The Iniquity Pool

By Rebecca Johnson

Five immortal Brothers, once ethereal beings known as Free Magic, were trapped by human hands and made to submit to an unholy Oath.

Four magical races combined in hatred against the fifth.

Three transgressions culminated in the death of an emperor and the awakening of a primeval creature bent on sinister deeds.

Two teens cast out on perilous journeys from opposite ends of the world.

One chance to redeem themselves before their pasts destroy their futures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662472336

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sasha Weathervein washed the blood from her hands. The water basin on the small table by the bed was quickly tinted pink, its porcelain glaze unable to protect it from that constant barrage. Grimacing, she poured salve over her swollen knuckles, the wounds already clotting. There would be scabs within the hour; in a day’s time, the cuts and bruises would be completely gone, leaving only scars to prove that anything had happened at all.

He stirred as she began to wrap a bandage around her midriff. He was always tired after a lesson. Lightly, she brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. A sleepy smile crept across his face. After dumping the dirty water out of the chamber’s window and dropping sodden blankets into a heap in the basket in the corner of the room, she let herself out.

It was late, and the soldiers had all gone home. She should have called for them, but she enjoyed the freedom their absence afforded her. Slipping through the dark unnoticed, she began the long walk back home. Despite the chill of the air and the stabbing pain she endured as she walked, Sasha didn’t grimace or cover herself. Her mind was elsewhere.

The moon was bright in the sky when Sasha returned to the house. No one rose from their slumber, probably because no one really cared if she made it home or not. If anything, they were jealous of the favor she received. At worst, they hated her.

Sasha sat by one of the tiny windows, soaking in the moon’s rays. Her side ached and her bandage was soggy from her walk home, but she ignored the stains that were soaking into her blouse and skirt. Tomorrow night, she’d wash them out. After all, they’d just get bloody again tomorrow. She’d needn’t bother at all, except that the day after tomorrow was the Holy Day and that her clean and pressed presence was mandatory.

Sasha made a face just thinking about the Holy Day. By royal decree, it was the one day a week she didn’t have lessons. It was the one day a week she could fully heal.

A cough behind her made Sasha turn her head.

You just getting in? asked a sleepy voice.

Yes. Sasha shushed her. Go back to sleep.

Suji, a blue-eyed brunette, slid her slender body alongside Sasha’s. I’m awake now, she teased. Get used to it.

Sasha groaned, but inwardly she was happy for the company. They sat in silence for a while, Suji’s warm back pressed against Sasha’s chest. Scars, pink and pasty, ran from the back of Suji’s ear to below her shoulder blades. Sasha remembered the day she got them. They were her first scars but far from her last. Sasha had just as many, if not more, but most of hers were not as visible. She was just wondering if Suji would be annoyed if she traced them with her finger when Suji noticed her staring.

Stop, she chided, pulling up the sleeve of her dressing gown. You’re making me self-conscious.

Sorry, Sasha mumbled. She motioned to Suji’s scars. Do you still hate them?

Suji shrugged and made a clicking noise with her tongue. I don’t know. What’s to be proud of?

Your strength, for one, Sasha reminded her.

Suji said nothing.

Sighing, Sasha took her friend by the shoulders and spoke right in her ear. This is who we are, she told her. Be proud of what we’ve accomplished, of what we have yet to accomplish. That’s something they can never take from us.

Suji didn’t look convinced. You never wonder if this is just not where we’re supposed to be? If this life is just…a remnant?

Do you? Sasha wondered in return.

Yeah.

Well, don’t let them know that. Sasha thumbed toward the palace. Don’t ever let them know.

I’m serious, Suji pressed.

So am I! The second they think you’re wavering, that you’re stepping outside your boundaries, you’re expendable. You’re a risk. Sasha pulled at her own long brown hair, the tension in her shoulders rising. We can’t be a risk, Suj. You know what happens then. They both did all too well. We do what we’re told. We hang on. That’s how we survive, Sasha said firmly.

That’s not what my mother said, Suji mumbled under her breath.

And look what happened to her, Sasha said. Suji winced. Sasha said more softly, It’s not going to happen like that for us. Trust me. Have I ever let you down?

Suji grinned. Never.

The friends sat in silence. The only sound was of a cold night owl hooting in the distance. Suji fell asleep just after midnight, and Sasha found her mind wandering.

