Through her job, Millie had learned of the Council’s inquiry, and I had found her waiting outside the dormitories when I got home from work. Relief had broken across her face the moment that she saw me, quickly followed by outrage.

I was, she had swiftly informed me, a terrible friend for keeping her in the dark; how dare I worry her like that, what had I been thinking?

And so now Millie was attending Celane’s party as my partner.

There was no need for Osan to look so disappointed in me; I felt guilty enough as it was. I stared out of the window as we rolled down the road. Millie would be effective; I didn’t doubt her ability to worm her way into private conversations. But I didn’t want to make a habit of putting her in harm’s way either.

She elbowed me in the ribs. “Relax, gorgeous.”

“I shouldn’t have brought you along.”

“No one’s going to pay any attention to me. Well, unwanted attention.” She smoothed her hair. “I can handle this.”

Celane’s city manor was smaller than Reverend Kisme’s, a double-storey building at the end of Benevolence Street. Smaller, but still one of the largest private residences in Ceyrun. It sat a few blocks from the dormitories, and three streets from my mother’s old house.

As our cab trundled toward the gates, the thought crossed my mind that I had no idea who lived in my childhood home now. After my mother’s martyrdom, her property rights reverted to the Sisterhood, along with the credits she had earned with Civil Obligations. In my mind, it was an empty, haunted place; broken plates and smashed glass and angry silences. I couldn’t picture other people sleeping where she had slept, eating where she had eaten. Yet the property had belonged to a different Herald before my mother, and another Herald before her.

Osan tugged on the reins, and the horses drew to a stop. He leaned back in his seat.

“All right, I’ll be waiting here,” he said. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“It almost sounds like you care.”

“Don’t push it, Just El. I’m not done being mad at you.”

Millie hopped down and offered me a hand. Her grip was sure and steady.

“Let’s do this,” she said.

An Oblate, around sixteen years old and looking exceedingly bored, waited by the gate to Celane’s house.

“Eater’s grace upon you,” she said. “Invitation?”

I drew out the small vellum card from my waistband and gave it to her.

She squinted. “Elfreda Raughn?”

“And I’m Lariel Sacor, her date for the evening,” said Millie brightly.

The Oblate nodded and handed the card back to me. “There are refreshments in the garden. Go through, it’s on the left.”

Millie looped an arm around my waist and steered me up the path. She tilted her head and murmured, “I thought perhaps, an alias…”

“I’m going to forget what to call you.”

“Oh, don’t be difficult. You met me at a theatre production, and we’ve been together for two months.”