transforming the otherwise cold cavern into a comfortable space. The floor of the bathroom opened into a large square pool, with elegantly carved steps leading down into the hot, gently flowing waters. I sank into the water, grateful for the soothing warmth on my sore muscles.

I’d barely finished scrubbing off all the grime when the chime rang in my ear, the familiar buzz that meant I had an incoming comm. Ceilos, finally, I thought. But when I pressed my fingers to the earpiece, it was Melusin’s soft voice that answered.

“Nadin,” she said, “when you’re dressed, I’d like to speak with you in the atrium.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, rubbing my forehead with the heel of my hand. What had I done now?

“Yes, Gerouin,” I said, dropping my hand from my ear.

I changed into fresh clothing, a silver long-sleeved tunic and trousers which fit snug, like a second skin, trapping warmth. I pulled my thick damp hair back, forcing my fingers to move slowly as I braided, despite my impatience—if I hurried, the braid would drift sideways and I’d have to start over. The bronze medallion came last, the symbol of my role as a future gerouin. One side was engraved with a postern, the emblem of Iamos, and the other with a diagram of the solar system. I rubbed it between my fingers. You were born to this, I thought resolutely. Even if most of the time it feels otherwise.

I pulled the long chain over my head and tucked the medallion under my collar. Then I gave myself one last cursory glance in the looking glass. Not perfect—I never was—but I would have to do.

Melusin was waiting when I arrived in the atrium. She was perched, back perfectly straight, on her favorite chair, an antique piece made of woven copper strands. Above her head, the roof of the villa opened to reveal the high cavern ceiling above us, glittering with phosphorescence like the stars in the night sky—a distant memory of what once was. Water trickled off the roof, dripping and pattering, slowly feeding the planters of black fraouloi that somehow grew here in the near-darkness. In the atrium’s center, a heat lamp glowed amber-yellow, radiating warmth.