“Look what she did to you,” muttered Millie.

I forced myself to hold still.

“Better than what you did to her,” I said.

Millie laughed. Even though the sound had a bite of hysteria, I felt better. I tried not to react when she pulled the makeshift bandage tight. Red soaked through the material. She tied it and briefly rested her forehead against mine.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

I shook my head. My pulse had slowed, and I took a shaky breath. “We need to get out of here. When civilians climb the hill, it triggers the alert. The Acolyte outside will have summoned her superiors.”

Millie’s jaw tightened. “The Acolyte outside was dead.”

Eater. That explained why Verje had not worried about my screaming. Millie helped me to my feet. Blood specked the walls and floor of the alcove, pooling red-black beneath the Reverend’s body. Her glassy eyes stared at the wall.

My voice came out as a strained rasp. “Can you wait on the stairs?”

Millie frowned. “Wait?”

“Yeah.” I averted my gaze. “I need to do a terrible thing, and I don’t want you to see.”

“El—”

“It’s okay. Just … I can only do it if I’m alone. Just for a little while?”

She hugged me. “Of course. I’ll wait.”

In some ways, this was a relief. A kind of gift. I picked up the scalpel. Verje had given me a way out of what needed to be done: a simple, brutal alternative. Not an easy way out, by any means. I knelt beside her still-warm corpse. But at least it didn’t have to be my mother.

I thought of Asan at Geise’s Crown. It’s this or we die.

Verje’s blood ran thick and hot.

When I was finished, I packed the jars back into my rucksack. I washed my hands in the basin. Then I sat down beside my mother once more and spoke to her in a low voice. Words for just the two of us, things I would never say again. In my mind was a lake in summer, and water on my skin, and the sound of her laughter. I imagined she could hear me.

With a small, gentle pull of lace, I finally let her go. Her chest rose, fell, and did not move again.

CHAPTER

THIRTY

The Acolyte lay prone a few feet from the door. Her eyes were shut like she was merely sleeping, her jaw slack. I knelt to check her pulse, although I knew it was pointless—she wasn’t breathing. Another casualty, another Sister dead, but this murder struck me as especially cruel. She had just been given the wrong shift.

“May the Star shine brightly on you,” I said quietly. “And I’m sorry.”

In the distance, the bells tolled. I stood up.

“Will you be all right?” asked Millie.

I nodded. “Let’s go.”