“She was so sad and withdrawn. She kept to her house, the very last one on the edge of the twelve, as if isolating herself. She did not take meals with the rest of us, or sing, or pray. She mostly sat in her doorway and sewed. I wish she would move into my house now that I am gone. She might be happier if she were in the center of things.”

“Mm,” Leela murmured as Elorin said, “It is so good of you to think of her well-being.”

“Well, we purple mothers must stick together. Just like you novices.” Plenna gave them a wink.

“Indeed,” Leela said with forced cheer. But she knew that if Kandra became pregnant, it would not bring the joy Plenna hoped it would, only deep sorrow. Kandra had not believed Leela about Sera being alive, but what if Leela could free Estelle? Would that bring Kandra comfort?

After a week, the devotions finally ended, and all the novices seemed quite happy. There was something that felt forced about these prayers for fertility, something that did not sit well.

But still, no purple mother had been blessed with a child except Plenna.

Leela and Elorin did not need to speak to one another to agree to return to the Sky Gardens that night. The two girls waited until nearly the hour of the dark before slipping out of the dormitory.

The Moon Gardens were blissfully silent. Fireflies dotted the rosebushes as Leela and Elorin made their way to Faesa’s statue—Leela making sure to move the statue over the opening to cover their tracks—and down the cold stairs to the City’s underbelly. When they arrived at Estelle’s circle, they both stopped and gazed down at her—the memory of putting her inside this stalactite was crystal clear in Leela’s mind, and she sensed Elorin was thinking of it too.

“Do you think she will be all right if you take her out?” Elorin asked in a hushed voice.

“Yes,” Leela said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “The High Priestess does not want to kill them. Besides, Estelle escaped once, years ago, and Kandra saw her—the High Priestess simply erased her memory of the meeting.” She looked at the cone of moonstone, and its pulsing red heart seemed dim to her. “The stalactites absorb Cerulean magic,” she said. “Which feeds the pool, which strengthens the tether.” She turned her eyes upward to the boughs of vines. “The moonstone uses the magic of the tether to make the fruit, which she feeds to the Cerulean, replenishing the magic the tether is taking from them. Until it can’t anymore and then she needs to make new stalactites and imprison fresh Cerulean.”

“I wonder how she even thought to do it in the first place,” Elorin said. “What could have caused her to make such a drastic choice?”