 
# The Unblessed Dead

## The Hidden Necromancer Series - Book 1

## Rhiannon Frater
The Unblessed Dead

By Rhiannon Frater

Copyright © 2018. All Rights reserved.

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Cover art by Corey Hollins

Edited by Holly-Ann Kasprzak

Formatted by Kody Boye

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the proper written permission of the copyright owners, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

# Contents

1. A History

2. The Man in the Garden

3. Choices to be Made

4. The Stranger

5. The Unblessed Dead

6. Fearful Ruminations

7. The House on the Hill

8. The Undertaker

9. Nothing is the Same

10. The Wardens

11. The Accuser

12. Courtyard of the Accused

13. The Necromancer Trial

14. The Verdict

15. Aftermath

16. Trapped

17. Truth & Lies

18. Warnings

Epilogue

Also by Rhiannon Frater

About the Author
1

# A History

"...the dead are killing the living. This is it! The end of the world. It's finally here! Time to go zombie hunting! Make sure to double tap." – Unknown male young adult on a recovered vid, 2023 A.D.

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"The government is dropping nuclear bombs on the big cities, honey. I'm not going to get out of Houston alive. Make a run for Mexico with the kids. It might be your only chance to survive." – Peter Santiago, recovered message on excavated server, 2023 A.D.

* * *

"Everything is destroyed. America has fallen." – Unknown survivor, painted message on Lincoln Memorial, July 4, 7 A.A. (Anno Apocalypsis)

* * *

"I just want to die. This isn't a life worth living." – Unknown author, recovered journal, 53 A.A.

* * *

"Dispatch: Old Mexico City has reported women who can control the dead clearing large portions of land outside the wall. Photographic evidence provided." – Archives of The Enclave. 100 A.A.

* * *

"We are necromancers. We've come to serve the living and save them from the dead. Don't be afraid." – Cleric Yesina, Old Mexico City speech documented by Felipe Munoz, 101 A.A.

* * *

"What's with these women controlling the dead? It's devil magic." – President Alfonse of Texas, 115 A.A.

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"Word is they are burning the necromancers at the stake, blaming us for the apocalypse. We must be careful until we can establish trust among the surviving communities of humanity." – Cleric Oliva, Far Reaches Settlement, 130 A.A.

"The necromancer Clerics have cleared the ruins of the city. Excavation teams are hopeful they'll recover the lost technology of the old world. Humanity will rise again!" – Fern Goddard, leader of the first attempt to reclaim lost technology, 252 A.A.

* * *

Technology corrupted humanity. We must never rely upon it again. – Author Unknown, inscription on the wall of the First Reclaimed City founded in 429 A.A.

* * *

"The Enclave is a testament to the surviving spirit of humanity. The embrace of technology will restore our dominance on this earth. With the help of the necromancer Chantry, we will build an extensive train system that will connect all the remaining human settlements." – Queen Maxima II of The Enclave, 583 A.A.

* * *

"The world was pure and without technology for hundreds of years. Then evil stirred in the hearts of humanity and they dug through the remains of the lost cities until they rediscovered the very technology that destroyed the world. Now our world is corrupted once more and we are one of the few settlements that adheres to the sacred words of the Three Gods given to us in the Lost Texts. We will not falter in our devotion to the humble, pious life the gods have chosen for us." – Elder Vladimir, founder of the Atonement Settlement, speech at dedication circa 605 A.A.

* * *

When the dead rose from their graves in an apocalypse of carnage and death, we retreated behind high walls where we cowered until the discovery of the Lost Texts. Then we found true freedom and peace. We must honor our dead – our Beloved Dead. They are not damned like the Unblessed Dead outside our walls, but awaiting the redemption of the Three Gods. We must protect them for this is our sacred duty. – Elder Rotham, _Treatise of the Beloved Dead: A Call for Sanctification_ , 793 A.A.

* * *

The devil-women were the hidden powers of the former world. They corrupted those in power, used technology to bring about the end of times, and then razed what was left with their armies of the dead. Now they hide behind the technological power of the corrupt city of The Enclave and wear the robes of false prophets in their Chantry. These so-called necromancer Clerics are heretics. They should never be allowed to enter the Atonement Settlement and cause their corruption here. We must stand strong in the power of the Three Gods. We must adhere to the Lost Texts!

– Elder Alvus, 1004 A.A. at the conviction of Therese Nott
2

# The Man in the Garden

I awoke to discover a dead man standing in the garden.

Now I linger near my bedroom window watching him. Mist swirls around his emaciated figure, and obscures his mottled face, but I recognize him even in the gloom of the night.

I scurry across the rough wooden floor to my sister's bed on the other side of our small room and shake her awake.

"Leave me alone, Ilyse," she mutters beneath her blankets. She burrows deeper, leaving only the halo of her blond hair on the pillow.

"Carrie, Schoolmaster Simmons is in the garden," I whisper.

Flipping the covers down, she glares at me. "Schoolmaster Simmons is dead."

Returning her peeved look, I say, "I know he's dead. But he's still in our garden."

Lifting herself onto her elbow, she stares at me, her eyes slowly filling with understanding. "Oh. Again?"

"We have to return him to the Perdition Sanctuary before Father discovers him. Hurry."

My heart is beating so hard in my chest it feels like it will shatter my ribs. How many times will this happen before my father discovers one of the Beloved Dead in the garden staring at our bedroom window and my fate is sealed?

I grab my hooded robe from the hook on the wall near our bedroom door and shove my feet into my leather slippers. Behind me, I hear Carrie doing the same.

"Why does this keep happening?" Carrie's frustration bleeds into her hushed voice.

"I don't know."

I can't share my fears with her. If I tell her what I suspect, my younger sister will panic, and my father will certainly notice. She's an awful liar.

Carrie lies on the floor next to her bed and stretches out on her stomach to pull her control pole free from its hiding place. I do the same, my fingers searching the edge of the bedframe until I find my rod, and dislodge it. Hiding the tools from our father is necessary since women aren't allowed to interact with the Beloved Dead. We'd been forced to use tree branches to usher poor Matron Chao back to the Perdition Sanctuary. A traveling merchant had eagerly traded with me for the poles when I'd presented a basket full of fresh fruits, vegetables, and herbs from our garden.

Carrie shrugs on her robe and pulls the hood over her head. "Are we the only ones dealing with them somehow getting out?"

"Maybe." I twist my auburn hair into a bun at the nape of my neck and set the hood low over my forehead. "If others are dealing with the Beloved Dead escaping the Perdition Sanctuary, they're not speaking about it openly."

"Just like us." She picks up her pole, her expression pensive. "Should we tell?"

I shake my head. "We can't risk our names being tarnished with scandal. My Bridal Auction is soon. Yours is in five years. We must be of Pious Standing to secure husbands."

With a disgruntled look, Carrie hurries to the window. "Sometimes I tire of always being in Pious Standing."

