I had not eaten since breakfast yesterday. I crumbled the bread between my fingers and put the pieces in my mouth.

“No,” I muttered. “It’s delicious.”

“There’s more if you want it.” She got up and walked over to the window while I ate in silence. She was right, food helped; the immediate swell of panic faded, and I could think more clearly again. Absentminded, Rhyanon ran her fingers across the gauze netting.

“Celane’s faction wants to maintain the Order as it currently exists and for that they need the Renewer’s power.” She let her hand fall back to her side. Her shoulders were tight. “The Sisterhood is in crisis, possibly on the brink of falling apart entirely. And in the service of salvaging the Order, these women are willing to go to desperate lengths.” She turned back to me. “We knew that, of course. But we underestimated their ruthlessness.”

“Ilva?” I asked quietly.

She nodded. “Yes. And Zenza Lenard.”

I had known already, or at least suspected. I looked down at the scattered crumbs on my plate. “Then the murders were Celane’s doing? I realise Ilva might have been a liability, but Zenza…” I swallowed and lifted my head. “Why?”

Rhyanon’s forehead creased. She looked aside.

“You were probably the intended target,” she said. “I think they uncovered that you were working for our side.”

“So because I got away, Zenza was just—they just killed her instead? I don’t understand.”

“The easiest way to consolidate the power and loyalty of the Sisterhood is to make us afraid of an external threat.” Bitterness bled into her voice. “That’s part of it. But they also wanted—needed—a great deal of lace in case their plans went awry.”

I felt lightheaded. “Ilva and Zenza were killed for their lace?”

“Yes.”

“But their bodies were—” I struggled, almost too sickened to say it. “Their organs were still there. Cut up, but nothing missing. If this was about lace, why leave so much behind?”

“For cover.” Rhyanon returned to her chair. She looked tired. “When Zenza Lenard died, who did you immediately assume was responsible?”

“Another Sister, I guess.”

“Until you heard that the bodies had been left on the street.”

I nodded.

Rhyanon drummed her fingers against the arm of the chair. Her skin had paled; she seemed to find it difficult to keep talking.

“Bodies,” she said, and stopped. Tried again. “Bodies with organs removed and arranged around the victim. It seems heretical, doesn’t it? Like a message directed at the Order: look at all your power now, wasted.” She breathed out. “But whose organs?”

It took a second for her words to reach me. My stomach turned.

“Saskia worked it out, of course.” Rhyanon spoke more quickly. “A pig’s heart looks similar to a human’s. Less round, fewer major veins, but if you put it next to a woman’s butchered body, those details are easy to miss.”

I turned my face away. Zenza. It could have so easily been me, cut apart and left in pieces that night.