Her thoughts went to her mother, as they often did that time of night. Hymn had been a beautiful Vapora, a woman of extraordinary value and wit, a loving mother taken too soon. Hymn was once a favorite plaything for Mora’s religious leader, Shepherd. Hymn was also a favorite of many of the nobles, however, and her days were always filled with someone wanting to put their hands on her.

Sasha wondered for the thousandth time if Hymn would have been proud of her.

Little more than slaves, Vaporas were considered property of the crown. Nearly a century ago, the emperor decided to put his property to good use. Male Vaporas were all sent off to work in the mines before their twelfth birthday, while females remained in the capitol. A system was then developed that involved the loaning of a female Vapora’s body to anyone with the money to pay for it. The buyer would pay ahead of time for a certain number of days, returning the Vapora to her assigned housing when they were finished with her. Originally, Vaporas were bought to entertain and please the men and women who bought them. Scandalous acts, henceforth called lessons due to the idea that they were teaching all Vaporas a lesson, were performed on and with a Vapora and were often a public affair. The buyers who oversaw these lessons called themselves Teachers. Overtime it became apparent that Vaporas could undertake an exceptional amount of pain; on top of that, they seemed to possess an unnatural ability to heal and to heal quickly. Presently, a Vapora could be bought for any reason at all, but torture and carnal pleasure were still the top 2. Every day in the house where Sasha lived with her fellow Vaporas, soldiers would come, dragging off whomever had been sold that day, only to return them days or even weeks later. In order to survive, daughters began being taught by their mothers what became known as the Art of the Vapora.

The Art started at a young age, usually ten or eleven, and stretched into the late teen years. A Vapora was considered off-limits until she turned seventeen. The Art kept young Vaporas from rebelling or running away. It kept Vaporas safe.

Sasha’s entire childhood was a training ground for her future as a Vapora. Her mother never skipped a lecture; Sasha was an excellent student. Her training included compliance, emotion control, flattery, and adherence to subjugation. She learned how to bury everything unique about her, every trait that could be seen as a threat. She reduced her emotions to a very manageable three or four. She practiced serenity, patience, and when she was old enough, seduction.

As well as intellectual lessons on emotional control, their daughter’s physical strength would also be tested by their mothers. They would poke, prod, slice, burn, and even bite them. The lessons grew more painful as the years progressed. In this way, mothers prepared their daughters for their future Teachers.

This was the way things had been for as long as Sasha could remember and much longer before that. Her ancestors had been proud and powerful, but that was before the Great War, before the Punishment.

Well after midnight, Sasha dozed off beside Suji, their lithe bodies keeping each other warm during the frigid night. When morning light peeked in the windows, Sasha did not rise, preferring instead to skip their meager breakfast as the rest of the house dressed and prepared themselves for the day. She felt Suji kiss her lightly on the top her head before falling into a deeper sleep than before. Sometime after that, a soldier woke her.

It’s time to go, pud, the gruff voice instructed her right before he prodded her in the stomach. She lurched awake, her wound reopening itself. The house was empty; everyone had been bought that day, Suji included.

Looking up through bloodshot eyes, Sasha said, Hit me again, and I’ll have you strung up before midday. We both know you can’t afford me.

The soldier growled at her, but he kept his hands to himself.

The house was actually a giant room, with bunks for sleeping thrown haphazardly about. A firepit in the middle of the room was still smoking from the morning’s breakfast, the essence of veal escaping through the hole in the roof. Sasha crossed the room, dropping her clothes in the middle of the floor as she did so. Slipping into a light-blue frock, she pretended not to notice the soldier ogle her.

It was raining outside. The sky was as dark as the commune, so Sasha didn’t even have to shield her eyes when she stepped into the gloom. Rivulets of water sluiced down the dirt road that led to the palace, making ruts where thousands of tears gushed from the palace’s front steps. The raindrops were fat and juicy, soaking Sasha before they were halfway to the magnificent marble structure. Shivering, Sasha tried to cover her arms with her hands. The storm seemed determined to drench her flesh and chill her bones.

The walk to the nobles’ chambers seemed endless. On the way, she looked up at the humongous rain machine. Its gray eyes looked back down at her. Rain had not come to the capital city of Remedia or all of Mora in many, many years. In order to water the crops, the nobility created the rain machine. It was a giant stone monster that cried rain from its eyes, mouth, and nose. It looked perpetually sad, and even though it was probably not alive, Sasha always felt sorry for it. The monster only cried when the nobility wanted it to. That day it was to water the gardens for the festival.

