Without him, I returned to my old defenses. Head down, hood pulled up. My shoulders hunched as I wove between crowds, taking quick steps to avoid lingering long enough for someone to mark me as a target. Always move with a purpose, even if you have none. It was true everywhere from prisons to castles.

Magic hummed in the air. Would I miss it, in the Monastery? As a void, I had none. I shouldn’t feel any kind of loss. By rights, magic didn’t belong to me. But I wasn’t sure I’d ever understand how the followers of the sect scorned something so lovely.

By midday, I’d ceased my wandering and headed to the building. The white tower was easy to find. The building was larger at the base before rising into an obelisk, perhaps a quarter the size of the Great Library.

I knocked. Once. Twice. Then, after a long moment, I lifted my hand for a third desperate time.

The door opened inward. A woman greeted me. She wore the simple white robes of all devotees, with clasps at the shoulders and a golden belt cinching the waist.

“Yes?” she said expectantly.

I swallowed. What do people say? Did they fall to their knees, begging to join? Did they have pretty euphemisms?

“I’d… I’d like to join the Monastery.”

The smile that broke across her face was brighter than the noonday sun. “Then welcome, friend. Join us.”

She moved so I could come inside, then offered to take my cloak. I was reluctant to part with it, but I wanted to make a good impression, so I let her.

“I’m Slyne, a devotee of Lixa.”

I plastered a smile on my face that felt utterly unnatural. “I’m Samara.”

The inside of the Monastery was as crowded as the Great Library, but instead of books, there were statues, formed in the likeness of every deity of the pantheon, of every size and shape hewn from gray marble lining the halls: Dolor, the thorned god of suffering, Isolde, the goddess of the night skies; and other gods I didn’t even recognize. While the Monastery paid its respects to every deity, the average witch only learned a few key figures. The unseeing eyes of the statues seemed to follow us as we moved farther into the tower.

I think I preferred the books.

“You’ve come at a good time,” Slyne tossed over her shoulder as we went up the stairs. “We’re enjoying a lunch after morning worship.”

“Is that okay?” I asked, nervous.

“Of course,” Slyne assured me. “Void and witch alike, all are welcomed once they renounce any power beyond the gods.” The words came out rehearsed. Somehow, it was more unnerving than the overlapping voices that spoke through the Librarian. At least then the magic was more obvious. Then again, even Slyne’s words were backwards—hadn’t I told Raphael haughtily that a witch’s powers were from the gods?

Don’t be so prejudiced, I chastised myself. Yes, most people looked down on the Monastery. I was letting my own biases twist me when I needed to focus on winning them over. After all, those same people would also look down on me. For escaping my sentence at Greymere, and worse, for making a deal with a vampire to do so.

But I couldn’t regret either. Now that I had finally reached the Monastery.

Slyne came to a door several floors up and opened it, ushering me inside. The space was nothing like what I’d expected. It was… comfortable. People of all shapes and sizes lounged, spread between a few chaises, a long table that was piled with food, and even the floor, where they played with… cards. Unenchanted cards.

“Everyone, this is Samara. She’s come to pledge herself to the gods.”

A chorus of Hello, Samara came from the room before Slyne began a flurry of introductions I had no hope of following. A finger point, a face, a name, and a deity, thirty times over. I nodded and tried to adjust my smile so it felt a little less forced. My neck hurt from the stiffness of my shoulders, but I willed the tension away.

Slyne led me deeper into the room, a door shutting with a low thud as she sat next to me at the dining table. She wasted no time piling a plate high with food and placing it in front of me. I tried to remember the names of the others at the table, but I could do little more than answer their questions between small bites of the food. It was warm and filling, if plain. Not that I would ever complain about a meal that didn’t poison me.

“So, what made you seek deliverance with the gods?” one of the younger girls asked from across the table. A devotee of Dolor, if I remembered right.

I swallowed down a bite of food, trying to remember what I’d come up with. A lie would eventually be discovered, but divulging the entire truth was too dangerous. “I was in a bad spot for a long time. I realized magic would never save me.” After all, I was a void, and Greymere muted all magic. “The Monastery is known to be welcoming”—desperate for recruits—“so I thought I’d attempt to be worthy of their deliverance.”

A round of head bobbing said my answer was acceptable. But the Dolor girl’s lips curved in a patronizing smirk.

“Of course. Any magic that isn’t gifted from the gods will only leave you worse off. Even if people are so corrupted they use it without a second thought.”

Slyne shifted next to me. “Vora, you know each of us who comes has been touched by magic. What matters is renouncing it.”

Still, Vora’s reproach stirred enough pointed glances that I grew self-conscious. What? Oh. My disguise magic. My hair was still an unnatural lavender.

Shame stung my cheeks. The room felt hot, and I wanted to shrink in on the chair. I’d been so happy to finally be able to use magic, I’d forgotten to remove it. I was lucky Slyne hadn’t turned me away on the spot.

I was amid a sea of plainness unseen in most of the continent. Browns, beiges, blonds. None of the bright colors so many indulged in. I willed the magic to fade, anxiously checking a lock of hair. Black once more.

“Your gods-given hair is lovely,” Slyne said, warm as ever.

Vora’s smile was victorious. “Not to worry. The gods will see you repent.”

The others tittered at the comment.

“Of course. I’m eager to repent.” I was eager to be accepted.

“The gods take in all who repent,” a boy to my left murmured.

After that, things were surprisingly comfortable. Hours passed. I said little, more comfortable listening and observing. Everything was far more normal than I’d expected. Okay, the fact there were statues on every flat surface was a little odd. Vora made a few more comments that might have been considered barbs at certain godless heathens in their company, but Slyne ignored them, and I followed suit. They joked. They smiled widely, even with mouthfuls of food. They were people. My own kind of people.

Not like that vampire.

Sure, I still felt like I was on the outside. But I wouldn’t be greedy. I’d make them see my value. I’d devote myself to any god I was told, and they’d learn I could be counted on. I’d belong… eventually.

Over the course of the afternoon, I moved from the table to the floor, where a crowd had formed. A pile of cards—non-magical cards—was set between a group of acolytes. They traded the cards back and forth. Instead of magic-imbued symbols, they had different color dots on them, marking them with numbers and shapes. The cards were slammed down without care, then shuffled between food-flecked fingers.

My stomach twisted. I forced my expression to remain neutral.

“Want to play?” one of the girls offered.

I shook my head. “I’ll watch for now. I’m still learning the rules.” The cards were a mockery of the magic the Witch Kingdom held dear. Does King Vaughn know? Surely he wouldn’t tolerate this. Even the servants in Greymere had never done anything so obscene.

She shrugged and returned her focus to the game. I rubbed a hand over my chest, to the spot where I’d hidden the enchanted cards I still carried. If they found me with them, they’d think it was just as blasphemous. I’d have to get rid of them—soon, once they accepted me. But no matter how logical, I couldn’t make myself part with my only form of protection until I had a better one.