The drumming in my chest and ears drowns out the sound of my footsteps as I take my place upon the dais.

Her eyes glitter with recognition, but the High Priestess’s words are lost to me. I already know her instructions, so I kneel, arms outstretched, jaw clenched, breath held. An instant later, the tip of the dagger pierces the top of my hand – the uninjured one.

As the blade is plunged all the way through my flesh, I wait for the pain to hit, for the reality of the wound to sink in, but there’s nothing.

Even as I feel the knife withdraw, it’s little more than a sting.

The priestess dismisses me, and I stand, turning to walk back to my place. There’s no light-headedness, certainly no gushing of blood, and my feet are as steady on the sand as they were when I walked up. Probably more so, given that my knees are no longer trembling.

I’m in.

Really in.

Etta has accepted me twice, and now there’s nothing between me and the gifting – except the other Rettlings and the five trials, that is. A flurry of hope flitters through me, and for the first time, I lift my gaze to the spectators gathered within the Sunken Temple.

Tiers upon tiers of people stretch upwards, rising like a mountainside. There must be a thousand, if not more, and yet out of all the people there, my eyes fall on one face.

She’s seated in one of the lowest levels, close to the action, her hand covering her mouth. Her white-blonde hair is no longer dulled from the grime of the slums, but clean and blindingly bright.

Kay.

Any pain left in my body evaporates. I don’t know how she’s here. Or if she really is. Perhaps I’m hallucinating? Could this be a trick of the dagger? Or a blessing from Etta? Right now, I’ll take either.

I smile at her, and she drops her hand from her mouth and beams back, her fingers toying with Mother’s ring, spinning it on her finger in a sure sign of stress. It’s loose, but she is somehow dressed in finery like any other courtier, and if she’s here with Lord Lorathin – as I desperately hope – then she must be being fed well. Perhaps the ring won’t spin so easily soon.

Kay is here, and I can hardly believe it. I struggle to focus on the rest of the vows, but I force myself to do so. At the very least, I can bear witness.

Two other Rettlings die the same way as Jai: the young woman from Wrohelm called Pen, whose touch blisters, and Orwen, a knight. It’s hard to understand why the Goddess accepted the offering of their tears, only to now find them unworthy. Maybe it was just a numbers game. Who knows?

When the last Rettling is inaugurated, the priestesses stamp their feet in unison, and all of the spectators vanish as one. I can’t even begin to imagine the kind of power it takes to undertake a portation on that level, but as a number of priestesses sway and drop where they stand, I know it took a lot.

I didn’t even get a chance to speak to Kay or wave goodbye to her, but it doesn’t matter. She is safe. That’s all that matters.

I’m grateful when Estel chooses another carriage to ride back in, though it doesn’t change the silence that consumes ours. When Benny finally breaks it, I wish he hadn’t.

‘I never expected to lose Jai first,’ he says quietly.

‘Death was expected. Coulter’s fate was not,’ Loch responds. ‘Was it fifteen or seventeen? Did anyone count?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Jonas says. ‘It depends if they count the contractions as one word or two.’

My eyes remain trained on my feet, and silence swells again. Death may have been an expected part of this process, but none of us imagined it would come so soon to someone like Jai.

Finally, Benny sighs. ‘He’s nineteen. He’ll see it through, and when he comes out of the Sunken Temple, we’ll be waiting for him. Waiting to give him the life he truly deserves. I promise you that.’

I don’t raise my head to see if anyone nods in agreement or even see if Benny really believes what he’s saying. There’s only one thing I’m sure of now: when Coulter finally gets out of there, he won’t be the same person we knew.

It’s only when the sunlight starts filtering through the skylight in the carriage that I notice Jonas’s hand is on my knee. I’ve no idea when he put it there, but I don’t bother moving it away, even as I lean my head against Llinos’s shoulders and shut my eyes. Sleep doesn’t come, but Kay’s image does, and that’s the best I can hope for.

‘We should go to the healers,’ Jonas says hours later when we arrive back at the High Hold. ‘I heard Zelle and Holden telling people to head straight there to tend their wounds. How’s yours?’ he adds to me.

‘Fine,’ I reply truthfully. ‘It didn’t hurt. Not really.’

I glance down at the faint line on the back of my hand. Somehow, it’s healed more than the one Zara reopened on my palm.

‘What the hell?’ Jonas’s eyes widen as he twists around to the others. ‘What do yours look like?’

Benny and Llinos stretch out their hands, revealing ugly red marks. They might not be bleeding, but they certainly don’t look like mine.

‘It’s just luck,’ I say quietly. ‘Some people bled, some people didn’t.’

‘I’m not sure anything in this place is luck,’ Loch replies, staring at the carriage wall. No one speaks again until the horses draw to a stop.

As the others clamber out of the carriage and into the battle yard, all planning on heading to the healers as instructed, I brush my hand against Jonas’s arm.

‘I want to go to the library,’ I tell him, lowering my voice, keen not to be overheard. ‘Is there a way in through this arc?’ Back when I lived in the eastern arc, you could access the library through the basement, and I’m hoping it’s the same here.

‘The library?’ he questions.

‘I just want some books to read.’ I shrug. ‘It’s been a while.’

It’s only half a lie. I definitely plan on finding some reading material while I’m down there, but mainly, I want to see what I can find on my priestess-gifted dagger. Until I know how the blade works, I’m not sure I can risk using it. And as the only times the Rettlings are supposed to leave the barracks are for balls or trials, I need a direct route that will allow me to get to the library unseen.

‘The other arcs all have routes down from the lower floors,’ Jonas replies, chewing on his bottom lip as he contemplates my question. ‘So if there is, I assume it would be the same here?’

He doesn’t know any more than I do. I sigh internally. I’ll have to look for myself.

‘You want me to come with you?’ Jonas asks, but the question is half-hearted at best.

I shake my head. ‘No, it’s fine. You need to go to the healers. Besides, I could do with some space.’

‘I get it.’ From the way his eyes soften, he’s telling the truth. ‘See you later?’

‘Sure.’

He leans forward and kisses me lightly on the cheek. When he moves back, his eyes lock on mine. ‘I know this is going to be tough, Rose, and I still don’t understand what Etta was thinking, letting you into this, but I’m glad you’re here.’

It’s only as Jonas heads to the healers that his words sink in. He doesn’t understand what Etta was thinking – shorthand for: he thinks I’m going to get myself killed. It’s not exactly a vote of confidence. Still, I don’t have time to worry about that now. Instead, I turn on my heel and make my way down into the lower floors.

The kitchen is the only place I’ve been downstairs, so I figure that’s as good a place as any to start. Even if there isn’t access, hopefully the staff will be able to point me in the right direction.

As I take the stairs down from the dining hall, the clatter of pots and pans, and the scent of roasting meats, weave their way up to me, and I already know I’m going to find the place far more alive than the night before. I’ve just reached the bottom steps when a laugh catches me by surprise. It’s a young man’s laugh, low and resonant yet also warm and frivolous. It feels so at odds with the day I’ve had, but so unbelievably needed. Like fresh air after all those years in the slums.