They drew to a halt. Emris stepped down and offered his hand to Lena. She allowed him to help her, his hand warm and dry. The driver, Fowler, was stumbling sleepily out of the interior, straightening his uniform.

The sun had vanished now, and a full moon was rising, low and ghostly. Lena allowed her vision to adjust to the semidarkness as Emris gathered together his things and instructed Fowler to drive the carriage to the stables. The narrow alleyway was empty and sparse but for a few leaves and scattered papers rustling in the autumn breeze. On the right, she spied the plain rear walls of tall town houses. They reminded her of the quiet backstreets of the upper town in Duke’s Forest, dimly remembered from childhood, when she’d accompanied Vigo to the houses of rich dead people who had to be removed from their mansions and prepared for the Descent. Here, though, the stone was straight-hewn, not crooked. On the other side of the alley, she saw a huge building with a gently curving wall—part of an enormous dome, perhaps. Moonlight—low, intense, and blue-tinged—streamed through the narrow gap of sky far above. Lena craned her neck. The building on the left was at least as tall as the castle towers. She tilted her head. The walls seemed oddly insubstantial, shiny.

She gasped as she realized the thousands of tiny bricks were actually windowpanes reflecting the masonry on the opposite side of the street. The windows—tier after tier of diamond-shaped glass—began at ground level and stretched so high she couldn’t see where they ended. “How does it hold itself up?” she breathed.

“By the will of the gods,” Emris said, appearing at her side as the coach rattled off down the lane. “Or so they claim.”

“Is this your temple?”

“Gods, no.” He barked a laugh. “That’s the Holy Council, much grander. Now follow me. It’s time you got cleaned up and had something to eat. You’ve had a long day.”

To Lena’s disappointment, he led her away from the amazing glass dome and down a slender path between two town houses. At the end, set in a grubby wall, was an unremarkable wooden door. As Emris opened it with a small brass key, Lena gazed longingly back at the dome. She’d never seen anything like it before. How would it feel to be inside?

“Don’t worry,” Emris said, smiling at her. “You’ll see the Holy Council in time. For now, you’ll have to make do with this.”

Inside, the cool hallway smelled faintly damp. A lantern hung from the ceiling, casting flickering yellow light over the narrow space—the mop leaning in a corner, the metal bucket on the bottom step. Emris shut the door softly. A rickety wooden staircase rose to the upper floors.

If the word “temple” had conjured anything for Lena, it certainly wasn’t this.