Chapter 60. What the Moon Takes

Orla’s “small” dinner could have fed ten. It fed six. Rhea, Mavienne, Syra, Neris. Kael and me. No prayers, except the kind the body makes when it is fed. No toasts, except when Syra lifted her cup and said, “To choices that cost less than their rumors,” and we all drank because we wished it were true.

After, Orla walked us to the old south chapel. She carried a basket with two lanterns, a coil of the same silver filament, and bread wrapped in cloth. Ritual doesn’t mind repetition if you drag it through a different door.

“I’ll stand outside,” she said. “If you break, I will pull you apart before you become useful to no one.”

I kissed her cheek. She pretended not to like it. Syra posted silent guards down the corridor to make the corridor decide whose side it was on. Leaf lay down on the threshold with the deep patience pups aren’t supposed to have.

The chapel lit to lantern like a person held open a book. The cracked basin waited. The roof let the night in wi