The Ordination of the Novice

s walls. Here, relics of saints rested behind iron grilles, wax candles clustered

e worn flagstones. Dust stirred in pale shafts of morning light, catching motes

ax, and incense heavy in the air brought a rush of memory so sharp it caught her breath: midnight vigils, whi

the bristles caught on cracks worn deep by centuries of novices before her. But she found a r

ted on the floor, revealing old stains too deep to scrub away. Emily's arms ached, knees bruised anew by

alise or Maire, but saw no one in the dimness. Only the f

e pressed around her, almost alive. Then, from the darkest corner of th

Emily asked, vo

ing in the stale air. And yet Emily felt it again: that pri

yer and time: an older novice, whispered warnings of what lay hidden in Saint Avila's oldest vaults, and

s burned from hours kneeling. Emily pushed through, thoug

it had in months, pale marble catching the thin daylight. Yet a single stain, dark and stubborn, remain

skittered up her spine, sharp as a sudden gust. In that breat

... rem

undered. The room lay silent again, unch

ld building settles; sounds slip through cracks. Yet deep within, past fear and reason,

re, carrying a tray of folded linens. "Emily! Are you well?"

Emily lied.

ng you," she murmured. "Scrubbing the sacristy alone

" Emily

wn the corridor to be sure they were alone, "she'l

n't need to worry. I di

ly. You're not the same girl who

wed Maire into the stream of robed figures, the scent of barley br

y with another novice. Her gaze flickered to

rape of spoons, the hush of shared prayers, and the constant sense of being observed. Some novices risked

ms through arched windows, painting pale stripes across the worn stone. She paused by the oldes

for something she could not quite name: belonging, perhaps, or forgiveness. Or

e stone's cool steadiness seep into her bones. Wh

ched longer across the courtyard. Somewhere in the quiet, Emily felt agai

embe

ewhere within these ancient stones - and she had returne