I flinch at her words. I'm much more cautious than my younger sister when it comes to criticizing the way of life in the Atonement Settlement. Over my seventeen years, I've witnessed the repercussions that come with falling out of Pious Standing. At four years younger, Carrie is sheltered by our father and aunt. Sometimes I wonder if that's a wise choice on their part. My father fears that we'll imitate our eldest sister's rebellion and bolt in the middle of the night into the Deadlands beyond the walls of our settlement. He's done his best to instill fear into our hearts and train us in the way of the Lost Texts, but despite his best endeavors, the world appears to conspire against us. If anyone sees the Beloved Dead in our garden, we'll be suspected of being necromancers and put on trial.

Armed with my pole, I unlatch the locks on the top and the bottom of the lead glass. Carefully, I swing the heavy window panes outward so I can step over the sill and onto the grass. The mist stirs around my feet, cold and damp. Carrie follows in my wake, her fingers tight around her pole.

"Be careful," I whisper.

She rolls her eyes. "Like I'm not?"

The thick plastic loops at the end of the control poles swing back and forth as we approach Schoolmaster Simmons. My former mentor stands among the strawberries, his head cocked, staring at us with white, empty eyes as we approach. The sleeve of his tattered coat is folded and pinned over the stump of his arm. He was born in the Radiated Lands without a full arm on one side and with missing fingers on the other. Not one week dead, he still retains some semblance to the man he'd been in life.

I miss his gentle guidance in my studies and his encouragement to imagine a life beyond the Atonement Settlement. I'd been dreaming of our last conversation when I'd awakened to see him in the garden.

Is that why he stands in front of us now?

Have I summoned him without realizing what I was doing?

He doesn't stir at our approach. Since he was blind in life, I assume he must be blind as a Beloved Dead. Still, he appears transfixed by something unseen over my shoulder just like the other three we'd found in our garden. This makes me very uneasy.

"I'll go first," I whisper to Carrie.

All the people who die in the Atonement Settlement are sanctified to become Beloved Dead before they are placed in the Perdition Sanctuary. One day the Three Gods will cleanse the earth and resurrect the Beloved Dead. We're taught at the Wednesday Gatherings that they're at peace, unlike the Unblessed Dead beyond the walls. It was when we'd had to return Matron Chao that I discovered this teaching was not the truth. They're still as dangerous as the dead who haven't received the blessing.

Approaching my old mentor, I raise the pole so the loop dangles close to his head. His craggy cheeks and long nose give him a skeletal appearance in the dim light. Fear ripples through me as his blind eyes appear to shift to observe me.

"Ilyse, be careful. Remember the other two," Carrie whispers before she gingerly steps around the plants to position herself behind our former teacher. "They don't attack until you try to trap them."

The mist churns around us, obscuring the walls surrounding the garden and our squat stone house with the thick thatched roof. The Beloved Dead have only appeared in our garden when the fog flows off the river. I wonder about this, but not for long.

My former mentor lunges toward me with an agonized moan as I'm about to lower the loop around his head. It slides off onto his shoulder, and I scurry backward, keeping out of his reach. He sweeps his one arm at me, slicing the moist air between us. Face contorting with desperate hunger, he again charges me. His coffee-stained teeth champ together, biting at the air. I dread the thought of those teeth sinking into me. Deflecting the attack, I shove the end of the pole with great force into his chest and push him. He moans again, a mournful yet desperate sound that reverberates through me like the strum of a harp. The walls of our house are thick, and I pray that my father and aunt don't hear our struggle.

Behind him, Carrie surges forward and snags his head with the loop of her control pole. He swings toward her, growling as his three-fingered hand slaps at the metal bar. The stump of his other arm flails in my direction. Despite the blessing oil he was anointed with before he was placed in the Perdition Sanctuary, he reeks of death. I recoil at the smell, but push through my repulsion to assist my sister. I reposition my control pole near his head and lower the loop. It settles at the base of his neck, and I tighten it around his throat, cutting off his moans. The rod trembles beneath the press of his dead flesh.

With a nervous giggle, Carrie says, "That was a little scary."

"We did better this time than the last." I still remember the feel of Matron Chao's fingers on my skin when we caught her near our orange trees.

"Let's hurry. I want more sleep," my sister whispers.

The Beloved Dead writhes between us, attempting to attack me, then my sister. Back and forth he swings, desperate for our blood and flesh. The staves are a strong alloy and withstand his assault. Sadly, our strawberry plants have taken the brunt of the struggle. We'll have to blame the raccoons again.

Keeping my former teacher between us, we drag him toward the iron gate in the far corner of the wall. The mist grows thicker as we near it, and the flagstone walkway is slick under our leather slippers. We rotate about so I can unlatch the gate and open it. Schoolmaster Simmons struggles against the loops tightened around his neck. His three fingers tug at my pole, his pale white eyes seeming to stare through me.

Pushing the gate open, I step onto the long narrow path sandwiched between the high wall that guards us from the outside world and the walls that surround the long line of houses. In the distance, the Perdition Sanctuary waits for us. The iron structure towers high above the houses, the steeple a sharp dagger piercing the fog.

I pull Schoolmaster Simmons into the passage and my sister follows with her pole pressed to the back of his neck. The passage is only used during the day, so we trod along without fear of detection. The ominous shadows grant us cover as the mist pours over the high wall to pool around us.

We keep the dead man between us as we direct him toward his new home. He thrashes about, pulling on the restraints. Carrie is smaller than I am, but stronger. A childhood illness weakened me, and I have never fully recovered. My muscles tense as I attempt to hold him steady. Carrie yanks his head back, forcing him to bow his back. It helps me control him.

I count the houses we pass. There are seven between our home and the Perdition Sanctuary. All the windows are dark. The only light piercing the haze is the full moon. A few dogs bark as we pass the enclosed yards, but my sister shushes them. They adore her, and quiet at the sound of her voice. She often gives them treats when she walks to and from school. I'm grateful for her kindness. The dogs quieting means less chances of us being discovered and hauled before the Elders for disciplinary measures.

Each step is not without difficulty. The Beloved Dead staggers between us, falling against the walls as he tries to reach me and fails. Thick, disgusting fluid seeps from where the plastic loops dig into his neck. My back and arms scream with pain as I tug him onward. When we finally arrive at the gate at the end of the passage, I'm relieved. My fingers find the latch and I swing the gate open.

Perdition Sanctuary looms over us. The dark and imposing iron facade seems to reject the dim moonlight and it's darker here. Blinking, my vision adjusts to the deeper gloom. Carrie and I know this area well since we've returned the Beloved Dead twice, and I dread having to do it again.

One of the Sanctification Altars is directly in front of us. We guide the dead man forward. Maybe it's my imagination, but he seems reluctant to return. Abruptly, he twists about to face my sister. His action startles us, but Carrie darts to one side so we can drag him between us.

The Sanctification Altar is a man-size drawer that extends outward from the base of the building. On an elevated platform inside the drawer, iron cuffs are bolted to the surface: one for the neck, two for the arms, and two more for the legs. This is the most difficult part of our task. The altar is for the dying or freshly dead who have yet to rise. Carrie and I have had to sort out how to wrestle a writhing living corpse onto the altar. We nearly lost Matron Chao the first time.

Carrie is the stronger of us, so she moves to the head of the altar. I slide my pole's loop free of my mentor's head and press the end into his waist, forcing him to fold over as he attempts to grab me. While Carrie tugs, I shove, and we manage to get him seated on the altar. My sister pulls him backward as I dare to grab his ankles, and pivot him about so we can lay him flat. He jerks toward me, mouth wide to bite, but Carrie drags him back.

