Orla blinked at her bewilderedly. “Whatever do you mean?”
“It was an act.” She waved for Artur to join them in the sitting room. “The Second Son’s prophet has revealed himself, and Elodie agreed to keep an eye on him.”
“By banishing you?” Her mother sounded skeptical.
“By proving her loyalty to him.” Sabine pursed her lips. “To Tal.”
Her brother’s face darkened. “He keeps trying to get me to come to his inane meetings. ‘Just hear Him out,’ he said. But I always said no.” He turned to his sister, eyes wide and earnest. “You have to believe me. I want nothing to do with his miserable cult.”
“You must go to that meeting,” she insisted, excitement rising in her chest. “Find out what he’s preaching. Flying fish, Artur!” She clapped her hands together as she swore. “This is exactly what I need to understand His word—to infiltrate enemy lines.”
“Are you sure?” Artur looked uncomfortable. “There is a wickedness about him and the others.”
“I’m certain,” Sabine insisted. “Just keep your wits about you. Tell the queen where you are going and fill her in on all the details.”
“Tell Cleo, too,” Katrynn added, winking at Artur, “so she can keep track of your whereabouts.” His face bloomed a beautiful pink.
“I don’t like this, Bet,” her mother said, shaking her head. “We were supposed to be safe here.”
“You are safe here,” Sabine insisted. “I need you to swear to me that you will stay put. I am relying on you and Artur to be my eyes and ears in the palace.”
Her mother was tearing up. “Sabine, you’re just a child.”
“I’m not.” The New Maiden shook her head sadly. “Not since I learned the truth of my birth order. Not since I embraced what—and who—I am.”
“Oh, Bet.” Her mother’s voice came out choked. “This is why Genevar worked so hard to keep my secret. Your secret.”
Sabine owed much to the old woman who resided in the First Church. Genevar, the Archivist, had kept meticulous records of the children born to Velle, had protected Sabine from befalling the fate of the third daughters before her.
The Archivist had been the one to tell Sabine that she was Velle’s highest deity, born to the salt of Harborside. Genevar had even shared with Sabine the original Book of the New Maiden. The ancient pages were filled with cramped handwriting and smudged ink, words recorded by one of the New Maiden’s Favoreds, Ruti. In the corner of her mind, Sabine could almost picture a second book, this one with a blue leather cover, containing words written by the New Maiden Herself. Not Her scripture—Her journal. Do you ever feel a stirring within? Genevar had asked Sabine as she flipped through its pages. Does power run through your veins?
Sabine could have kicked herself. All this time, private reflections written by the New Maiden had been sitting, waiting in the depths of the First Church’s Archives. She’d been so busy fretting over the Second Son’s threat when she could have been studying confessions penned by the New Maiden. Perhaps within those pages she would learn about Sebastien, of their enmity and their love, and find a way to snip the strange thread that connected her to Tal.
“That’s it,” Sabine whispered, getting to her feet.
“What is?” Katrynn eyed her curiously.
“Sanctuary,” the New Maiden said, finding comfort in the word. She got to her feet. “Let’s find Brianne. I know where we can go.”
The late autumn air took on the threat of winter as Sabine, Brianne, and Katrynn followed the path to the First Church. The chapel was small and unassuming, its white stone dingy amidst the dying leaves of amber and brown. Brianne heaved the door open with a low grunt, the hinges howling like the wind. The room was deserted, save for an owl slumbering in the rafters. A single prayer candle was lit. Its flame sent shadows dancing across the whitewashed walls.
“Who goes there?” The Archivist’s voice was harsh.
She stepped out from the shadows. “It’s Sabine.”
The old woman reached out a gnarled hand. Sabine rushed to clasp it. “What are you doing here?”
“I missed you,” she answered honestly. Genevar and the First Church had been a port in Sabine’s storm.
“And?” The Archivist leaned heavily on her cane, a small smile playing about her lips.
“And we need your help,” Sabine admitted, introducing the Archivist to her sister and Brianne.
“Maiden.” Genevar bowed her head reverently. “I would bend my knees if I thought they would survive it. As ever, it is my gift to serve you however I may.”
Although Sabine had grown accustomed to being addressed by the moniker, it felt unearned coming from the Archivist’s mouth. Genevar had been the one to reveal Sabine’s place in the prophecy. But just as quickly as Sabine had embraced her darkness and its magic, they had escaped her. While her family, the Warnou sisters, and Silas continued to believe in her despite the absence of her power, the Second Son’s cruel words and His swift annexation of her clergy had left Sabine feeling entirely unworthy.
“Do you really believe I am Her?”
If the Archivist was worth her weight in salt—and, as a Harborside native, she surely was—Genevar would speak the truth.
The Archivist frowned. “There is faith involved, certainly, but I am a daughter of Ruti, and we do not doubt what has been seen with our own eyes. I know what you can do.”
“So you do leave the depths of the Archives on occasion?” Sabine had hoped that the old woman did not spend all her days in the dark.
Genevar’s mouth quirked up into a mischievous grin. “I saw you call forth the shadows. Then I saw you let in the light.”
But her conviction set Sabine spiraling. If the Archivist believed only in what she could see, then the absence of Sabine’s magic would forcibly dislodge her faith in the New Maiden.
“This bothers you.” The old woman studied Sabine’s guarded expression. “Why?”
“Because,” Sabine whispered, unable to stop herself. Genevar had already protected her life’s most fearsome secret once. Sabine had to trust that she would remain faithful now. “Whatever magic I had once has run dry. I am just a girl from Harborside, tasked with an impossible fight.”
“Nothing is impossible, Sabine, so long as you are equipped with the right information,” the Archivist said. “You’ve come here for assistance. So tell me what you seek.”
“I had hoped you might allow me to look upon the New Maiden’s journal.” Sabine squeezed her hands into fists to stop her fingers from shaking. Now that she stood in the chapel, she feared that she was misremembering, that no such document existed, and she would be forced to leave the Archives empty-handed. “I thought it might offer me insight into the person, the human, behind Her word.”
