The carved oak doors closed with a thud, trapping the heat in the room and leaving the group of young women in a world dusted with ice. As if slapped awake by the cold, the girls ran off down the cobbled street, slipping and sliding, despite the trail of salt sprinkled over the stones, then scattered at an intersection.

A cloud of white escaped Rina's mouth. About her, frost sparkled on stone, wood and glass, reflecting the red light of the late sun. She pulled up her hood, shoved her hands into the deep, wool-lined pockets, and started to walk, Safiya's question running through her mind.

What does it make him?

There was a simple answer. It made Mai their saviour. After what the Denese mages had done to him, his uncle, the Eurans, hell, to themselves, he had rescued them and given them a home—protected them, in defiance of that threat within—taken that abomination that bubbled away in their souls. Again and again and again.

Her skin prickled, and she shivered, even with the lingering warmth that moved through her veins. The feeling of invisible eyes slithered across her. Olav? A treacherous part of her wanted it to be him. The narrow thoroughfare was empty, though. She shook her head and ambled on, something more pressing than that meeting with Olav and Media two weeks before knawing at her.

Where did it go, the taint? For some reason, she'd never asked the question—such an obvious and important one. So why had she never asked it?

Because it's blasphemous and ungrateful, Rina, she told herself.

Her uncle's reservations must be rubbing off on her. Pietro had never had them before. Not until that injury three springs ago. He'd rescued a child in the field from an overturned cart, his maimed fingers slipping on the wood after he'd lifted it so the boy could scramble to safety. His back had buckled with the unexpected movement, and the wagon fell on him. The medics performed a miracle, but a damaged spine would never be the same, or so her healer friend, Martha, had warned Rina before she left for Nebia. Nor would her uncle. After rest and rehabilitation, he'd been unable to work the same hours as before and was assigned half shifts in the field. Rather than come home exhausted like most Denese, his idle mind ticked away, and his hands clapped for people to listen.

The clang of a blacksmith's hammer echoed from a smithy, and metal scraped against the rock as a man shovelled pungent horse dung into a cart, ready to be taken to the fields.

Rina nodded at him, nose twitching, and he nodded back.

"Rina."

She waved and gave the man a grin. "Evening Isaac. I'll see you and Iskra at tonight's forsaking?" Isaac's mate, Iskra, was heavily pregnant, and soon would need to rest up and await the birth.

The barrel-chested man wiped perspiration from his face with a stained sleeve and blew a lock of dark hair from his brown eyes. "Nay, Rina," he panted, breath frosting. "We've been reallocated."

Rina frowned. This was unusual. Reallocations happened, from time-to-time, to accommodate a change in duties or a woman's cycles. And yet, the way Isaac's eyes shifted, drifting to that steaming pile of manure beside him, instead of talking to his neighbour, confirmed there was something he did not wish to say. Well, if he didn't want to tell her, she wouldn't force him.

"Send her Mai's blessings for me."

Isaac lifted his hand and bent to his task with a grunt, the scraping of his shovel sending goosebumps shooting up the nape of Rina's neck.

When she came to the end of the street, she halted. There was time to go home and eat a hot meal before the forsaking, but she had come to dread what she might find there, and her feet had a life of their own as they led her uphill.

Amadore wrapped around a high promontory that sat over the Yenis Sea. The streets angled upwards until they reached the citadel keep where magisters and their servants resided, surrounded by the red-roofed palaces and townhouses of Euran nobility and merchants.

Rina turned right at the main road that cut through the districts and followed it to the temple sector, ignoring the lingering sensation of being watched. Warm candlelight flickered from windows as her heels clipped a steady beat. For some time now, the Magisterium had restricted the uses of magical energy, and all but the mages and wealthiest Eurans burned beeswax or tallow candles. The temple zone was sacred, and as she crossed its threshold, the lamps glowed green, emitting a faint hum that sent a tickle across the fine hairs on her arms.

Rounding a final corner, Rina proceeded down a wide, white-stoned road and sensed the throb and pull that quickened her steps each time she took this journey, this evening intensified by the phantom eyes behind her. A fog tinged emerald by the mage lights spread about her. As she made her way through the verdant swirls, the domed temple roof rose, shadowed by a large rock outcrop, and a metallic tang crept upon her tongue. In spite of the encroaching night, and her cold-prickled skin, her body remained heated, and another trickle of sweat dripped down her back. She told herself to ignore it and kept her sweaty hands in her pockets.

The courtyard lay almost empty. A fountain splashed in its centre, four marble syren frolicking in its water. Eight soldiers stood to attention at various locations as a cluster of magisters in burgundy robes strode by her, deep in conversation, and a handful of acolytes could be seen scurrying about, preparing for the ceremony. In less than an hour, a stream of Denese would fill the vast space.

Rina continued, her heartbeat slowing in the presence of others. In the darkening sky, the red clay shingles and blue dome were shrouded in grey. She ascended the low, broad steps of the building, and entered the foyer.

"You're early," said a young female acolyte with strawberry-blonde hair and a pale, freckled face. She sat at a desk, ledger and quill before her, lips pursed.

Rina looked down at her feet. "Apologies, I had an extra hour, and wanted to make my—"

"What is this, Ana?"

Rina glanced up. Olav's tall form with his spirals of black hair approached them. This evening his clothing was different—a maroon cloak with a silver clasp swept over his broad shoulders.

The pinched mouth of the acolyte bloomed into a rosebud smile. "Olav, I—"

Olav gave the woman a look, then perched on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, one leg draped over the other. By the flicker of amusement in his eyes, he was all too aware of the words he'd stolen from Ana's mouth. The guards might rank lower than the magister class, but it was clear Olav's heritage was well known among the Magisterium, and he knew how to wield his influence as expertly as his blade.

"If Rina wants to start her dedications early, that's fine."

From the corner of her eye, Rina saw Ana scowl. Rina fought to roll her eyes—Ana could have him.

Olav continued. "If only more Denese were so devoted, this world would be a safer place." He released his right hand and flicked it in the direction of the chapel. "Go on," he urged Rina in a voice tinted with exacerbation, then he turned to Ana.

Rina curtsied, grinding her teeth, and hurried past the pair, the mumbles of their words fading as she passed through an arched entrance.

The nave yawned like a great beast and consumed her. Fluted marble columns in shades of green, white, rose and gold stretched to a lapis lazuli ceiling speckled with a web of golden stars. Beneath, rows of polished mahogany benches adored a dais mounted with a statue of pure-white marble: Mai, cradling his uncle, weeping diamond tears for the shame of Rina's people. And as Rina gazed at their god-like emperor, her stomach churned, and a drop of salty liquid raced down her cheek to her lips.

If it's so bad, what does that make him?

Wondering if she could trust anyone, she forced the ghost of Safiya's words and from her mind and turned her attention to all Mai had done—all he still did—for her people until she registered the sound of steps pausing.

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A/N: Thanks again for reading. I hope you enjoyed it—if you did, please consider increasing the visibility of this story and supporting me by leaving a vote or comment (or, even better, both!) Any feedback is appreciated. 

Silent readers, I love you too! 

Jas oxox

Banner art 'Old Street' by abzac666 on DeviantArt

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Dedicated to Voyageavecmoi for her friendship, support, super-helpful suggestions and wonderful writing that makes my feet itch with wanderlust as she pulls my heartstrings.