Thrashing, the dead man fights to escape while I secure his feet with the iron restraints. Carrie holds his head in place with her pole as I grab his arm and try to force it into the restraint at his side. His snarls grow louder, and a dog starts to howl nearby. He fights me, his three fingers trying to grip my clothing and pull me down to his hungry mouth.

"I can't hold him much longer!" my sister exclaims. "Get his head secure and be done with it!"

I lean over his prone body to snap close the restraint that will hold his head in place. His fingers claw at my cloak, but he is unable to get a good grip. Surging forward against the plastic tightened around his neck, he snaps his teeth in my direction. He wrenches so hard against the plastic loop, it burrows deep into his flesh. Foul smelling liquid pours from the wound.

"Stop," I impulsively order him.

Teeth snapping shut, he stares at me and stills.

I'm shocked that he has obeyed.

I can see Carrie is, too.

Hastily I clamp the cuff around his neck.

With a disgusted expression, Carrie jerks the plastic loop free of his rotting flesh and sets her pole on the ground. Since we're not one of the Brethren of the Sanctuary, there won't be a sanctification ritual. Carrie pulls the lever that slides the heavy drawer into the side of the building.

The gears of the internal mechanism work flawlessly. The platform lowers into the drawer and the entire thing glides into the side of the building. We ignore Schoolmaster Simmon's hand reaching for us, trying to stop us from banishing him to dwell with the rest of the Beloved Dead. The drawer locks into place. I place my palm against the hatch and feel the metal shuddering beneath it as the platform is dragged through an internal safety door to the other side. Next the shackles will be released so that the Beloved Dead will be deposited into the Perdition Sanctuary.

Carrie sags against the closed drawer with relief. "That was gruesome. The others didn't fight that much."

The closed metal drawer shudders against our backs as the cleansing process removes any body fluids from the platform and shackles.

"He was taller and bigger." My arms and back ache from our struggle.

Carrie leans her head against my shoulder.

Silence stretches between us.

"He stopped when you told him to," she says in a hesitant manner.

I can feel her watching me.

"Do you think..." she falters.

"I startled him," I reply swiftly, stifling my fear before it seeps into my voice.

"Maybe he remembered you? Just for a moment?" Her gaze drifts to the observation window that is currently shuttered. In front of it are flowers left by the grieving tucked into vases. "Do you think Mother remembers us?"

"I hope not," I answer truthfully.

Carrie picks up her pole and starts toward the gate, but stops. I know what she'll do. She can't help herself. It's a ritual I don't understand. How does she find comfort in it? I start to follow, but my slipper rolls over something. I squat to see one of Schoolmaster Simmon's fingers lying on the ground. It must have been severed when the drawer closed.

Casting a worried look toward my sister, I see her sliding open the panel over the observation window. Her attention is solely focused on seeing our mother inside the sanctuary. If not for my mother's suicide, she wouldn't be one of the Beloved Dead. Taking her own life was a sign of atonement, so she was given the sanctification rites.

The last time my father ever spoke of my mother he said, "Your mother is at peace. I saw to it."

Hastily, I kick the finger over to the wall and with the end of my pole dig a small hole in the dark soil. When it's a few inches deep, I shove the digit into the small grave with the toe of my slipper.

Again, I look at Carrie. She stands with her hands pressed to the thick glass, completely fixated on the Beloved Dead.

I scoot the dirt into place with my foot and pat it down. My heart is beating anxiously. The final evidence of our sordid adventure is buried. It feels disrespectful to not return the severed digit to my former mentor, but I don't know what else to do.

"Carrie," I hiss. "We need to go before we're caught."

Looking over her shoulder, Carrie says, "Is that her, Ilyse?"

I hurry over to the observation window to tug her away, but her tormented expression stills my hand on her arm. I force myself to gaze into the Perdition Sanctuary. The Beloved Dead of the Atonement Settlement wander about the huge space inside. Schoolmaster Simmons stumbles along, standing out amidst his brethren. Mottled flesh, white eyes, straw-like hair, desiccated limbs, and gaping mouths filled with rotten teeth and black bile renders the appearance of all the older Beloved Dead indistinguishable from each other. Only the new occupants bear any resemblance to their living faces. It occurs to me that only the freshly dead have appeared in our garden.

"Is that her, Ilyse?" Carrie whispers.

The dim light inside the building is deliberate. It's to obscure the worst of the Beloved Dead's decay. The dead cannot see us. The thick observation window, threaded with bars of iron, only allows us to see them. Through the cluster of bodies, I see the figure my sister is pointing to. My heart hammers harder against my ribs.

Our mother stands alone in the center of the Beloved Dead. Her once rich brown hair is matted to her face and neck. Her long dress is in tatters. Somehow her shawl has remained pinned about her shoulders all these long years. Around her neck is a necklace with a silver rose.

"No, I don't think so," I lie.

"I wish I knew which one is her. I don't remember her face at all," Carrie says, sighing.

"Should I describe her again?" I ask.

The Atonement Settlement's disdain for technology is only matched by its hatred of the arts. We don't own a vid, photo, or sketch of my mother. My memory of her is fading, and every day I struggle to remember the details of her face.

"Please?"

I move to close the panel over the observation window as Carrie turns away. "She had long brown hair with glints of red. Her skin was darker than ours. Like burnished wood. Her eyes were hazel, and shaped like a cat's." My fingers catch the handle on the panel, and I draw it slowly over the window so as not to make too much noise.

Carrie waits for me to finish, her head bowed under her hood and her fingers gripping the control pole tightly.

I continue to describe our mother as I ignore her decayed figure beyond the thick glass. The metal panel is heavy, and I turn to face the window as I use both hands to draw it shut.

My mother's dead face comes into view as she rushes the window. My voice falters, and my fingers tremble. One skeletal hand rests against the glass she should not be able to see through, and her dead white eyes seem to stare into mine. Her mouth strains to form shapes, as though she's attempting to say words.

With a whimper, I pull the panel shut, blocking her from view.

"Ilyse?" Carrie is staring at me.

"We need to hurry." I rush toward her and grab her hand.

"What did you see? You saw something, didn't you?"

I wrench open the gate and push her into the passage. "I saw the Beloved Dead. Just as you did."

"But you're trembling."

I don't pause in my haste to return home. I drag her along with me. The dogs are silent. The mist is thicker. I feel pursued by the gaze of my dead mother.

"Ilyse?"

Finally, we arrive at our gate, and I open it for her. She refuses to step through, her chin set in defiance.

"What did you see?" she asks, anger flashing in her eyes.

"Nothing," I answer. "I didn't want to be discovered. My Bridal Auction is soon, remember?"

With a sigh, she says, "I thought you saw her. Sometimes, I feel as though she's watching me when I visit. But I can never tell which one is her."

"It doesn't matter. She's one of the Beloved Dead awaiting the Resurrection. And we are the living. Her daughters. Awaiting our Bridal Auction and a life of Piety and Serenity. We must remember that."

