Nona reached for the bundled letters with a sigh. Abbess Glass had taught her many things. She had taught Nona that you can often find an angle where any right looks like a wrong, and any wrong a right. She taught her the song of the Ancestor, the power of the long game, and the need for determination. Above all Abbess Glass had taught Nona the value of lies. The one thing she had never managed to teach her was not to feel bad for telling them.

‘It’s the right thing to do. The key to everything. I need you to have faith in this, Ara. I need you make the others believe too. We’re going to be taking holy orders soon so we should be good at believing, no?’

‘In the Ancestor, surely, not in any old—’

‘This comes from the highest authority I know.’

Ara looked up suddenly, incredulous, eyes bright. ‘You’ve had a vision? From the Ancestor?’ Awe and need mingled in her voice.

Nona bowed her head. ‘I have.’

Nona found three books at the very bottom of the casket, wrapped together in a length of black velvet. Aquinas’s Book of Lost Cities was the smallest of the three, looking less old and less impressive than The Mystic’s Path or The Lives of Lestal Crow. It looked more like a travel journal than some weighty tome worthy of forbidding. Nona took the leather-bound volume and hid it in an inner pocket of her habit before returning the other two to their wrapping and starting to replace Sister Pan’s other treasures.

A moment of panic came as she reached for the figurine of the baby and discovered on the floor behind it an ancient daisy, dried and pressed, that must have fallen from between the pages of one of the books. She carefully extracted everything, unwrapped the books, and placed the flower behind the cover of The Lives of Lestal Crow, hoping she had guessed correctly.

At last, sweating lightly, Nona closed the lid. ‘Done.’

‘Lock it.’ Ara nodded towards the keyhole.

‘Right.’ Nona found and manipulated the necessary threads. An easier task this time.

Ara went to the wall and set her hands on it. ‘Now we find that getting in was the easy part.’ Her smile was a nervous one.

‘I’ll follow you,’ Nona said. ‘You’re better at it than me.’

‘But you got in first!’ Ara pushed her lips into a pout.

‘You wouldn’t want to go back my way. Trust me.’

Nona stumbled out onto the Path Tower stairway, catching hold of Ara’s shoulders to keep from falling.

‘At last!’ Jula hurried down towards them. ‘I thought you’d died in there! Got stuck in the wall or something!’

‘Relax.’ Ara smiled, holding up the lantern. ‘We got it.’

‘We have to go!’ Jula pushed past them. ‘Bray’s about to sound sixth bell. There’ll be little Red Classers lining up outside any minute.’

‘Sixth bell?’ Nona shook her head. ‘I didn’t think we were that long!’

‘Well, you were!’ Jula all but stamped her foot. ‘Come on.’ And she set off.

‘I’m surprised Pan’s not here already if it’s so close to fourth,’ Ara said, grinning her disbelief.

‘She is.’ Jula didn’t stop, just hissed back up at them around the stairs’ twist.

That got both novices moving. They caught Jula as she hurried out into the portrait chamber.

‘She’s here?’

‘I was on the stairs when she started up them! I had to go up into the classroom, hide behind the trapdoor lid, and slip out while she was arranging the chairs. It’s a miracle she didn’t see me!’ Jula looked pale.

Ara slapped her on the back. ‘The Poisoner will make a Grey Sister of you yet!’

‘Then I hung around on the stairs again, expecting her next class any minute and wondering how long to leave it before declaring you both lost and confessing everything.’ Jula led them to the north door, opened it with caution, then threw it wide. The three of them spilled out into the day.

After the unreality of the past hour, strange and emotional treks through memory, walking through walls, stealing from Sister Pan in a cause that was larger than any of them … it came as a surprise to find themselves in the cold light of the same day and subject to the same old timetable that had ruled their lives for so many years.

The friends stood a moment, shivering and blinking in the lee of the tower.

‘Shade!’ Nona remembered where she should be next. ‘Damnation!’ And she veered off with Ara in hot pursuit, scattering half a dozen approaching Red Class novices.

9

Present

Holy Class

Nona and Ara ran for Shade class, leaving Jula to make her way to advanced Spirit class under the Ancestor’s Dome with Abbess Wheel.

Sometime soon all of Holy Class would take their orders or return to their homes. If they still had homes. Under normal circumstances the newer members of the class like Nona might have expected to wait as long as two more years before being allowed to take the nun’s headdress. With the world closing in on every side, sharp in tooth and claw, the time of choosing would be hard upon them. Jula had her sights set on the black habit of the Holy Sister, a Bride of the Ancestor, hers the life of prayer and contemplation resting on the foundations of her faith. Beyond her devotions the simple tasks of the convent would occupy her time. She might even aspire to teach the novices. The Black was open to any girl graduating the convent without stain upon her character. To take the Red, Grey, or Blue of the Martial Sister, Sister of Discretion, or Mystic Sister tests must be passed to demonstrate sufficient aptitude. Ara had said she would return to her family if she wasn’t offered the Red or the Grey. She needed the excitement and the challenge, not days of humility measured out by the tolling of bells.

Although Nona’s free choice would always be the Red, she knew that both the Grey and the Blue offered sufficient danger and variety to fulfil her too. In the end, though, she would serve in whatever capacity the Church demanded. All the sisters would have to fight before this was over. Fight or die. Probably both, judging by the streams of incoming refugees clogging the roads both east and west.

Less than a minute after fleeing Path Tower Nona and Ara clattered down the steps to the cave where Sister Apple had just taken her customary place behind her preparation table. Alata, Leeni, Ketti, Ruli, and Sharlot all looked around to witness Nona’s entrance, Ara at her shoulder. Late arrivals were always a good spectator sport, and the fact that Nona had once saved someone very dear to the Poisoner from certain death never seemed to soften any punishments handed out for misdemeanours in class.

Nona stood, pinned by Sister Apple’s glance, and awaited her sentence. A seven-day spent cleaning the main cauldron had been a favourite lately. A trickle of sweat ran across Nona’s ribs beneath her habit, parallel to the spine of Aquinas’s Book of Lost Cities. If the book were to be discovered then all the punishments ever handed out in Shade class would pale by comparison to the retribution that would rain upon her.

The Poisoner set down her notes. ‘Sister Mantle has been called away on other duties so further instruction in Shade-fist will have to await her return.’ The nun gestured for Nona and Ara to take their seats. ‘Thus we are at leisure to decide on today’s topic of study. A session on rending would be a wise choice given the parlous state of this class’s shadow-work.’