The guard shoved her occasionally, outwardly cursing her when he passed someone important. Peasants would stare, and nobility would pull their robes out of the way in disgust. Some of them even spit on her. Others yelled across the street at her, calling her a pud, which was a particularly nasty name for a non-magical person. Sasha didn’t blink an eye. She did not dwell in what would happen to her when she would arrive at her destination; instead, she stared dead ahead and tried not think about anything at all.

The rain obviously bothered the soldier who was escorting her, as he decided to take the winding path through the protected halls of the palace in lieu of sloshing the shorter path outside. The palace was buzzing with nobles when they arrived. In the throne room, the emperor was reclining as a throng of young women danced for him. He barely noticed Sasha being dragged through the corridors toward the temple. The soldier led Sasha down white halls, through giant rooms, and back into the rain for a short minute.

Finally, they arrived at a golden door. With a tender knock, Sasha rapped on it. While she waited, she reread the gold inscriptions on the doorframe. They spoke of the one thing Mora held dear: magic. The door chronicled four types of magical people, the Chosen, and the source of their power: Glimmes (Light users), Terras (Sand users), Aeros (Wind users), and Nox (Wood users). There was a fifth type of Chosen, however, and they were Vaporas, the users of rain magic. Sasha’s eyes left the golden door to glance at her hands. There were purple and ghost-white scars that ran everywhere, like a crisscross of twigs against a white sky. Her bones were misshapen from multiple breaks. Red-hot burns still sizzled in the shape of rings around her fingers. But every mark was upstaged by the dark swirling lines that circled her palm, her wrist, and around to the other side. Multiple waves and monsoons curved into spirals that curlicued and danced around her entire hand, as if someone had drawn a delicately intricate tattoo into her flesh. It was the ever-present reminder of her heritage—the mark of the Vapora.

Unlike other Chosen who had to undergo years of training and tests to determine what magic they could wield, Vaporas knew from the moment they were born that they belonged to the oldest and arguably the most powerful Magic Brother, Rain. It was said that he chose his followers by hand, marking them with his power so everyone would know their patron. Brother Rain was known to be a very proud being. Every Holy Day, all Magic Brothers were celebrated and worshipped, Rain included. Sasha often wondered how he would react to learning how his people were being treated or, worse, if he knew already but didn’t care.

Vaporas were not granted the honor of the other Chosen and, therefore, were not written about on golden doors or anything else for that matter. It was as if Mora wanted to forget Vaporas altogether, except, of course, to mock them and maim them and cripple them and kill them. Vaporas were only remembered for the horrible things they were responsible for. Because of their crimes, their punishment was dark and eternal.

Sasha grew up around magic, but to her great distress, she was incapable of performing any of it. Despite being marked as a Vapora at birth, she could not claim her magic as her ancestors could, because during the Great War, Vaporas committed atrocities that, though bringing about the end of the war, caused all other Chosen to turn against them. They were cut off from the source of their power and enslaved forever as punishment for their actions. The worst of those crimes was siding with the Others. Others were made up of two kinds of people: those who were tested but were found to be incompatible with magic and those who had neither the money nor the opportunity to attend the right schools that would test for magic. The Others and the Chosen were complete opposites. One had the chance to buy freedom. The other would always be subject to the whims of the first.

Sasha’s thoughts were interrupted when Shepherd answered his door. His appearance, normally so well-kept, was completely awry. An unsightly long scratch oozed over his left eye. The smell of strong liquor was still seething behind his perfect teeth. His hair was completely out of sorts. He was bleeding from his lip and one ear. Forgetting herself, Sasha reached out to brush the hair out of his gray eyes, but his whole hand slapped her across the face.

Stop gawking at me and get in here! he barked at her.

Shepherd snatched her by the arm and dragged her through the luxurious sitting room and into his personal chamber, a place she’d been visiting six days a week for two years. She’d never had any other Teacher because she and Shepherd had a unique arrangement. Though Shepherd taught many Vaporas, Sasha only ever took lessons from Shepherd. She always had the mornings to herself, arriving at his chamber just before noon. He’d spend an hour or two with other Vaporas, but her lessons with him would often stretch well into the afternoon. On Fridays, he’d block out the entire day for her. From noon to night, he’d discipline her. Wherever he wanted her, she would go—the bed, the floor, or the dragon-leather chair. She would sit, kneel, stand, or even hang from the ceiling, restrained by straps. For hours, he would push the limits of her pain threshold, using anything from knives to poison. She’d twist and writhe, and he’d push further. And through the blur of agony, she’d see the veins in his neck pulsing with exertion, his chest heaving. The activities would vary, but ever present was this connection between them bubbling to the surface. After, he’d often lie with her and hold her as she cried or run his fingers seductively across her skin, teasing out shivers of pleasure. He’d also take copious notes on their lessons, but he seldom allowed her to read what he’d written.