I can see my words have dampened her spirits. She presses past me to clean off her control pole with the garden pump. I do the same, then we climb through our window. We hide away the poles, make sure the soles of our slippers are clean, and shake out our robes. Finally, I close the heavy panes of the window, and crawl into my bed.

Darkness dwells in the corners of the room and the mist piles against the leaded glass of the window. Turning my face into my pillow, I hide my tears and sobs from my sister.

If I am a necromancer like our mother was, I am doomed.
3

# Choices to be Made

The sun is just cracking the horizon when the roosters start their morning ritual. Their loud announcements of the day rouse me from my bed as Carrie drags her legs out from under the covers.

"I blinked and it was day," she grumbles.

"We better hurry, or Father will be suspicious of us sleeping in," I say.

I grab my day dress from the wardrobe and fresh underthings from the drawer. I feel sluggish and my eyes are still puffy from crying. Usually Carrie tries to race me to the bathroom, but today she watches me from her perch on the end of the bed with bleary eyes. I feel a bite of envy at her lack of worry. We both know Father won't chastise her like he would me for being late to breakfast. Despite my moment of jealousy, I decide to rush through my bathing ritual so she can make it to the table before Father sits down.

It's better for everyone if the day starts on a good note.

Especially after what Carrie and I endured the night before. Everything must be exactly as normal. Neither one of us can afford falling under suspicion.

I open the door to the narrow hallway, and scamper along the cold wood floor to the bathroom. Once inside, I work the pump to fill the tub with three inches of lukewarm water from the outside tank. It's rarely hot, despite my father's maintenance man repairing the boiler numerous times. Sitting in the tub, I scrub my skin nearly raw. I still feel tainted from the night before. The scent of death clings to my nostrils. I wonder if I'm imagining the smell, or if it really is clinging to me like spider webs. My mother's dead face haunted me while I slept, and even now I can see her blackened lips twisting into words.

Since she was a necromancer in life, can she communicate as one of the Beloved Dead?

The thought nearly makes me retch because it's too horrible to consider.

Worse yet, what if I'm like her? She took own her life in her jail cell out of shame. Will I be tempted to do the same? Or will I be banished to the Deadlands and forced to try to survive all the terrors that dwell out there?

After I finish washing my body, I grab the pitcher from beside the tub and fill it with water from the pump. I use half to wet my hair. I scrub soap into my locks, then use the other half to rinse it. My hair still feels a little soapy, but I hesitate to use more water. Though we live next to the river, all the water needs to be purified through the external pumps built outside each house. Contaminants are dangerous. Besides, excess of any kind is frowned upon, and considered sinful. I've done my fair share of sinning since last night. I broke many of our rules. I resist filling the pitcher again, drain the tub, and wipe it down with my used washcloth.

I dress in a lightweight white cotton dress with long sleeves, a high collar, and a hem that brushes the tops of my feet. My aunt convinced my father to allow her to add lace to the dress "to emphasize femininity" since I'm of age to attract a husband. It's a small luxury I enjoy. After combing out my long hair, I braid it and wrap it into a bun. I tuck my feet into my slippers and stand before the small mirror over the sink. My eyes are puffy and my cheeks are a bit too red from the soap, but I look presentable.

When I open the door, Carrie is leaning against the wall clutching her things.

"Took you long enough," she mutters.

"I hurried," I retort, sticking out my tongue.

Carrie is always grumpy in the morning, so I don't take her snarled lip to heart.

She slams the door behind me.

I hurry along the narrow hallway to the main hall, leather slippers whispering softly against the polished wood floors. Father's coat and hat are missing from the hooks by the door. He hasn't returned from the bakery yet. His mornings start very early, but he always returns home for the first meal of the day. I stride through the living area filled with sturdy furniture made of wood and leather. The walls are bare except for a plaque on the wall that reads "To live simply is to be humble." Schoolmaster Simmons had discreetly shown me vids on his tablet of houses in other settlements that are full of adornments when he'd tried to convince me to attend the Academy in The Republic. I was intrigued by the images, but my people shun vanity. I sometimes wish we had a picture of my mother and older sister. I miss them, though I can't say that to my father. He refuses to even mention them.

Slowing, I clasp my hands before me and enter the dining area. The oval table is laid with clean white stoneware dishes and sunlight streams through the filmy lace curtains over the window. My aunt sits at one end of the table next to her son in his wheelchair. She's dressed in the pale gray dress all second wives wear, and her dark hair is twisted into a high bun on her head. Aunt Leticia is my mother's sister, but there isn't really a resemblance between them except for their coloring. My mother's face was full with round cheeks, which I inherited, while my aunt's face is all hard lines and hollows. My mother always smiled, but my aunt never does.

I suppose I can't blame her for always appearing dour. After my mother's trial, my aunt fell under suspicion. Because she lived in another settlement where the Lost Texts aren't strictly followed, she was spared an inquiry. Soon after my mother's conviction, my aunt's husband died in a farming accident. Her brother-in-law immediately took over the family house and farm. Though he was single and obeyed the Lost Texts, he refused to marry his brother's widow. He desired a young bride and turned Leticia out even though she was pregnant. My father had yet to take a new wife after my mother's suicide. Since he only had female children, he offered to marry Leticia and adopt her newborn son as his heir. They seemed content with the arrangement, but her woes were not over. When Rennon was four, he fell from a catwalk when visiting the bakery, and broke his spine. It devastated my father and aunt, but not being able to walk hasn't slowed Rennon down one bit. At seven, he's a bit of a hellion.

"Good morning, Ilyse," my aunt says.

"Good morning," I answer neutrally.

My father tried to force me and Carrie to call her 'mother,' but we couldn't bring ourselves to obey. For a while I called her Aunt Leticia, but that became a point of contention. So I avoid addressing her directly. So does Carrie.

I lean over and hug Rennon. He squeezes me tight, his little arms much stronger than people would assume. As far as Rennon is concerned, Carrie and I are his sisters, and we don't correct him.

"How are you, Rennon?" I ask.

"I'm so hungry I'm going to eat everyone's breakfast," he answers, grinning.

"You can't eat mine! I'm famished!"

"Then I'll eat Carrie's, since she's not here!"

"Rennon, you're getting overexcited. Calm down," my aunt says.

Rennon rolls his eyes, and folds his arms over his chest.

I take my seat and feel my aunt's eyes on me. It's hard to resist the urge to touch my eyes and see if they're still puffy from crying.

"You look very plain today," my aunt says watching me closely.

"Thank you. I aspire to be humble and without pride," I respond correctly.

She smiles slightly. "As all good women should."

Carrie slides into the dining room, her shoes slipping on the floor. Her wet blond hair is in braids which cling to her shoulders as she quickly takes her chair. Not a second later, the front door opens. Immediately, we all straighten in our chairs and await the arrival of our patriarch.

Father enters the room free of his black overcoat and hat. Thick gray hair and lines around his eyes reveal his age, but he's still a very handsome man. To atone for this, he doesn't wear a beard. His gray shirt is immaculate under black suspenders, and his black trousers don't have a fleck of dirt or flour on them. I don't know how he remains so neat in the large bakery he owns and runs. Under his arm, wrapped in paper, is a fresh loaf of bread for our breakfast. The aroma is delicious, and my mouth waters. Taking his seat opposite my aunt, he sets the bread in the empty basket set next to his plate.

