The physician had already staggered to his pallet in the corner of the sitting room. He stretched out, face-first, and appeared to tumble into sleep like a man stepping off a cliff. Chert, overwhelmed, could only follow Opal into the darkness of their own bedchamber.

Sister Utta had just finished lighting the last candle, and was whispering the Hours of Refusal prayer when she noticed the girl.

She almost lost the flow of what she was saying, but she had been practicing the rituals of Zoria for most of her life; her tongue kept forming the near-silent words even as she observed the child who stood patiently in the alcove, hooded against the cold.

“Just as you would give your virtue to no man, so I shall hold mine sacred to you.”

How long has the child been standing there?

“Just as you would not turn your tongue to false praise, I will speak only words acceptable to you.

“Just as you did walk naked into darkness to return to your father’s house, so I will undertake my journey without fear, as long as I am true to you.”

Ah. I know her now. It’s young Eilis, the duchess Merolanna’s maid. She is pale. It will be a long time until the spring sun, if the weather keeps up.

“And just as you returned at last to the bounty of your father’s house, so will I, with your help and companionship, find my way to the blessed domain of the gods.”

She kissed the palm of her hand and looked up briefly to the high window, its light dulled today by the cloudy weather. The face of her gloriously forgiving mistress looked down on her, reminding her that Zoria’s mercy was without end, but Sister Utta still could not help feeling as though she had somehow failed the goddess.

Why has prayer brought me no peace? Is it my fault for bringing an unsettled heart to your shrine, sweet Zoria?

No answer came. Some days of deep sadness or confusion Utta could almost hear the voice of the goddess close as her own heartbeat, but today Perin’s daughter seemed far away from her, even the stained glass window without its customary gleam, the birds that surrounded the virgin goddess not flying but only hovering, drab and distressed.

Utta took a breath, turned to the girl in the heavy woolen cloak. “Are you waiting for me?”

The child nodded helplessly, as if she had been caught doing something illicit. After a moment of wide-eyed confusion she reached into her cloak and produced an envelope with the seal of the dowager duchess on it. Utta took it, noting with surprise and sadness that the girl snatched her hand away as soon as the transfer had finished, as though she feared catching an illness.

What is that about? Utta wondered. Am I the subject of evil rumors again? She sighed, but kept it from making a sound. “Does she wish an answer now or shall I send one back later?”