‘You are a seer,’ I say.

Ravara fixes me with her amber eyes, and she nods. ‘More often than not my dreams are dark,’ she says. ‘I have seen corruption, and war. Death. Destruction. Darkness. But I have seen light, too. I have seen hope. I have seen you, Sister Evangeline.’

My scars prickle under the inquisitor’s gaze. Not just across my face, but my hands and arms and throat too.

‘My sources tell me that you, too, have been dreaming, Sister Evangeline,’ Ravara says. ‘Is this true?’

I am reluctant to admit it, but I have no choice. After all, I cannot lie here.

‘I have,’ I tell her.

Ravara smiles faintly. ‘I would speak with you of those dreams, Sister. Alone.’

‘On whose authority?’ Elivia asks.

Ravara looks at her, that smile still in place. It does not reach her eyes. ‘The only one that matters,’ she says. ‘That of the Throne.’

Elivia’s face sets, but she cannot argue. Not against those words, and especially not under these skies.

‘Speak swiftly, inquisitor,’ she says. ‘Our landers depart within the cycle. We will not linger.’

Ravara bows her head. ‘Understood, Canoness commander,’ she says.

Elivia turns to me, then. She puts one hand on my shoulder and draws me close. I catch the scent of gun oil and incense.

‘He chose you, Evangeline,’ she says, in a low voice. ‘Remember that.’

Then the Canoness turns and stalks away to join the rest of the commandery, leaving me alone with Inquisitor Ravara, who is watching me carefully with her unsettling amber eyes.

‘Shall we?’ Ravara asks.

Ravara

RAVARA

‘Is this to be an interrogation, inquisitor?’

Sister Evangeline asks me the question as we walk through the halls of the Convent Prioris together, past murals and memorials and candle sconces. I stop and look back. It’s a strange thing, finally seeing her. Sister Evangeline is younger than I imagined she would be. The Battle Sister is tall and lean, with contemplative hazel eyes and a naturally solemn face. That same air of solemnity carries in her voice and her manner. She wears it like a shroud. Like a mantle.

And then, of course, there is the mark. The feathered shape is bright white against her olive skin. Brighter than I’ve ever known a scar to be, as if Sister Evangeline is alight from the inside out.

Ablaze.

‘No,’ I tell her. ‘Just a conversation.’

Her face remains impassive, but she tilts her head, just a little. ‘About my dreams,’ she says.

‘Not just that,’ I reply. ‘I want to speak about you, too. And about what lies beyond the Rift.’

She watches me a moment. ‘And what do you believe that to be?’ she asks.

I think about golden light filling the sky, from edge to edge. Pushing back the darkness.

‘Something important,’ I reply, and then I wave her on. ‘Come, I have something to show you.’