She shook her head and reached for the shoes.
He waited for her to remark on their wear, or on the poor fashion, or even on the fact that they were designed for a teenaged boy, not unlike the one who’d just left, and not for a woman. But she said nothing as she slipped off the dainty things she had on and pushed her feet into the new ones.
She smiled. “They’re a little big, but better for running, I think. Thank you.”
Her gratitude scurried up his neck like the wings of a moth. Rone shrugged. Looked for a clock. Still some time to go. He sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets again. Fingered the amarinth.
“Thank you, Rone.”
“I heard you.”
“No.” Her hand touched his forearm, drawing his attention back to her. She met his eyes for a moment before looking away, though her warm touch lingered. “Thank you. For everything else. For helping me. I . . . don’t know what I would have done, had you not come along.”
The muscles in Rone’s back tensed in a weird, shivery sort of way. He lifted his hand—Sandis dropped hers—and rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t exactly volunteer.”
“I know. But thank you, anyway.”
“Uh, yeah. You’re welcome.”
She smiled at him. Despite everything, he sort of smiled back.
A small gong rang at the head of the room. Rone glanced at the clock. There was still half an hour until— Celestial on a stick, they’re going to preach to us. He barely stifled a groan.
A high priest garbed in white and a tall hat motioned the pilgrims forward. Sandis seemed interested. Good. That meant only one of them had to fake it.
They loitered near the back, Sandis lifting herself onto her toes to see better as a few stragglers entered the atrium, Rone counting tiles on the floor. The high priest mumbled something about charity and cleanliness and whatever else would make the pilgrims, even the locals, feel good about themselves. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the high priest stepped aside and let two lower priests come to the front of the group. They organized the pilgrims into two columns, and Rone shouldered his way forward so he and Sandis wouldn’t be at the tail end. Harder to be picked off that way.
“Pull up your hood when we’re out there,” he mumbled to Sandis. Her expression instantly changed to that of pale fear. It was then that Rone realized she’d been . . . what, happy? Did she eat this stuff up like everyone else? Despite what she’d been forced to become?
He sighed and faced forward. She’d know the truth soon enough.
To Rone’s relief, the trek to the Lily Tower, though long, was uneventful. No grafters, no policemen, not even a rudimentary check of his identification. Though outside Dresberg’s walls, the Lily Tower was still considered part of the capital, and thus citizens could go to and from it without being harassed by guards. Leaving the city in any other direction required a review of papers. The walk made Rone’s feet hurt, but his hems would be soiled enough to appease even the sternest of gateway priests.
He rubbed his stomach as they approached the Lily Tower—a seven-story structure made of granite and quartz piled atop one another like a layer cake. The tower was cylindrical, though the topmost floor was smaller in diameter than the rest. Enough circle-top windows had been cut into the thing that the stone resembled lace. Somewhere inside, a woman was singing.
Rone’s neck felt too tight, like his vertebrae were fusing together. He kept his face forward. Forced his tense shoulders down.
Sandis noticed. “Rone?”
He simply shook his head.
They reached the door. It happened just like before. No one paid him any particular notice, save for a sweeping glance that ended at the hem of his trousers. A priestess murmured something soft and kind to the pilgrims as they passed. Rone didn’t hear what she said to him.
Inside, everything was so blasted white. He didn’t think he would remember it this well, but he did. He remembered all of it. He remembered having to take his shoes off like he was now. Remembered the texture of the carpeting under his feet. He swore he could even remember that giant fern growing in the middle of the round sitting room they passed through, though it was bigger now. To his chagrin, he found himself gaping like Sandis did, like all the other pilgrims did.
They entered a small space with pillows scattered on the floor. Everyone sat on one. Rone followed suit, hovering in the back with Sandis. Yes, he remembered this, too. Someone was going to come talk to them about the importance of the pilgrimage and how it first started. A story he’d heard time and time again. He tugged at his old memories as a high priest chattered away. They’d have to separate themselves from the rest of the group, but not too soon. Not if they wanted to talk to the Angelic personally, and without an audience . . .
“Rone?” Sandis whispered.
He didn’t look at her. “Just stay close.”
When the sermon was over, the priests directed the pilgrims to rise and—yes, Rone remembered these stairs. He thought he recalled blue carpet on them, but they were solid marble. Had they been renovated, or was Rone’s memory faulty?
A headache began to build at the base of his skull. More sermons. Maybe one for each floor? The Angelic would be at the top. It symbolized walking toward God, or at least to the Celestial’s mouthpiece. Yes, that was— Sandis jumped beside him. Rone instantly went on alert, but there were no apparent threats around them, nothing but paintings and flowers and a passing priest. The priest lifted a brow at Sandis’s reaction, but then nodded at Rone and went on his way.
Sandis stepped so close to him he nearly tripped over her. They passed a room of worshipping women, and Sandis shied away from it, nearly running into a marble column.
Rone was about to ask what her problem was when it hit him like a mallet. He’d only found out the truth about her yesterday, and already he’d forgotten how high the stakes were for her. She was a godforsaken vessel. A walking sin. If any of these people discovered the markings on her back . . .
She was terrified, and he hadn’t thought twice about it.
That constant, gnawing guilt in his belly doubled over. He stifled a wince.
They turned the corner, and Rone put his arm around her shoulders. “Breathe,” he whispered as quietly as he could manage. “They don’t know. They won’t. Nothing will happen to compromise you. I promise.”
She took in a deep breath and nodded. Another priest passed. She watched him go, but this time she didn’t startle.
The pilgrims gathered into a second room, then a third, listening to stories of their predecessors and the glory of the Celestial. Rone’s churning thoughts and broken plans made the time pass surprisingly quickly. By the time they moved toward the stairs again, hunger and guilt had rolled into a dull ache against his spine, hardening his resolve.
He made sure he and Sandis lingered at the back of the group as they ascended the tower. He glanced behind to ensure no disciples followed them. As they reached the seventh-floor landing, the pilgrims fell into a reverent silence. Not helpful. The priest leading the group began to chant. This was Rone’s cue to act.
He found a pillar and pushed Sandis toward it, behind it. Spotted a privacy wall. Moved toward that. Sandis silently followed him. He pushed aside a curtain so they could see, but lingered to the side, where they would not yet be seen.
He stood at the front of the room. The Angelic. The mouthpiece of the Celestial. He looked different—but of course he did. He was older, and a little heavier in his face. He wore long white-and-silver robes and a hat with a thick linen veil hiding the sides and back of his head. A lily marked its front, as well as the breast of his robe.