The first bell rings just after dawn, its low hum rolling across the rooftops of the temple like warm mist.
Seren opens her eyes.
Her bed is hard. The wool blanket itches. There's a faint dampness in the stone beneath her pillow. A breeze drifts through the narrow window and brushes against her cheek like a curious hand.
The second bell chimes.
The dormitory is quiet, except for the soft rustling of straw mattresses. One of the other girls groans and rolls over. A few beds down, someone begins snoring again.
Seren lies still, listening.
The third bell. Then the fourth.
In the past—no, in the life before this one—she used to leap up when the fourth bell rang. Dress quickly. Fix her braid. Smile for the Sisters. Fold her hands just right. Keep her voice soft. Keep her head down.
She closes her eyes again.
I know how this ends.
By the fifth bell, the dormitory begins to stir. White-robed girls stretch and yawn, rubbing sleep from their eyes. Wooden floorboards creak as bare feet hit the cold stone.
"Seren," someone whispers. "You're going to miss morning rites."
Seren opens her eyes once more. Calda stands above her with an armful of robes and a lopsided braid that's already falling apart.
"I'm coming," Seren murmurs. Her voice is quiet, steady. "Go ahead."
Calda eyes her for a second longer, then shrugs and leaves.
Seren sits up slowly. Her fingers brush her neck—where the divine mark once burned like fire in her first life. Now, there's nothing but smooth skin. The gods haven't chosen her yet.
But they will. And when they do, they will stay silent like they always have.
She dresses without hurrying.
The temple courtyard smells of oil, stone dust, and fresh bread carried on the wind from the baker's row.
Dozens of white-robed girls gather in uneven rows beneath the morning sun, their heads bowed in prayer. At the front, the elder Sisters chant verses in a slow, rhythmic murmur. Incense smoke curls upward in pale strands.
Seren kneels near the back, hands folded neatly.
Her lips move, but she's not praying.
Instead, her eyes move across the girls in front of her.
There's Brielle, too kind for her own good, fussing with the fold of her robe like she's trying to smooth away her nerves. She'll grow into a beauty and fall in love with a court scribe, Seren remembers. He'll cheat on her after their third child.
And there's Calda, sharp-tongued and quick to laugh. She'll be accused of stealing from the kitchen and sent to work in the archives where she'll rot with ink-stained hands.
Seren's gaze flickers upward. The golden sun crest engraved above the temple doors shines brightly in the morning light.
That same crest will be above her head when they burn her.
Her hands tighten in her lap, fingers curling into her robe.
Not this time.
After morning rites, the girls scatter to their chores. Some head to the gardens to water the lemon shrubs. Others carry baskets to the laundry yard.
Seren is sent to the kitchens with a handful of others.
The kitchen is warm and busy, full of clattering pans and the scent of onions and yeast. A small girl bumps into Seren while carrying a sack of flour. It spills, dusting Seren's robe in white.
"Oh no! I—I'm sorry!" the girl squeaks.
Seren brushes herself off without looking at her. "It's all right."
The girl stares up at her, blinking. "You're really calm."
Seren offers a small smile. "I've made worse messes."
Then she turns and walks away, her expression unreadable.
That afternoon, while scrubbing a brass basin, Seren hears someone humming behind her.
It's Sister Lanna, leaning against the kitchen doorframe, her hands tucked into her sleeves. She's older than most of the Sisters, with laugh lines at the corners of her mouth and a voice that always sounds amused, even when she's scolding.
"Hard at work, Saintling?"
Seren doesn't look up. "That's not my name."
"Not yet," Lanna agrees. "But the High Priest likes the way you smile when you lie."
Seren pauses. Then says quietly, "And do you?"
Lanna shrugs. "I prefer honesty. But I'm not the one writing the prophecies."
She walks off, still humming.
Seren watches the brass basin for a long time. Her reflection swims across its surface, warped and flickering.
She remembered dying with a smile on her face.Let's see if they'll still love it when I start smiling again.