She didn’t know why she couldn’t get his face out of her dreams. She didn’t enjoy the pain. At the end of the day, her head would pound, her whole body would ache, and she couldn’t sleep from the torment. There was almost no part of her that hadn’t been subjected to some kind of torture. She longed for it to end, to be like the other girls she knew Shepherd kept company with. She wished she could be normal, if nothing more than for the chance to explain how she really felt.

Sasha, he began. You know you’re my favorite. Sasha nodded knowingly. She was so focused on his fingers flexing and un-flexing, twitching madly as he spoke, that she didn’t catch the waver in his voice. You are different than the rest. You are special. She nodded again, wondering where this was going. I have always been interested in you, Sasha. Your sheer will alone… His words trailed on and on. Sasha was accustomed to hearing his monologues. He would tell her how special she was, how much more pain she could take than the others. He would admire her healing ability, slicing her again and again, watching her flesh stitch up after each time. She knew she was his favorite because he had claimed her, literally, for himself. This kind of arrangement was unheard of, the first of its kind. That was why the other Vaporas hated her. They hated that she had been protected from some of the worst Teachers. Sasha would often catch hushed words spoken in the middle of the night, words like traitor and filth.

She had secrets too. One of which was this: Shepherd was Sasha’s Teacher in more ways than one. Unbeknownst to anyone else, Shepherd had tutored Sasha in many things: languages of the regions of Mora from the monks who dwelled in the fertile valleys of the west to the underground mining towns of the east. He taught her magic—all theory, of course—as well as history, geography, literature, and reading. Vaporas were forbidden from learning. But Shepherd wanted Sasha to know these things, so know them she did. After hours of Sasha’s surmounting pain and prodding, he would sit down and read to her from ancient texts as her body sewed itself back together. He’d drill the facts and figures into her head, testing her knowledge by making her recite back everything he’d said.

Shepherd never performed any magic during their sessions; Sasha suspected he didn’t have any, although he never admitted to it. Instead, he used instruments imbued with magic—magical weapons anyone could use, even Others. Shepherd was a master at creating these instruments; as far as she knew, he was the only one who could. He selected a long, thin rod made of a dark-red filament. As he gently caressed her with it, streams of electricity shot through her. She began to convulse violently. She lost control of her arms and legs as they flopped around then shot out, straight and stiff. Shepherd lifted the rod, and the pain subsided.

Good, he said stoically, despite the crazy look of him. As he took his notes, she heaved heavily and tried to imagine what could have happened during the night to mess Shepherd up so badly. As if reading her thoughts, he spoke. Don’t worry about the scratches, he told her, sharpening a long blade. I’m fine. Without warning, he plunged the blade into her side, eliciting a scream. Blood sprayed from around the blade, but just as quickly, her flesh folded back to slow it. Leaving it embedded in her side, he began planting tiny needles in the fleshy part of her arms. You may think I’m being hard on you today, Sasha. Once he was finished, he lit the needles on fire. Hot metal interacted with her skin, and it scorched, then oozed, and then bubbled. However, he continued, this is just a small part of what will happen to you out there. He motioned to the palace, which was visible from his window. Sasha recovered from the burns but was beginning to lose consciousness from the loss of blood. Therefore, his words barely registered with her.

Unsatisfied with her reaction, Shepherd slapped her again. Wake up! he shrieked in her face. She tried, but she was still slipping into darkness from the anemia. She opened her mouth to say something, but Shepherd suddenly tore the blade from her. Sasha passed out.

When she woke, she was bandaged, healing nicely, and propped up on a few pillows in the bed beside the dragon-leather chair. Shepherd was watching her, his eyes bloodshot. He was an attractive man, in his early thirties, his cool gray eyes searing her to the pit of her stomach. He was an important figure, arguably the most important in all of Mora. And he had never hidden his interest in her. His square-set jaw and porcelain skin gave him a flawless complexion, but Sasha was never able to be with him the way she wanted. He was always wearing the mask of a Teacher, and she was always just a test subject.

