The steam of the hot spring snaked across the floor. The night was unusually cool, like Amadore in spring, and the earth and the rocks of the mountain devoured what remained of the day's warmth. This brought a pang of nostalgia and fear. How were Pietro and Iskra in their cells? And Uma? Timid, spineless Uma all alone in that house. The updates she received said all was fine—and yet she fretted.

Upstairs, the Chosen slept. Since the trial, almost a week ago, there'd been no nighttime gatherings or visits. Rina was uncertain why. Perhaps it was the additional tests and training. Perhaps to stem the gossip. Or perhaps it was to let Mai's announcement at the trial spread through the city. To see how people would respond, including the magisters and Euran's selected to 'befriend' the Chosen. To woo them now, she realised.

A wry smile tugged Rina's mouth as she unlaced her robe, the air sending goosebumps scuttling from shoulders to toes, and stepped into the scalding pool.

Surprisingly, Mai's deceit in not explicitly telling them why they came here didn't anger her. She supposed it was because breeding programs existed in the Denese settlements. Understandably. Consanguinity led to madness and madness to the Taint. Though, after all these centuries, 571 turns, the risks must be low. Very low.

At least Mai offered them a choice—and if no-one matched with them, or they wanted only to learn to wield the Carnelian Way, this was fine. He assured her of this after he kissed her.

Her fingers came to her lips, and she closed her eyes, sinking deeper into the water.

Something prickled at the base of her spine and squeezed deep in her chest. He told her she was Arkis and Elia's descendent, that her eyes made it unmistakable—and this, this made them from the same bloodline. But he would have traced her geneology. The Magisterium always did.

571 turns. How many generations since Elia? Many. Enough.

Phantom hands swept through the water. They found the small of her back and the nape of her neck, and she was in his arms again.

Think about what you could do, a voice in her mind said.

He'd shown her how to use her power and said united they could heal the divide between their people. By his side, the changes she could make to the lives of the Denese... Where to start? The first, to release Pietro and Iskra, her purpose in coming to Nebia.

Were they being treated well? Had Iskra's child arrived yet?

Mai, think of Mai.

She frowned. They had tried to bring Mai down. Cut his power. Something struck her then. Something that seemed insignificant at the time, but now pounded from behind a door in her mind. At that last forsaking, Pietro hadn't wilted like the others. She recalled the way he itched his chest in the days before his arrest, again and again. Then she thought of the girl at Cartho, with the slash of red across her sternum—right where her crystal should be. Such a wound would itch like the devil when it healed.

Gods.

Impossible. They couldn't have. Bile burned in her chest and her bones hummed with the realisation, the knowledge they had cut their crystals out. Hoarding their Carnelian Way—no, the Taint. Their ambitions had been impure, dark and twisted. The Carnelian Way and the Taint were the same in the way a man could be a man and a monster both, and they didn't know how to wield it.

Never let your emotions control you, or the Taint may take hold.

She leaned against the edge of the pool, her head resting on the tile-lined edge, and pressed her lips together. An ache formed in her jaw, and she made herself unclench her teeth and exhale. Scanning her body, she relaxed her muscles one by one, the emotion ebbing into the water. She focused her thoughts.

Were Mai to have her by his side, would the Denese follow him—them? Would they listen? Or would they hate her too?

This was a risk. A huge one. Because rebellion was brewing, from all corners: from the Denese who wanted their freedom, the Euran's who wanted more power, and now within the Magisterium who wanted to hold their monopoly on the Carnelian Way, their high place in an ivory tower. She suspected there was something else Mai held back—a threat he chose to protect her from. This point worried her the most.

One step at a time, she reminded herself. She still had to give Mai her answer—what followed could be addressed when it came.

Did she want to marry a god-like emperor? That was what she wanted, wasn't it? That touch. That sense of infinity.

As she remembered his embrace, those phantom hands held her tighter and began to lift. She let her body rise in the sulphur-rich water, first her legs, then her torso, drifting from the edge of the hot spring, weightless again. All the problems below her. They could wait as she remembered.

