Five chuckled, lay back down, and immediately began to snore.

Four peered at her reflection in the looking glass, pushing the corners of her downturned mouth up into an uncanny smile. “I hate that we have to sneak around for a little fun. It attracts the truly idiotic.” Her eyes found One in the mirror. “Was yours any good?”

One shrugged. “He mainly rattled on about his family’s factory in the Seacht. I had to kiss him to shut him up. The evening slightly improved after that.”

Only the gargoyles traveled into Traum to do the abbess’s bidding. We Diviners weren’t permitted visitors to our cottage, and we certainly weren’t permitted to leave the tor until our ten years of service were up.

Not all of us took those rules so acutely to heart.

If we wanted a bedmate, we could easily have one. Aisling Cathedral was never bereft of visitors, and the tor was vast. We could lay in the grass with someone. The bolder Diviners—not me, mind; namely Four and Three and sometimes One—even left the tor on occasion, sneaking down the holloway road to a nearby glen or Coulson Faire for a night of happy impiety. But just as we hid our eyes, our names, and the illness we felt after dreaming, it was important for us Diviners to hide our hearts from the strangers we bedded. To encourage the air of detached mysticism our profession required—oracles, seen and revered but never known.

Divine in public, human in private.

The first stranger I’d laid down with in the tor’s grass was young and green like me, and we built up far more sweat getting his jerkin off than during what happened after. The second was a woman, and she kissed me so well beneath my dress that I thought myself in love—but then she tried to take off my shroud after I told her I could not, and I lost all my ardor.

The third was over a year ago, one of King Augur’s knights, and he was all that a knight should be. I can’t remember his name, but he was rugged and respectful and knew exactly how to touch me. He laid me down on the grass and I kept still, waiting to feel the things Four talked about. Inhibition lost to desire. Tenderness, and the little death that followed.

They never came.

After, the knight withdrew, like he knew he had not done a task well. It made me feel so rotten to be a task to him, and a failed one at that, that I had stopped taking strangers to the grass. I told myself it was better sharpening the qualities that made me divine than those that made me human, even if, in a deep, ugly place, I worried I’d made that choice because I did not know how to be human. I was the most uncomplaining Diviner, ever good in the eyes of the abbess—Aisling Cathedral’s best daughter. But when it came to being worldly or vulnerable or even fun, I was an abysmal failure.

Something Rodrick Myndacious had so graciously pointed out the night prior.

“Speaking of knights and rife misconduct,” I said to the Diviners, “you won’t believe the absolute boar I met last—”

The door to the cottage banged open. Two gargoyles, the falcon and the wolf, trudged in, their heavy steps kicking up dust.

The abbess trailed behind them. She tutted, a brief hem and haw, like she already knew the merit of the conversation she’d interrupted and wanted to sponge it from the room. “Well.” She knit her gloved fingers in a basket. “Yesterday was rather eventful.”

We let out a collective sigh.

“Five bad portents.” One shook her head. “Poor King Castor.”

“He’s only just been chosen by the knights. Surely the nobles in the hamlets will want to meet him.” Two’s back was straight, a pupil desperate to impress her tutor. “How can they respect a king whom the Omens frown upon?”

The abbess came into the room. Chose my mattress over the others and sat next to me upon it, her fingers soothing knots from my hair. “Do not trouble yourselves with the world beyond our wall. Kings come and go. Benedict Castor is not worthy of respect, or even mention. The politics of the hamlets, and the crown that answers to them, do not touch Aisling.”

She said our creed. “Swords and armor are nothing to stone.”

There was nothing to do after that but to agree. But I couldn’t scrub Rodrick pissing Myndacious from my mind.

You know of the Omens and signs and how to look down your nose at everyone, but nothing of what really goes on in the hamlets. Nothing of the real Traum that awaits you the moment your tenure is up.

The abbess finished combing my hair. “The gates will open in an hour for Divination. One. Two. Three. Put on your robes and meet me in the cathedral in twenty minutes. Four, Five”—her voice warmed—“Six. Assume your usual tasks. Join us in the cathedral after the twelfth bell.”

She placed her hand on my cheek, then moved to the other Diviners and did the same, gifting us her affection.

Then she was gone, taking her gargoyles with her.

“Last time I let you drag me out all night, Four.” One pushed to her feet. “I’m a worn-out rag—”

I was out of bed, throwing on my chemise and overdress, practically knocking One over to get to the door before her. “I have a proposition.”

“Offering to dream in my place?” Three muttered. “Great. I accept.”

I pulled in a breath, suddenly wide awake. “How much longer is our service?’

“Two months, thereabouts,” Five answered.

“Forty-nine days,” Two corrected.

I kept going. “The abbess says not to concern ourselves with what’s beyond the wall, but our ten years at Aisling are almost over. And I want to know what it’s like out there. I…” It was uncomfortable, proposing we break the rules. Maybe that idleweed had destroyed all my good sense. “I’d like to leave the tor.”

I could feel their eyes prodding at me from behind their shrouds. “Sneak out?” Five asked, incredulous. “All of us at once?”

“Well, well, well. The abbess’s favorite, gone rogue.” Four clapped her hands. “I’ve been trying to convince you shrews to do this for years. I say we go to Coulson Faire and have a proper evening of debauchery.” She launched out of her chair. “I’m ready. Let’s leave right now.”

“Keep your underpants on,” One said. “We can’t miss Divination. The abbess will send the gargoyles after us.”

“Then we’ll go after dark.”

“You want us to leave at night?” Five was all limbs in her animation. “What about sprites? Or thieves, or, I don’t know—bad weather? It might rain.”

“People leave Aisling at sunset and walk to Coulson Faire in the dark all the time without being assaulted by sprites,” Two said, pragmatic as always. “Ergo we should have no trouble doing the same. If there are thieves, they’ll be sorry to learn we have nothing worth stealing. If the weather is bad, it’s a good job we’ll be wearing our cloaks with hoods to hide our faces.” She gave Five a pointed look. “Any other concerns?”

Four nodded vigorously, like it had been she who’d made the winning argument. “Yeah! Ergo.”

One’s attention was still on me. “Not like you to want to break the rules, Six.”

I kept my face even. “I’m capable of having fun.”

“Who said you weren’t?”

Five kept frowning. “Really—six strange women in cloaks is hardly a disguise. What if someone corners us, demanding to look beneath our shrouds?” She wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s not safe without an escort.”

“We’ll take a gargoyle,” Four countered.

“Because that won’t be conspicuous,” Three muttered.

I looked out the window, finding the pitched roof of the dormitory. “Hold tight. There might be someone else who could escort us.”

I hurried down the stairs, out of the cottage into the cool morning air—

And ran headlong into the batlike gargoyle.

“Ahh, Bartholomew. You’re looking less green around the gut this morning. I’ve brought your tools.” In his hands were a hammer and chisel. He shoved them at me. “Come, come. The abbess has requested that we mend the south wall.”