Oh, we pretended otherwise. We made a lot of noise about honour and duty and sacrifice, but in the secret heart of every Sister lay the knowledge that conception was the beginning of the end of our lives.

Our second fear was of Haunts. Immortal, insatiable, and vicious: they were difficult not to fear. The appearance of a Haunt also meant that one of us had broken rank, and a renegade Sister was always bad news.

And then we feared rot.

A little over a year ago, my grandmother began to decay. The infection developed from an incision beside her lumbar vertebrae, which went unnoticed until far too late. An inquiry was held, and the blame was pinned on a negligent Oblate.

As soon as I heard the news, I returned to my mother’s house. She had smashed everything, all the plates in the kitchen, bottles, vases; she had torn apart books and clothing; she had ripped the curtains down. In the midst of the wreckage, she stood and glared at me. Her hands bled.

“This wasn’t an accident,” she said.

And that was how, three weeks after my birthday, I became a full initiate of the Sisterhood. My mother never reached the status of Reverend.

I sat beside her now, in the coolness of the Martyrium, feeling sick to my stomach. Helpless. I could not protect her, and as a result, I could not protect myself. How naïve, to assume that martyrs were sacred, that no one would think to use them for political gain. I gripped her hand. For years, I had believed my mother to be paranoid to the point of delusion, and yet, and yet …

“Did you know?” I whispered.

And if so, what else had she kept hidden?

I had given Osan the account number on the way back to the dormitories. The journey had been subdued; he must have sensed that I was upset. I changed into my original outfit before the carriage came to a halt, and carried Rhyanon’s dress to my room in its box. Now it hung in my wardrobe. A reminder of the risks I was taking.

And already, only two days since the party, Rhyanon had a new task for me.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I said softly. “I wish you could tell me the answers.”

My mother’s face was unchanging.

“I miss you.”

I performed the rite and took extra sacraments in case of an emergency. Then I lingered. The idea of leaving her alone filled me with dread.

But I was no one significant. I set down the scalpel and washed my hands. There was no target on my back. Besides, I could have misunderstood that conversation. I could be leaping to conclusions.

The Martyrium was busy; other Sisters stopped to greet each other on the stairs and left tokens at the feet of the Eater.

Reverend Belia Verje. Account shows huge payments for building materials delivered to her Farasni province estate. Have a look into her secret renovations? Your next R has been cancelled. Keep up the good work.