Acolyte Endaria led her to a space at the very back of the chancel that Leela had always thought was just wall but slid aside to reveal a narrow hallway curving along the outer edge of the temple. The walls glowed, lighting their way, and Leela followed the acolyte to a small room with yet another door. The only doors Leela had ever seen were the ones on the temple and those on the birthing houses, both made of copper. The door Acolyte Endaria opened was made of soft gray wood and inlaid with lacquered golden polaris leaves.
The room was round, simply furnished with a bed and gossamer blanket, and a dresser with a basin and pitcher. A lone, circular window was set in the wall too high above the bed for Leela to see out of.
“Novices will be stationed outside, to bring your meals and see to your needs,” Acolyte Endaria said, but Leela knew that what she really meant was, “You are not allowed to leave this room.”
“Yes, Acolyte,” she said. It was only for one night, though Leela hated any amount of time that took her away from the world beneath the City, from the cone of moonstone that had shown her Sera’s face.
And she had never once slept anywhere but in her own bed in her own dwelling.
Acolyte Endaria left, closing the door behind her. Leela curled up on the bed and rested her chin on her knees. The room felt even smaller with the door closed; she was not used to being so confined.
She wondered how her mothers were doing, and felt shame creep up the back of her throat. She would tell them everything one day, she vowed. She would make them understand why she was changing and breaking rules and sneaking around. She hoped they would not be disappointed in her. It had never been her intent to cause them pain. But she had come too far down this path to turn back now. She must find out what the High Priestess was doing with all those trapped Cerulean and right the wrongs her lies had caused. She must bring Sera home.
The day passed slowly. Novices brought meals for her, but Leela had no appetite and only picked at the food. A few times she would press her ear against the door, to see if there really was a novice keeping watch over her at all times. And she always heard the shuffling sound of feet or a soft hum or a whispered recitation of prayer.
The light coming in through the window grew dimmer as night fell. There were no candles or lanterns in the chamber of penitence and Leela let the darkness surround her. She would alternately pace the room or throw herself on the bed, unable to stay still for long, but with no place to truly go. It must have been past the hour of the owl but not yet the hour of the dark when there came a gentle knock on the door.
Leela was lying on her back, staring up at the window, and she sat up so quickly her head spun. No one should be visiting her and it was far past the time for any more meals. She was beginning to wonder if she had imagined it when the knock came again.
“Leela?” a quavering voice whispered.
Leela gasped and rushed to fling open the door. Standing in the hall, with a look of sheepish pride on her face, was Elorin.
9
“ELORIN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” LEELA ASKED, pulling her inside and closing the door.
Elorin was a young novice, one of Leela’s circle of friends who had found her calling in a life of devotion to Mother Sun. Leela had never been very close to the girl until after Sera fell, when she began to spend more time at the temple in hopes of learning about the High Priestess’s treachery. Elorin had been an unexpected comfort, a friend when Leela wondered if she would ever be able to trust anyone again. It was Elorin who had told Leela about the secret place the High Priestess would retreat to when she wished to refresh her mind and recommit to her faith. But Leela knew the truth now. She had seen the secret place with her own eyes.
“I wanted to see you,” Elorin said. “So I asked Novice Cresha if I could watch over you tonight instead of her. Oh, Leela, is it true what they’re saying? Did you really breach the sacred circle of the birthing houses?”
“It’s true,” Leela said, and Elorin gave a tiny cry.
“But why? I hope you do not mind my saying so but . . . that sounds more like something Sera would have done.”
Leela let out a breathy laugh. “Yes,” she agreed. “It does.”
Elorin’s face was a mere outline in the pale circle of moonlight streaming through the window. “There has been a change in you since she died,” she said. Leela nodded. That, at least, was no secret. “It seems to me as if you carry a heavy burden. Yet I do not know what it is or what I can do to help. And I would very much like to help you.”
“I . . .” Leela’s heart stuttered out a painful beat. She so badly needed a friend but she was unsure if she could truly trust Elorin. Besides, if she did believe, then was Leela putting Elorin in danger too?
“They said you wanted to visit Plenna, to see her happy because you miss Sera,” Elorin said. “But I do not believe that. You were never close with Plenna. I asked myself, why would Leela break a sacred rule for a Cerulean she has no strong attachment to? And then I realized that there is a Cerulean at the birthing houses who you might break the rules to see.” Elorin leaned forward and whispered, “Sera’s purple mother.”
Leela inhaled sharply, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead. Elorin’s satisfied smile was a glint in the moonlight.
“I knew it,” she said. “But I still do not understand why. Was it merely to comfort her? There are some novices who whisper that it feels too soon for her to bear another child. Others think she must be overjoyed by the chance to have a new daughter. It is not for me to question the will of Mother Sun, but . . . I think Sera’s purple mother must be very sad. Yet I still cannot believe that you would go against such a firm rule without good reason, and comfort does not seem to be enough.”
Leela listened to her work all this out and realized that Elorin was far more perceptive than she had ever given her credit for. Sera had never liked her much because she was so pious, but Leela was beginning to see that her piety was only one facet, that the girl as a whole was someone entirely more layered—that maybe she kept things about herself secret too.
“What if,” she began hesitantly, “I told you that I did not believe it was Mother Sun who chose Kandra to be blessed to bear another child?”
Elorin blinked. “But who else could possibly do that?”
“Who indeed?” Leela held her tongue and waited; it felt like she could hear the wheels turning in Elorin’s mind. Leela knew she could not suggest the High Priestess’s name herself—it would not be as it was with Kandra, who already had a reason to distrust her. Elorin was a novice. She had chosen a life of devotion to Mother Sun and, by extension, the High Priestess herself. If she could not or would not make this connection, Leela thought, then she would know where the girl stood.
But she found herself gritting her teeth and hoping against hope that Elorin would see and believe. Because she did not want to continue down this path alone.
Elorin gasped suddenly, her hands flying to cover her mouth. “No,” she whispered. “It cannot be.” She peered at Leela over trembling fingers. “The High Priestess?”
“Yes,” Leela replied, her shoulders melting with relief.
“But . . .” Elorin moved as if in a dream to sit on the edge of the bed. “But why?”