When the kiss had ended, he led her back through the cave system, his cool hand holding hers, until they returned to her tower room. A guard had awaited them and announced Fin, and the Crystal Queen raced away with the evening tide. That was when the spell ended. Now, all that remained of Martha, a patch of red sand—he'd even taken her friend's body from her—and a numb, hollow spot in Rina's stitched-together heart.

A memorial would be held in three days. After that, she would give Mai her answer. Three days.

☆☽○☾☆

The next day, Rina, Sara, Anat and Anya huddled in a study allocated to them in the women's wing of the acolytes quarters planning Martha's service. A cloak of exhaustion wrapped about Rina. She pushed on, hoping for a spurt of sleep-deprived energy, but even the world seemed to mirror her mood. An unusual drizzle misted through Nebia, casting a grey light. The high windows were flung open, yet the diaphanous curtains that usually flickered through the air like flames hung like damp tendrils of hair.

"Not Magister Ro," said Sara. "I won't have it. Nor would Martha."

Despite losing her seniority, Ro maintained her duties. A lesson and an olive branch at once. Somehow, Rina doubted Ro would have any concern about being snubbed of this honour.

"What about Magister Pilo?" she suggested, her hair crackling with static as she ran her fingers through it. "A medic—and a senior one at that—would honour—"

Sara slammed a fist on the ebony table. "No! Absolutely not!" A crimson flush moved up her neck.

The other women held their tongues, Rina, with them, all aware of the shame that ate at Sara. The need for emotional control had been hammered into them from youth—first master their passions, pour their devotions into their gifts and then surrender whatever was left at their forsaking. For a medic responsible for saving life, this was twice vital. Pilo had done nothing wrong except witness Sara break every rule she swore to honour when she became a medic, and Sara, Rina had learned, was a proud woman.

There was more than that. Ever since her release, Sara's trust in the Magisterium wavered—particularly toward the high magisters. She'd withdrawn from all but Anat, Rina, and Anya—a notable exception as an acolyte.

Anat placed her hand on Sara's shoulder.

Sara let out a breath, turning to Anat with an apologetic smile, then said, "Someone representing the Magisterium needs to speak at the memorial, I get that. I just—after what happened." Sara wiped her face with a hand.

Papers shuffled as Anat focused her attention on a list of magisters who had taught Martha. "One of the other medic magister's might be able to help." Anat looked closer at the records. "Did any of them work with her regularly?"

Anya shook her head. "She trained with Pilo, Martha and myself."

Rina bit her lower lip, debating whether to speak. "Anya, Martha trusted and looked up to you. The only reason you're not a magister is your age—everyone knows this."

"I don't think I have the experience."

"No," said Anat. "Anya, that makes perfect sense. Don't you think, Sara?" Anat reached her hand beneath the table, and Sara lifted her eyes, giving her a sad smile and a nod.

"It will just take time, to trust again, after my time in down there." Sara didn't say 'the cells', though they all heard the unspoken words. No one harmed Sara in the cells, not physically, but the two weeks in isolation waiting for her execution, only to be excused, had been a torture of its own. "But," Sara lifted her gaze to Anya, "I do trust you. You were a true friend to Martha."

"Thank you, Sara." Anya's bright-blue eyes sparkled, and for the first time since Rina met the woman, she heard something like hesitation in her voice. "I—I would be honoured."

A pause settled over the group until Sara interrupted them. "Alright, let's get back to this. Flowers. We'll need purple ones. Lots of them."

The atmosphere of the room lightened, and they laughed, setting their heads back to work, ready to honour their friend.

In the end, the memorial was held in the garden Mai had taken Rina to the first time they met, the wisteria tree behind the dais, and beds of lavender parallel to the seats. Never could Rina have imagined her friend would be farewelled in the shadow of Mai's palace. An honour only for a magister or king.

"She was your family," he'd said. "She deserves this honour."

All the Chosen attended, along with a handful of magisters, acolytes, and lords, sprigs of lavender and other purple blooms tucked into their clothes or woven into their hair. Rina noted Pilo among them. Instead of the usual deep-red robes, he wore tan trousers and a violet silk shirt.

With no body or ashes, sand had been collected from where Martha fell and placed in an urn. Anya read the requiem, followed by Sara and Anat who each spoke short eulogies. Rina was last, her legs shaking as she rose the one step.