Sasha, he sighed, her name like honey on his tongue. You must have known I couldn’t keep you forever.

Sasha wiped the smile she didn’t know she was wearing off her face. For the first time, she spoke. What do you mean?

The emperor has requested, has demanded, that I let you go. That I share you, as it were. She searched his eyes for signs that he was joking.

But your agreement…, she began, her voice shaking.

Was until you turned nineteen, he said almost apologetically.

Sasha’s breath caught in her throat. She had just turned nineteen a few weeks ago. So renegotiate. We both know you can. She pouted smugly, sitting back on her fluffy pillows.

You have too much faith in me, he said, coming to meet her where she sat. And the emperor has had enough. He’s losing face with the nobles. They think he can’t handle me.

Sasha chuffed. You don’t need to be handled. Who do these nobles think they are, anyway? Do they want to manage all the monks, prepare the temples for offering, read and respond to letters from yearning pilgrims? Who will sign and maintain the ordinances for magical people across the country? The emperor has not once shown any interest in taking over that responsibility. Shepherd laughed and kissed her hand. And who would make all those magic tools for the armies of Mora? Who has the skills that equal your own? I mean, do they really think they could do all that you do? Those fat pigs have no idea who they are dealing with.

Oh, Sasha, he said playfully. I love that you get me. Unfortunately, though, I do have to give them something.

Sasha sat back, letting her long brown hair drape down over the bed. Dressed in her pale-blue gown, lying on the fluffiest pillows in the kingdom, she felt like a princess. It was like she lived in two starkly different worlds, one as a prized pet and the other as a slave. She wanted to continue to live like this, lying in Shepherd’s bed, with his eyes watching her every move, adoring her.

You have to accept this, my dear, he said, tucking one lonely strand of hair behind her ear. This is our new reality.

Her heart sank in her chest. How could Shepherd, who had sheltered her all these years, be considering giving her up? She knew he had the capability of acquiring his desires. She had seen firsthand the sheer terror of his influence. For years, she had shared a connection with him, and just as she began to believe he was feeling it too, she was going to lose him. Her time would be consumed by hungry nobles waiting for their pound of flesh. Meanwhile, Shepherd would fill his time with countless village girls bubbling and fumbling their affection for him with their skintight bodices and loose morals.

What about us? she asked in disbelief.

I’d still see you, Sasha, he said, agitation tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You didn’t expect me to just go along with this, did you?

Honestly, darling, you don’t have a choice. I didn’t have to tell you, you know. I was trying to be nice, he snapped back.

After all this time, you want to just give up on your research? on what we’ve accomplished?

What we’ve accomplished? he recoiled. You mean what I’ve accomplished.

You couldn’t have done it without me.

You think? There are dozens where you come from, sweetie, he told her, scorn oozing from his mouth. He rose, yanking her off his bed and onto the floor. She hit the cold tile with a soft thump.

You can’t just abandon me, she told him from the floor, her words echoing her empty heart.

I can, actually, he said as he turned away from her. You don’t know the kind of pressure I’m under. You couldn’t possibly imagine. He was busy staring out the glass of his badly washed window. Still spotted with her blood, it took on the appearance of stained glass.

Why is that?

He gave her a pitying glance. Oh, Sasha, he sighed. You find yourself to be far more important than you are.

She stood slowly and deliberately, her mind a cloudy day. Her heart was pounding so hard she felt like it would shoot through her chest and knock against Shepherd’s set jawline. Why don’t we just start again? I can prove to you I’m the best candidate for your research. She touched his hand sweetly. Pulling from every lesson her mother ever taught her, she pushed her own shoulders back and licked her lips. I’m sure we can work something out.

Deliberately, he turned, his face a myriad of atrocities yet to be committed. Leaning down, he came so near her face she could smell the alcohol on his breath. She inhaled. He exhaled. She held her breath. He spoke. Such sweet cherry lips. Just like your mother. I still remember the first time Hymn tried to seduce me. Best night of my life. That woman had moves not even I could have thought up. Do you honestly believe you can do better than the best?

Without thinking, Sasha slapped him across the face.

He was so stunned he didn’t immediately react. He’d never talked about her mother before. He’d never recounted his time with her. He was always hyper focused on Sasha, careful never to mention any other woman in her presence, and she had to admit she assumed it was because no one else mattered when he was with her. But the magnetism in his voice could not be mistaken. He’d shared something special with her mother, maybe something more than he shared with Sasha herself. And that was a thought she could not abide.