"Good morning, my family," he says in his rich vibrant voice.

"Good morning, Father," his three children respond.

"Good morning, Harris," his wife says.

"May the gods bless us on this day," he continues.

"Amen," we reply.

"May the gods bless our food."

"Amen."

"May the gods bless our family."

"Amen."

"Let us eat." My father picks up the sharp bread knife and starts to cut the loaf into chunks. Steam rises from each slice.

We wait for him to speak with our hands resting on our laps. His daily duty is to guide our conversation, and prepare us for the day's events.

"There is concerning news today," he says at last. He finishes cutting the bread, takes two slices, then hands the basket to me.

My aunt waits for me to finish setting a piece of bread on my plate, but her eyes are on my father. "Oh?"

"The Bridgetown Settlement fell to the Unblessed Dead last week," he somberly announces.

My aunt audibly gasps. That's where she lived until her first husband died.

Carrie gives me a sharp look.

I ignore her and slide the basket to my aunt. Did the Unblessed Dead somehow slip through their defenses like the Beloved Dead have been escaping the Perdition Sanctuary?

Recovering her shock, my aunt asks, "May I ask how it happened?"

"You may, wife. It was the necromancers," my father answers, his voice thick with distaste. "Governor Cole's own daughter was secretly a necromancer. Her evil brought ruin upon the entire settlement."

"Aura? But she's just a child!" My aunt forgets the bread basket, her fingers tugging nervously on the napkin on her lap.

"A _dangerous_ child."

Across the table Carrie raises her eyes, and we stare at one another. I'm not certain what she's trying to silently convey to me, but I wonder if maybe she suspects I'm a necromancer. The thought makes me very uneasy. I believe Carrie loves me, but she often speaks without care. Carrie doesn't know what it was like to be under suspicion when our mother went on trial. My older sister, Angelina, and I passed the test the Elders ordered to determine if we were evil devil-women or not. I still have nightmares about the test. It's the reason why Angelina ran away. I shiver, and struggle not to remember the terrifying days of my mother's trial. I force myself to focus on the conversation at hand.

"Is the entire settlement lost, Harris?"

"It's a ruin. Very few survived. The Enclave sent help, but it was too late. Word is that Cleric Fabiola was there, but didn't stop Aura until it was too late. More evidence of the duplicity of the necromancers." My father's contempt of the necromancers is very clear from his scowl to the way he butters his bread with swift motions of his knife.

Rennon taps my aunt's shoulder and points to the bread. She recovers slightly from her shock, serves herself, then hands it to him.

"What will happen to Aura?" Carrie dares to ask.

As always, my father ignores her breach in propriety. "Nothing. It's been done. She's dead."

"By the Unblessed?" My aunt is very pale, and her hand trembles next to her plate.

I can't imagine what it must be like to discover all your friends and first husband's family has been slaughtered by the Unblessed. I reach out and rest my hand on hers. She clutches it thankfully for a few seconds before releasing it.

My father shakes his head. "No. By Cleric Fabiola. She apparently pushed her from a copter."

My aunt ignores Annah, our housekeeper, as she arrives at the table with a plate filled with fried eggs and bacon. "This sounds so outlandish. Can it be true? Perhaps the story is propaganda created by The Republic. You know how they hate that the necromancers are tools of the Enclave."

The plump housekeeper, not much older than I am, glances toward my father briefly. I have often caught her casting admiring looks at him, but he doesn't seem to even notice her. Annah is one of the unfortunate women who didn't find a husband at her Bridal Auction and entered into servitude to pay her way through life. Though she's nice enough, I avoid Annah. She's a reminder of what I could become if I fail to attract a good husband.

"The Republic is jealous of the necromancers. That's why they're trying to cultivate their own. They're just as much heretics as the monarchists in The Enclave. The Unblessed wreak havoc on their defenses on a regular basis. But that being said, it's true. News arrived with the train this morning. Most disturbing, yet fortuitous. I received several inquiries in the postal dispatch from both The Republic and The Enclave about delivering bread and flour to both." My father starts to eat, and I realize he's pleased with the events. It confirms his suspicions about the necromancers, and also presents business opportunities. "I will have to speak with my foremen, and calculate the cost of expanding the bakery. It's fortunate that Ilyse is about to have her Bridal Auction. There are several potential husbands with large farms. Crofter Beckett has announced that this is the year he will take a wife. This is very good news. The funds from the auction and the new land will greatly advance my business."

As I eat small bites of my heavily buttered bread, I attempt not to look as unsettled as I feel. Carrie is watching me, but my father and aunt are oblivious to my discomfort. I know my father loves me, and does care about my future, but at the moment I feel like a pastry sitting in one of his many shops scattered around the settlements in the Outland Territory.

"What about Crofter Rivera? He's very devout and has more land than any other farmer. He just turned thirty, so he will be looking for a wife," my aunt says. "He'd have many strong sons with Ilyse."

"He's taken a husband," my father answers with a sigh. "Just last week. A young doctor from one of the Reclaimed Settlements. They've already filed to adopt an heir."

My aunt frowns as she serves each of us a plate of food, and passes them down the table. "Disappointing. Though the settlement can use another doctor."

"Crofter Becket will be a very fine husband for Ilyse. He's a little older than most potential husbands at thirty-two, but he's from a very good family. They've been devout to the Lost Texts since it was discovered."

"He's so red though. Like a beet," Carrie exclaims.

"That's from being in the sun," my aunt answers.

Crofter Beckett is a tall man with shaggy blond hair, a thick beard, and a ruddy face. I've seen him at Wednesday Gathering, but he never seemed to take notice of me. Of course, we aren't allowed to talk to anyone of the opposite sex. Most couples don't speak a word to each other until their wedding. The only men I am allowed to freely speak with are Rennon and my father. When my uncles or male cousins visit, they must only speak to the women of the family when my father is in attendance. The mere thought of being alone with any man makes me feel queasy. I can't imagine what I would say or do. Yet, in a very short time I'm expected to be a proper wife. And if I am a necromancer, how will I ever hide that truth from my future husband? I'll end up on trial like my mother.

I set my fork down, unable to bite into my cooling eggs.

"I should send word that Ilyse would make a good farmer's wife. She's smart, sensible, and very plain," my father says, then sips his coffee.

"A woman plain of face is a virtuous woman," my aunt quotes the Lost Texts.

My heart sinks a bit. I'd hoped to marry one of the tradesmen in the town. If I marry a farmer, I will only come into town for Wednesday Gathering, which means I'll rarely see my family. I fidget with my fork as my father continues to discuss the advantages of me marrying Crofter Beckett. I know my father cares about me and my future, yet I'm unsettled by his obvious elation that my marriage will potentially advance his business dealings. As I listen to my father speak of a brighter future for his business, my fear of failing him threatens to choke me.

Carrie taps my knee with her toes, and I look at her across the table. The small smile she gives me is filled with concern and love. Though I never share my misgivings about my potential future, she seems to sense my discomfort. Carrie adheres to the Lost Texts just as devoutly as I do, but she's more open with mocking some of the tenets when she finds them restrictive. She didn't suffer what I did after the suicide of our mother. I came under great scrutiny for weeks until I was tested and found to be without my mother's powers.