Her hands trembled as she held the lecturn, the sun-warmed wood sweating under her fingers. "I'll keep it quick," she began, and sniffed, her eyes lifting to the congregation. "Otherwise I'll become a mess, and you won't be able to understand a word I say."

A few strained chuckles came from the assembly.

Swallowing, she said, "I knew Martha my whole life. Only a few doors and years separated us—until Mai chose her—and gods did he make the right choice.

"Our parents were friends, and when mine passed, Martha helped me. She was sister and mother all in one and embodied the best of everything. Kind, intelligent, compassionate, and..." Rina paused and said, "Powerful."

Magister Pilo straightened, as did the other magisters. Some of the Chosen inclined their heads, their lips barely moving. Mehdi was less discreet and turned to whisper to a lordling. Rina detected no malice in the faces before her, though. The truth spoken aloud for the first time. This was all.

Pilo nodded, and a lordling gave a sad smile. And Rina realised these were Martha's friends. Martha, a Denese woman, had befriended magisters and Eurans. A change had come.

Heat pricked her eyes, and her vision misted. She swallowed again, her chest aching as she forced a hard ball of grief and relief down her throat. Did Martha realise how close she had come to a better life? If only Fin hadn't lusted for power. And if only Martha had seen that Fin loved her, despite his betrayal, and would have loved their child. She wouldn't have stood in the way of their relationship. She would have done anything for Martha.

Her gaze moved to the urn, carved from dark stone with veins of purple quartz—a gift from Mai. Rina knew what lay in there. Not Martha. Just her blood and sand and the agony of her final moments.

She tried to talk, but the words were ash in her mouth.

Gone, Martha was gone.

A gentle hand pressed against her back. Unable to see past the tears, Rina leaned into the body and gave herself to the pain.

Flashes of yellow light flitted through the world. The veil to that other spectrum thinned, as it did when her emotions consumed her. She didn't stop it. The pain was proof of her love for Martha, and Mai had shown her how to wield her passion—how to funnel it into the Carnelian Way. She would find a way to use it up.

The crowd dispersed, making their way to a gazebo for refreshments. Rina begged a moment. She needed to clear her mind before she faced conversations and condolences. When she passed the wisteria tree, she saw a familiar shadow standing within the weeping branches of lilac. She frowned—she thought Olav couldn't come.

The figure emerged into the light, though, revealing bright-blue eyes.

Rina halted, blinking. Mai nodded to her, his lip quirking in a pitying way. He wore civilian clothes—sandals, black suede trousers, and a loose white shirt—looking like a man. A perfect man. Did he want her to come to him? If so, she'd go to him, but even looking as he did, she wanted space.

The phantom line between them sung to life. Don't mind me, my dear. He stepped back under the shade of the tree.

Sighing, Rina walked through the gardens, toward the precipice edge and found Queen Kiera's garden, fiddling absently with the hilt of a curved blade Mai had given her, thrust into the belt of her dress.

In the daylight, the pavilion of briar roses was even more spectacular. Her neck craned as she took it in. A multi-tiered tower with nine levels. She found the original trunk by the stone plaque. Shoots had sprung from the grass, and new thick branches, like beams, sprouted from the ground, forming a foundation, becoming thinner at each new level. Vine-like stems bursting with flowers wove through the branches. The air was heady with their fragrance.

This was what the Carnelian Way was for. To create. To build. Mai wanted to restore the Devastation.  Old Denea could be Denea again. The city of Hypat could be more than crumbling ruins and mines worked by criminals.

"What would you want, Martha?" she whispered to her friend. The wind whisked the words away.

On exiting Kiera's garden to make her way to the gathering, a servant raced past her in a rush of cream robes. She almost didn't see the note. Frowning, she bent and picked it up, fingers trembling as she saw her name scrawled in black ink.

The paper crinkled as she opened it. Three words. Three words were what it took for dread to wrap about her like the claws of some beast.

You killed her. 

★☾●☽★

A/N: Hi everyone. Thank you again for reading. If you enjoyed it, please consider hitting that star!