Recovering from his shock, Shepherd wrapped his long fingers around her neck and lifted her off the ground. Her breathing stopped as he compressed her windpipe, squeezing the life right out of her. Just as she thought he might really kill her, he dropped her abruptly. She fell to the floor in a heap.

Soldiers! he screamed, his voice ringing in her ears. Two heavily armed men burst through the doors. Gasps of horror caused a wheezing Sasha to look up in surprise. A hot red mark in the shape of a tiny hand was quickly appearing on Shepherd’s cheek. The soldiers moved to kick her, but Shepherd held up a hand.

Don’t touch her! he shrieked, his voice high-pitched with anger. Just get her out of here before I kill her!

* * *

Suji had been sitting in the bed they shared, but when she saw Sasha, she rushed to her friend’s side. Suji was young, but she was strong. And it wasn’t long before she had dragged Sasha’s limp body to the bedside. Wearily, Sasha explained the situation. Suji’s eyes grew wide. After, she wrapped her swollen body around her friend, and the two of them sobbed together.

Chapter 2

The capitol was bumbling with activity. Tents were erected, dry goods were brought out for selling, and hundreds of vendors pulled their carts into the street for patrons to shop and wander. Sasha meandered the side streets and alleys, watching from the shadows as the excitement grew. It was time for the Great Festival, the Hundred Year Festival, or, as some liked to call it, the Great Reminder. It was the ninety-first anniversary of the end of the Great War. Sasha ate a plump frog she had foraged and steamed, plotting a new way to get into Shepherd’s good graces, when she glimpsed the plumage of a great bird being brought in for the feast that always followed the Great Reminder, and her stomach immediately flipped over. The soldiers would be looking for her; they would be looking for all the Vaporas. At the festival, all slaves would be brought before the court to be examined and, if necessary, reminded how to behave. Vaporas who did not fare well at the Great Reminder were sentenced to serve time in the emperor’s dungeon, a horrible and desolate place where people died by the day. After her performance this morning, she was sure to be on the list of slaves needing a reminder of who they belonged to.

Sasha remembered Shepherd’s words from this morning. Get her out of here before I kill her. There was no doubt about it. She would be the entertainment tonight unless she could see her Shepherd before the ceremony and get him to forgive her.

Gulping down her last frog leg, Sasha stood up, brushed off her best gown, and headed back toward the center of town, her mind brimming with ideas.

The chapel was empty; even the monks were out, tending the gardens. Slaves weren’t permitted in the royal gardens, but Sasha could smell the sweet fragrance of the blooms from the alcoves of the chapel where she and the other Vaporas sat every Holy Day. Most Vaporas stayed only as long as they were required, sneering at the stained-glass windows and the velvet-lined seats, inwardly cursing the softness of the carpet and the lushness of the tapestries. The Holy Day was sacred; therefore, lessons and all other unholy activities were forbidden. But most Vaporas still hated the Holy Day. It was a stark reminder of the difference between them and everyone else, a weekly nose-thumbing of contempt and disdain. But Sasha had fond memories of coming to chapel with her mother. She had always felt at home there, basking in the Shepherd’s words, and was even known to pray to Brother Rain occasionally, though he never said anything back.

The chapel felt empty and cold. The tapestries mocked her, their cloth fingers pointing out every flaw. The color scheme on the windows seemed too overbearing, the purple and mauve reflections dappling her skin like fresh bruises. She walked down the center aisle, completely aware her presence there was forbidden, the emptiness of the chapel feeling like exposure at every turn. Opening the door to the altar room, she peered in, hoping to find a familiar face, only to be disappointed. She checked for him in the lobby, the coatroom, the holy places, and even the bath; but he was nowhere to be found. Finally, she alighted the stairs to the bell tower, her knees wobbly from the ascent. She was shocked she had evaded detection thus far and was beginning to worry she would not find her Shepherd before her good luck ran out.

Just as she turned the corner of the stairwell, she saw him. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, with a roll of parchment on his lap and an inkwell beside him. He did not see her yet, and she watched him admiringly as he scribbled something down, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth. He was clad in very little; unlike his normal procession gown or chapel frock, he was sitting in simple white pants, with a gray vest hanging loosely over his bare chest and arms. Sasha felt something stir in her as she watched his muscles move in response to a cold breeze. His black hair, usually pinned up,