I am still haunted by those days and nights. I still remember the accusing glares, and the pointed questions. I remember the suspicion in my own father's eyes until he saw me tested and I failed to exhibit the abilities of the necromancer.

I will never forget how it felt to be lowered into the pen of the Unblessed and stand on a narrow podium just above their heads. I still have nightmares about their fingers clutching at the edges of the platform, inches from my feet, as they attempted to reach me. Their dead faces cracked, and oozed black blood as they howled for my flesh. I'd cowered just out of reach for twenty-four hours.

In the twenty-fifth hour, the wardens lowered the podium and the clawed hands of the dead grazed my flesh. Only when I had suffered enough lacerations and blood covered the surface where I cowered, had the Elders deemed I was not a necromancer.

I still bear the scars.

I force myself to take another bite of my breakfast and chew to avoid suspicion. My family continues to chatter about possible husbands and future business endeavors.

Schoolmaster Simmons and his wife had attempted to convince me that attending the Academy in The Republic was a viable option for my future despite my adherence to the Lost Texts. They argued I was too intelligent and inquisitive about the world to remain in the Atonement Settlement. An education at the Academy would open possibilities for me beyond just being a wife and mother. They were always a bit vague on what that meant, but I assumed they meant I could be a schoolmistress.

Though the Elder and Council of Crats extoll the virtues of the Lost Texts and our laws are based on its teachings, residents aren't forced to be strict adherents. There are rumors that in the future it will be required, but it hasn't happened yet. At the same time, it's not wise to push the agendas of other communities. Families have been evicted from the Atonement Settlement if they were seen as a corrupting influence. The Simmons escaped most criticism because after they took over the school the skillset of their graduates were better-quality and the new husbands were pleased.

I have to admit I am intrigued by The Republic as much as I'm afraid of The Enclave. In The Republic freedom is highly valued and innovation is encouraged. It was founded by people who left The Enclave because of their dislike of the monarchy and Chantry. My father says The Republic is basically a bunch of outlaws pretending to have a society, but he likes their business. He also likes The Enclave's business even though he hates their love of technology and the Chantry.

"They're degenerates and heretics, but they pay well," he always says.

I'd resisted the encouragement of the Simmons, afraid of abandoning my family and faith for a different life. But that was before the Beloved Dead started to appear in my garden and I started to fear that my mother's powers are manifesting in me.

As dread starts to choke me and make it difficult to swallow, I wonder if that is why my old mentor had appeared in the garden. Perhaps he was trying to warn me, and make me realize that my only hope of surviving is to leave my home. Maybe my mother rushed the observation window to urge me to flee before I suffer her fate.

I can't ignore the truth anymore.

If my powers are revealed, I will be tested and face exile in the Deadlands. My only hope is to leave the Atonement Settlement.

As I finish my bread, I make my decision.

When I reach school, I will speak to Schoolmistress Simmons and ask her to help me like her husband once promised.
4

# The Stranger

It's a hot day and the sun pricks at my shoulders through my light cotton cape and bonnet. My father strolls in front of Carrie and me, guiding us along the narrow cobblestone lane. Stone buildings rise all around us, gray and austere. The noises of a bustling town in the early morning are vastly different from the silence of the night when we returned Schoolmaster Simmons to his resting place.

Several workmen oil the hinges on the iron shutters of a building. Every structure in town has them as a precaution against an invasion of the Unblessed. The workmen perform this task every week, going building to building testing the shutters. The smell of oil clings to the air as we pass.

One of the younger men looks my way. He's tall, fair haired, and tanned from hours in the sun. He smiles and winks when he sees me glance his way. I avert my eyes from his sweaty face. Out the corner of my eye, I see his disappointment.

His name is Bale, and he's the brother of Prudence, my best friend. Though I've never spoken to him, I know of his interest in me through his sister. I don't understand his admiration from afar, since it won't benefit either one of us. We're not allowed to speak to members of the opposite gender until marriage. Though I know some girls and boys break this rule, sneaking off for an illicit rendezvous, I would never dare do such a thing. To be caught means public chastisement and removal from the Bridal Auction to live your life as one of the Unclaimed if you're a girl. If you're a boy, you have to do hard labor for a year to atone.

Besides, we don't marry our contemporaries. Our elders believe that the best marriage is between an established man of an older age, and a girl just entering womanhood. At twenty, Bale has ten years to establish his name among one of the guilds, and create a home for a future bride. By the time he faces the Bridal Auction, I will either be long married with children, or far away in The Republic. I'm hoping for the latter.

It's obvious to me that I can't stay here. It's too dangerous. I don't want to end up like my mother, but I don't know if I have the bravery to risk scaling the wall to disappear into the Deadlands like my sister, Angelina. It's not just the roving dead you have to worry about out there, but bandits and wild beasts.

Maybe it's my imagination, but as we draw close to the Perdition Sanctuary, my skin prickles into goosebumps. Am I imagining that I can sense the dead? Is this my fear lying to me?

Carrie glances toward me, and I meet her questioning look with one of my own. Does she feel it, too? Is my sister doomed to live in fear of being a necromancer as well? Then I realize she's looking past me at the Sanctification Altar where we laid Schoolmaster Simmons to rest – again.

I turn my head to see two of the Brethren of the Sanctuary bent over something on the ground. My blood turns to ice. The spot where I buried my old mentor's severed finger is now a burrow. It appears an animal dug up the amputated digit. The white robes of the Brethren ripple in the morning breeze and their bald heads glisten with perspiration. They gesticulate toward the altar while talking, and it's not hard to guess what they're discussing.

Carrie nudges me. I realize I've stopped walking to gawk at the scene. I scurry along with my sister to catch up with our father before the Brethren notice me. I don't want to fall under suspicion again.

My father doesn't realize we're lagging behind him, much to my relief. His tall form strolls confidently through the early morning rush. People clad in their guild uniforms hurry to their various occupations. They stay on one side of the road, allowing us to pass with ease. My father is highly respected among all the various guilds, and it is wise not to displease him.

Among the throng of workers are the Unclaimed, women who failed to attract a husband at their Bridal Auction. Those who don't secure places in a household work in the fields and iron mine. Most are several years older than me, but I spot a few familiar faces. They're girls I'd seen at school until they graduated. Two were found with illicit lovers, but three others were deemed unworthy of being a wife and mother. Being plain is a tenet of our faith, but I noticed that many men pick wives that are pretty. I'm bothered by the hypocrisy.

We arrive at the Atonement School of Young Ladies, and my father stops outside the gate. The three-story stone structure rises above our heads. The pink granite school is pretty with its red-tiled roof. It's one of the older buildings of the settlement. At one time girls and boys attended school under the same roof, but then the Council of Crats made the choice to follow the Lost Texts. Now the boys attend school on the other side of town.

"I will come for you at the regular time. I have to pick up several packages at the train station, so you will be accompanying me," my father says.

"Really?" Carrie flashes her bright smile, clearly pleased.

