Shyla spent the rest of the sun jump stalking deacons. While she couldn’t get near the ones in the chapels due to the deacons guarding them—at least one and sometimes two of the four wore a torque—she followed the deacons leaving. None showed any signs that they wielded magic. Most of the citizens parted or stepped out of their way, but that was probably due to fear.

Giving up on them, Shyla slipped inside the dining cavern on level twenty-nine during second meal and observed the kitchen staff. There she noted a few people with scars circling their wrists. Even though they were technically deacons, they wore light green tunics and pants instead of the robes. And most of them wore white aprons.

When one of the deacons who’d been outside guarding the dining cavern came into the kitchen, Shyla experienced a strong desire not to look in certain areas. Brushing the magic aside, she marked the two female workers who had frozen in place. Their fear was evident in their postures and darting glances. The women only relaxed once the deacon left the kitchen.

After the kitchen staff cleaned up, the workers returned to their dorms. They only had about thirty-five angles before they needed to return to set up for third meal. Shyla shadowed the two women. It wasn’t long before they entered one of the rooms along with two others. Most of the priestess’s deacons lived in dormitories near where they worked. The higher-ranking deacons stayed in apartments near the chapels.

When the tunnel emptied, Shyla strode to their room and knocked on the door. The sudden knowledge that the room was empty pressed on her along with the need to leave. Her stomach churned as she realized these women were still being abused. She blocked their magic and projected her own.

Friend.

The door slid open a crack. “I don’t know you,” the woman said so low it was almost a whisper.

“You don’t, but you will. Can I come in?”

Friend.

A hesitation, but then she widened the gap and let Shyla into the small room. She remained by the now closed door as if she planned to dash out if Shyla tried anything untoward. The room contained two druks, four sleeping cushions, four trunks, and four scared women. The two on the right pushed, go away, go away, go away. Shyla deflected the magic as she met each of their gazes, taking their measure.

“What do you want?” the lady on the far left demanded. She had her hands on her cocked hip—the unofficial leader.

“To help.”

A bitter laugh. “Go sign up at the chapel. The deacons are always looking for new recruits.”

“Not that kind of help.” Shyla pulled her wrap down, revealing her hair.

The four women stared at her as if she’d just uncovered the sun.

“You’re…”