I wasn’t so sure. I scanned the landscape, straining my eyes as I searched for any sign of smoke or movement in the distance. I could see nothing beyond the wetlands, and yet I knew she was out there. I felt tied to the Reverend, like there was an invisible chain around my neck and she held the other end. Although she was little more than a stranger, I knew Celane, understood her, recognised the shape of her convictions and ideals—because they were the Order’s convictions and ideals. She was not like Verje, self-interested and sadistic, and so I didn’t fear her as a person, not exactly. Instead she stood in my mind as the Sisterhood made manifest, both in its failings and its glories. She was the Order, and I knew her as well as I knew myself.

In that, she terrified me in a way that nothing else could, because, in the depths of my heart, I could not quite believe that Celane was wrong for wanting to martyr me.

“El?”

I shook myself. I just needed to stay out of her reach a little longer. Millie was looking at me, her head tilted to one side.

“Want to check out our lodgings?” she asked.

The boathouse’s interior was divided into two rooms: one leading to a stone jetty, and the other overgrown with flowering weeds and vines. We set about clearing a place to sleep.

Osan returned as we finished, carrying an armful of scrubby branches. He set them against the far wall where the light would be obscured from outside. Building a fire was much easier with the drier tinder—by the time the sky had darkened, we had a pot of water bubbling away over the flames.

I leaned against the wall, warming my hands and feet, my chin resting on my chest.

“Are you feeling okay?” asked Millie.

“Just tired.”

She pushed a cup of beans and a strip of dried meat into my hands. On the other side of the room, Osan was sorting through our supplies. Planning, rationing, keeping busy. Millie sat down beside me.

“Do you think he’s still nearby?” she asked.

No need to ask who. I shrugged.

“He was trying to do the right thing,” I said.

She poked the fire with a stick, sending sparks scattering. “Yeah. I know. I just wish he’d given me a chance to say goodbye.”

“You wouldn’t have let him go.”

She fell quiet. The fire crackled and the water hissed softly.

“After our parents died, I was meant to take care of him,” she said, staring into the flames. “I knew that. And I failed.”

“Millie—”

“I ran away. I was the only one he had left, and I abandoned him.”

“You were fifteen.”

“He needed me to protect him.” She drew her knees closer to her chest. “Afterwards, I promised myself that I wouldn’t ever let him down again. I wanted so badly to make it up to him. And I couldn’t. Couldn’t save him from this either.”