It's always exciting to visit the train station. The settlement's wealth comes from trade with the two major industrial entities, The Enclave and The Republic. It also does brisk business with other settlements that provide necessary wares. The station was built by the Enclave, so it's opulent with thick glass walls, flashing vid screens, and a mall filled with shops. Mostly travelers shop at the stores and eat at the restaurant. Since the settlement shuns the high tech devices of the outside world, it's regarded as a den of temptation, but people still visit to acquire rare commodities and to hear the latest news out of the Deadlands. They just make sure to sniff at its impropriety.

"It's a place of excess, but it won't hurt to buy some chocolate for a special treat for my daughters," he says, suppressing a smile at Carrie's enthusiasm.

I am careful not to express any excitement. I must avoid all suspicion until my plans are made.

My father kisses each of us on the cheek, and departs for the bakery complex. I watch him go with trepidation.

"What do you think the Brethren were looking at?" Carrie whispers to me.

I glance at her, determining how much I should tell her. Then I make a decision. There is no point in worrying her. If I do fall under suspicion, I will claim sole responsibility for returning the schoolmaster to the Perdition Sanctuary.

"It looked like a dog was digging around there again. It's no big deal," I say with what I hope is a convincing smile.

"Oh!" Her shoulders relax. "For a moment I feared we'd left evidence behind."

"Don't worry. No one saw us."

"I just don't want anyone thinking we're like mother," she says. "Especially when you're so close to your Bridal Auction."

"It'll be okay. I promise." I'm desperate to change the subject. "Remember what is more important, Carrie. Later, we get to eat chocolate!"

"I know! Father must be feeling generous! The possibility of expanding his business has him so excited."

Of course, those future plans hinge on me marrying well. Guilt weighs heavily on my shoulders. Fear of discovery is forcing me find another path in life that will adversely affect my father's plans. It's hard to consider leaving my family and the settlement, but I'm too afraid to remain after last night's events. I can't live through the Necromancer Trial again. I just can't.

The bells in the tower chime, announcing the start of the school day. Carrie and I hurry through the gates and across the courtyard, joining the other girls gathered at the front doors. The air is filled with chatter and laughter. The younger girls reluctantly abandon skipping rope to line up. Carrie separates from me to join her friends while I hurry to Prudence's side.

"You look flushed," she notices.

"My father is going to take us to the train station after school. He's going to get us chocolates!"

"You're so lucky! My father won't let me near it. He says it might corrupt me." She sighs dramatically.

"I can't imagine why your father thinks you're corruptible," I say teasingly.

She giggles in response. I know all her secrets, which is a little worrying at times. But she's my only friend at school and I'd be very lonely without her. Prudence is much livelier than I am in every regard. She is Dutiful Standing, one level below me, because she does tend to push at the edges of the rules. Sometimes she breaks them, but has yet to be caught. She's not afraid of anything, which is why she's my friend while all the other girls keep their distance. Honestly, I believe the fact my mother was a necromancer makes our friendship more exciting as far as she's concerned.

"Did you see Bale?" she asks suddenly, her dark blue eyes mischievous.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"He was very excited that he'd be working on your road this morning. He wanted to see you."

I shake my head with annoyance. "I don't know _why_."

With an amused smile, she says, "He _likes_ you. I keep telling you that."

"I don't give him any encouragement whatsoever. I don't even look at him. There's no point in his interest."

"Don't you think he's handsome?" She lifts her dark eyebrows to punctuate her question.

"Yes, but I'm about to be _married_."

Leaning toward me, she says in my ear, "But that doesn't mean you can't have some fun before you marry."

I know she sneaks kisses with one of her brother's friends, but I can't fathom why she risks becoming Unclaimed. I worry about her, but I know it won't do any good. She'll do as she pleases.

I shake my head adamantly. "No. I abide by the Lost Texts."

Rolling her eyes, Prudence mutters, "Which is why you have no fun."

I don't argue with her even though I'm very uncomfortable speaking about Bale's interest in me. I don't understand it. Our way of life is well regimented. There's no reason for us to interact since we're destined to marry others.

Prudence is my only real friend. I don't want to cause a rift between us. Yet, I appreciated her friendship. Through the years she's made me laugh when all I wanted to do is cry, and has always defended me against others. The scandal was the primary allure at first, but we've become best friends despite her occasional dramatics. The other girls are cordial with me, but I don't trust them enough to be friends. I sense their disapproval lingering just below the surface of their saccharine smiles.

We're caught up in the throng pushing through the front doors as the bells chime overhead. Prudence and I separate. She hurries to the second floor for her lessons, while I ascend to the third. In my final year, all my classes are about taking care of children and the home. I miss reading, writing, math, and studying the history of the Known World, but those days are behind me. Schoolmistress Simmon's office, the one she shared with her husband until he died, is at the top of the long flight of wood steps.

Since my mother died and my older sister disappeared into the Deadlands, school has been a place of safety. Schoolmaster and Schoolmistress Simmons never regarded me with the judgment I often felt from others after my mother's conviction and suicide. If any of the other girls harassed me, they were quick to come to my defense and remind them of my innocence. Schoolmaster Simmons was the only man outside my family I was permitted to speak to since he was my instructor. Since I couldn't speak to my father about the loss of my mother and Angelina, I often found solace in sharing my feelings with Schoolmaster Simmons. I miss him, but I trust his wife to guide me in his absence.

Taking a deep breath, I peer through the open door. The Schoolmistress leans over her desk, twirling a bit of her dark red hair with her fingers. I'm not surprised to see a tablet glowing on the desktop. She and her husband aren't fundamentalist adherents to the Lost Texts. They lived a long time in The Republic before returning to the place of her birth. The Elders shun tech, but it's not outlawed by the Council of Crats.

"Ah, Ilyse! Come in!"

She waves me over to a chair before she moves to shut the door behind me. Like all women in the settlement, she was much younger than her husband, and has yet to have white strands overcome her red hair. Laugh lines decorate the corners of her eyes and adorn the sides of her mouth. The black dress she's wearing is speckled with crumbs and a half-eaten pastry sits forgotten on a plate on the corner of her desk.

I tug my bonnet from my head, letting it dangle by the ribbons tied around my neck. Clutching my hands before me, I stare at her as she settles into her chair.

"I've wanted to speak to you since Henry passed away, but the mourning rituals have been very time consuming," she says, then sighs. "It's exhausting. In The Republic they have a funeral and a wake and everyone goes back to their lives. It's so different here."

When my mother died, we had to sit through nightly services to atone for her sins and attend mourning dinners. I had hated every second. It was exhausting. Angelina had been furious that the Elders were pretending to mourn the woman they'd put on trial and condemned. She blamed them for her taking her life. Carrie had been too young to understand what was going on, and enjoyed the attention. All I had wanted to do was curl up in my bed and cry.

"I wanted to talk to you about the application to the Academy," I start, my stomach fluttering wildly. My throat feels tight. It's as if my anxiety is strangling me.

Headmistress Simmons nods. "I wanted to discuss that with you, too."

"I would like to apply," I say, my voice barely audible.

A bright smile spreads over her face. "Good, because we submitted an application for you."

"Oh?" I'm surprised and not certain if I'm relieved or angry.

