We walked to the second chamber. The air prickled against my skin. Cooler here. The room was windowless and quiet; oil gleamed in shallow ceramic bowls on a stone table. Water from the pool gathered at my feet.

“To the Star Eater is this flesh committed. By the Star Eater is this flesh consecrated.” I placed a drop of oil on my lips, throat, sternum. “All is as she wills.”

The Masked Sister lifted a candle from the table and traced the flame down my chest. I did not flinch. It passed too quickly to burn me; I only felt the heat.

The Sister doused the candle between her fingertips and set it down. Then she bowed, gesturing reverence with splayed fingers. Until the completion of the rite, I would be equal in status to the Star Eater herself. And, from this point on, I was forbidden to speak.

Covered lanterns lit the Chamber of Renewal, casting soft, rosy shadows across the walls. The bed had new sheets and stood in the middle of the room like a threat. Another door on the left, and a silver bell beside it, which the Masked Sister rang. She took up her position behind the headboard, and I lay down. My breathing sounded loud in my ears.

All is as she wills.

All is as she wills.

All is as she wills.

The second door swung open. A Masked Sister entered. She bowed to me, hands spread. I gestured readiness—as she wills, as she wills—and the woman retreated from the room and ushered in her charge.

He was a large man. Not fat, just big, like someone out of perspective in a painting, a figure superimposed from a different scene. Late thirties, with smooth white skin and lank hair. Probably a Minor Quarter dweller, he had that bearing, maybe a merchant or craftsman. The Sisters had exposed him to the herbs for several hours to make him more susceptible to a compulse, which lent his eyes a feverish, wandering quality. He too was naked.

The lock on the door clicked. I saw the man’s shoulders stiffen as the compulse took hold.

The Sisterhood had a simple problem, and it had devised a simple solution. Simple, efficient, multifunctional, and the foundation of our rule of Aytrium.

We could not fuck men without the risk of infecting them, but neither could we afford the death of our lineage. Only Sisters were able to wield the lace that preserved Aytrium.

And yet, who would have us? Who would we have? Men who strayed too close to the Star’s fire got burned, so what we needed were men to set ablaze.

He staggered toward the bed.

And so, convicts. The only crimes that led to the Wards were murder, rape, and treason. The man before me had committed one of the three. Anything less than that, and he would be hauling rocks in the mines or waiting out a sentence in jail.