"You're here early."

At the sound of Olav's half-mocking voice, Rina felt her mouth stretch.

"You could have gone easy on Ana, you know," she said, turning to face him. "She didn't stand a chance against your charms." Nor do I, it seems.

A lopsided shrug and the quirk of his lip—the closest Olav came to a smile—were his answer. "You're the one who is technically breaking the rules by being here at this time. Shouldn't I be scolding you?"

A huff escaped Rina as she looked into his obsidian eyes and saw them soften beneath the thick black brows. The winter air had flushed his face, and small knicks, no doubt from a quick shave, and dry patches marred the alabaster skin. At his nearness, the familiar scent of polished leather and lye wrapped about her, along with the urge to forgive.

Rina turned her head to the statue of Mai. "Sometimes, I just need to feel close to him."

Olav took one more hesitant step toward her. "The ceremony will start soon and Mai's presence will—"

"It's not the same when I have to share him with everyone, and staying after, you know that's impossible. This way, I have him to myself for a time. He's the only person I can trust."

Masculine lips, the same shade of the coral shards that swept onto the shore after a storm, parted into a grimace, revealing straight white teeth. One more tread—closer than a Euran man should stand to a Denese woman. She should move away from him.

Rina could see that he fought not to say, "You can trust me." She wanted him to say it. To tell her he was sorry and everything would go back to how it had been. Instead, he asked, "So, why won't you go to Nebia?"

She lowered her head. The Magisterium had first invited Rina to the capital city with her friend, Martha. Back then, her heart had thrilled at the thought of adventure—of perhaps seeing Mai—despite knowing she would not be allowed to return. Until her uncle's accident. At first, she stayed to tend to him as the medics repaired his spinal column, then the cause of her delay changed. Too many long hours in bed, too much time to think, had led his mind to dangerous places.

Her feet shifted. "I can't."

"Ri, my mother—"

"Stop it, please, Ol!"

Rina's family had a history of rebellion. One that had led to the public execution of her mother and father when she was not yet five. For almost three years now, her uncle, Pietro, had fanned the embers of revolt, and perhaps even now he played with fire. Her clear dedication to Mai and the Magisterium was the only thing that might keep them from pouncing on her family. If she left for Nebia, it would be a matter of time until the guards arrested Pietro, and he wasn't strong enough to work the mines. No, they'd make an example.

Rina's yellow eyes held Olav's ebony ones as her nails dug into her palms.

That was how Media found them, in the freezing chapel, the braziers unlit.

"Olav. Rina." Media's stately form glided toward them, her red silk mantle billowing on a phantom wind, slender fingers clasped before her, and her diadem resting on her forehead.

In less than a heartbeat, Olav was on one knee, his right hand fisted across his chest. "Moth—magister."

The sudden obsequence caused Rina to pause and scratch her temple. In the tower, he'd seemed indifferent to his mother's title.

A chuckle flew from Media's lips. "Please, son, we are among friends here."

Invisible hands stilled Rina's late courtsey, and in her mind, she heard her uncle and aunt choking: Pietro out of spite and malice, her aunt in horror at the disrespect shown to the high magister of the city.

Fathomless black eyes, the mirror of Olav's, searched Rina's face. The magister's red lips lifted to the star-speckled ceiling above them and said, "Something is wrong, child."

Though the words were kind, an undeniable order to speak lay within them.

Involuntarily, Rina's hand moved to the Carnelian crystal sewn under the skin of her chest, the stone pulsing. Her eyes watered as her mouth opened against her will, but her throat sealed over, stopping any words that could condemn her uncle. Instead, she choked, and her shoulders heaved.

"Shh, my dear." The crystal calmed. Media's thin white hands took Rina by the arms, rubbing up and down like she were a child, then cupped her face, eyes heavy with something that might have been considered concern in another person.

Behind her, Rina sensed Olav shuffling.

Media's dark gaze slid to him, her lips pressed into a line. "My son is worried about you." She patted Rina twice in an absent manner and said distractedly, "This room is as cold as Yenis." A flash of the crystal on her brow and the twenty-or-so braziers in the chapel erupted into green-tinged flame.

"Come, Rina," called the clipped feminine voice. Another flash and Media stood in the far back corner of the nave, before the darkened entrance to a doorway Rina had. never noticed before, her robes swaying like kelp in an ocean current.

Rina blinked. The movement of the material made her stomach roil. A buzzing grew in her head, and a glowing yellow line zig-zagged in the periphery of her vision and was gone. Silence filled the room, except for the crackle of resin-coated pine.

Rina took a step, stumbled, and Olav hurried to her side, supporting her by the elbow. She raised her hand. Olav stilled.

The air thickened as Rina waded through it as if she trudged through waist-deep water, and the crystal below her skin warmed again. Pushing aside the sudden lethargy, she arrived before Media.

The mage's lips curled. Her slim arm indicated the dark stairs past the portal.

Lights flickered to life as they ascended the spiral staircase, up, up, up, until a glacial wave of salt-laden air washed over them and Rina found herself slapped wide awake. They stood on a circular balcony, cut into the limestone rock of the promontory. Before them, the ocean glittered with the reflections of a thousand stars and silver brushstrokes painted pale imitations of the two moons across the rippling surface. Rina moved to the edge, entranced, and gripped the bannister, frosted with ice and salt, in her bare hands.

"There is a reason you are needed in Nebia, my child."

Rina's fingers flexed at the words as she gazed out over the sea. Far away, a tiny black silhouette hovered on the horizon, passing before Máni, the near moon, great sails distinct against the amber glow. She wondered where it came from. Nebia? The Devastation? Perhaps both.

Beside her, Media followed her stare. "In two weeks, that ship will depart for Nebia. I want you on it."

The rock seemed to grind beneath Rina's hands. She told herself the powder covering her palms was nothing more than salt. The wind blew dark strands across her face, clouding her view. Somewhere, a seabird cried from its nest.

"A change is in the air, Rina. Mai wants more for your people, but he needs young ones, like yourself—strong, faithful and dedicated examples—to convince the Magisterium that the Denese can integrate into our society and restore balance. Without this..." Media's words trailed into the night.

Rina frowned, trying to figure out how this could help fix the Carnelian Way. Perhaps, if she went, she could speak on behalf of her people. Argue for more rights—such as the choice of mate and profession. Without change, the Denese in Amadore would rebel, and they would fail. And yet here she could set an example and try to keep Pietro in check. Were she to leave, he would grow bolder. He would die. Isaac would die. All the other men and women who met at her house, their heads drawn, they would all die—and Iskra's baby would be raised an orphan like Rina. The cycle would start again: another child scorned and feared for the sins of her forbearers. For a good reason. Because the spread of the taint and another Devastation must be prevented at any cost.

No, she would stay.

"I cannot, Magister."

Media's eyes reached for Rina and held fast. "You will find you are unable to control him, girl. He chooses his own path."

"I cannot." Her words were softer this time.

Media's eyes narrowed. "But you must—there is no avoiding it."

The magister left, cloak swooshing in her wake, leaving Rina with a sinking sensation that went down to her soul. She waited a time, something on that vessel calling to her until a gong announced the approaching service, and she sped down the stairs, her ochre skirts bunched in one hand.

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A/N:

Thank you again for reading. I'd love to hear your thoughts:

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Banner Art 'Chapel of Heroes' by Alassa on DeviantArt

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Dedicated to greydaygirl for being such an amazing writer friend. Your reviews have been incredibly helpful, and your comments inspire me to write more. I am always looking forward to your next update.