"Henry thought it best that we apply for you. If you got accepted, we'd then try to convince you to attend. I just received notice of your acceptance." She lifts the tablet to show me, and I automatically lower my eyes. "It's all right to look, Ilyse. Tech can't hurt you. You need to start getting used to it if you want to go to the Academy."

I force myself to obey, and read the words printed on the screen. There is an official seal and signature. I lean forward to verify it's my name glowing in the correspondence. "I scored high?"

"Yes. On all your exit exams last year. You can enter any school you desire at the Academy. You can become anything you want, Ilyse. All the schools in The Republic are free. Your room and board aren't, but the Academy provides a work-study program where you can work a certain amount of hours to pay your food and room."

I can scarcely believe all I'm hearing. "What about the train fare?"

"The Academy will provide a ticket," she answers, smiling.

Will it truly be this easy to escape? All the fear and anxiety that has been overwhelming me since we first discovered Matron Chao in the garden suddenly falls away. Hope blooms in my chest, pushing aside the guilt that has lain heavily on my heart. My father is a respected and wealthy man. He'll recover from the loss of my Bridal Auction, and I won't have to fear being suspected of being a necromancer. In The Republic the dead are burned. There won't be a chance of me accidentally summoning the Beloved Dead.

"What do I have to do?" I can barely breathe from excitement.

"You'll need to sign all the acceptance paperwork. It's very easy. You just sign on the screen and I'll transmit the document directly to admissions. I can help you prepare your travel documentation as well. Once your father signs-"

"My father has to sign?" My hopes shatter.

"Yes. You're seventeen and the Republic laws consider you underage. Additionally, according to the laws of the Atonement Settlement since you're a woman you'll need permission to travel the train." The schoolmistress sees my expression, and says, "I can speak to your father. I can be very convincing, I can assure you. Your success in academia can only benefit your father."

I stare at her in silence knowing she's wrong. My father won't sign any travel permission documentation. He'll be furious at even the mere proposition of me going to The Republic. It was difficult enough to consider his anger if I escaped the settlement, but if I'm forced to stay I don't think I can endure his disappointment.

"Ilyse, this is a great opportunity for you. You've always been an exemplary student. Though you father might not like the idea of you not marrying at eighteen, it's not against the Lost Texts for a woman to pursue a career. I know the Elders make it seem so, but nowhere in the Lost Texts is it forbidden. Let me speak to him."

"No," I say through numbed lips. "Don't. He'll never agree, and he's already planning an expansion of his business with the funds from the Bridal Auction."

The crestfallen expression on her face matches my own disappointment. "Ilyse, life can be more for you."

"You married at seventeen," I point out.

"Yes, but my husband believed in me and helped me pursue my dreams in The Republic. I know that's rare in this settlement. Henry was different because he was from the Radiated Lands. This is _your_ chance to live an independent life."

"Was your father angry when you decided to leave with your husband?"

"Henry spoke to him and convinced him that there was another way for his daughter to acquire happiness and fulfillment outside the settlement."

"What if you were in my position and there wasn't a Henry to present your case to your father? Would you risk your father's wrath knowing he could force you to obey him?"

Sitting back in her chair, the lines in her face deepen as she contemplates my words. She sighs, then shakes her head. "I see your point. Perhaps if I talk to Harris-"

"He has made up his mind. He has plans for me."

I know I am beaten. I feel it to the core of my being. I will have to go over the wall and risk the Deadlands. If I am a necromancer, maybe I will escape a terrible death. Otherwise, I'll join the Unblessed in their hellish existence.

"Thank you for trying," I say, standing.

"Ilyse," she says pleadingly.

"I'll go to my class now if that is all right?"

With a sad look on her face, Schoolmistress Simmons says, "Yes. Of course. And if you reconsider-"

"I won't."

I turn and flee the office. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to run down the stairs and out into the street. But where would I go? Walls stretch for miles around our settlement. I'm trapped.

When I enter my sewing class, Prudence gives me a curious look, but I ignore her. Throughout the hour, I'm riddled with anxiety and continuously drop my stitches.

The hours of the day drag on.

Each class is torture.

Prudence attempts to cajole me into conversation at lunch, but I am morose. When she persists, I finally lie and tell her I'm afraid of being married. This explanation results in an all too graphic account of the glories of the flesh. She loves teasing me and seeing me blush. Usually, I'd just roll my eyes and ignore her, but my mind is too burdened for me to enjoy her effusive description. By the time she finishes, I'm even more determined to somehow escape the Bridal Auction. I can't imagine lying in bed with any man and doing the things Prudence described. Furthermore, I don't even want to know how she knows these things.

I feel a bit sullied by the conversation, and when my father comes to collect me and Carrie, I fear he'll see all my sins weighing on my shoulders. Instead, he smiles and greets us both with kisses on our cheeks.

We fall into step behind him as we begin our long walk to the train station. The day is warm, but breezy. The streets are less congested since most people are still at work. Other students are allowed to walk home alone, but my father always escorts us. After our mother's trial, Angelina and I were harassed on the street by some of the more fervent followers of the Lost Texts. After she climbed the wall and escaped, people still regarded me with suspicion. I'm never allowed to go anywhere without my father.

A funeral procession passes us. The old woman being carried to the Perdition Ceremony is close to death. I can hear the air rattling in her lungs. Already her wrists and feet are bound to the stretcher. Her death must be very close, and I am relieved for her family. They won't have to wait too long for her to be put to rest with the other Beloved Dead. When I was little, my family waited all day and nearly all night for my grandfather to take his last breath while he lay on the Sanctuary Altar.

Soon we enter the heart of the settlement. The pink granite buildings are clustered around a square. The main Meeting Hall stands taller than the Council of Crats building, a reminder that the Lost Texts rule, not the government. Flowering plants and blooming trees in small patches are the only decoration allowed. Once, long ago, a statue of our founding couple stood in the center of the square, but it was torn down once the settlement voted to strictly follow the Lost Texts. The older buildings are much more ornate than the newer ones even with the attempt to remove any decorative ornamentation. Despite this endeavor, the pillars of the council house still impress me whenever I see them.

My father never speaks to us when we go to town with him, and I welcome the silence. I don't know what I would say. I feel as if all my fears, worries, and secrets are on the tip of my tongue, ready to spill out of me. It's a terrible feeling. Worse yet, Carrie keeps stealing looks in my direction. I know she can sense I'm keeping things from her, but I don't dare share them with her.

At last the impressive, sprawling train station appears. It's a monstrosity according to my father, but I like the swooping curve of the roof, the glass walls, and metal latticework that holds it all together. We ascend the sloping flagstone walkway to the main doors that slide open as we approach.

Inside, the cool air that smells like vanilla and cinnamon rushes over our heated skin. The concourse leading to where the passengers disembark is lined by colorful shops filled with clothing that no one in the settlement would ever dare to wear, decorations we'd never adorn our homes with, cosmetics the women would never smear on their faces, and books we'd never be allowed to read. All these shops are geared toward the travelers. But we do like the coffee, tea, and spice shop. The very best thing of all is the chocolates from the candy store.

As we were taught from a very young age, we avert our eyes from the flashing vid screens promoting all sorts of products and services in between the announcements of imminent train arrival. I shiver under my cotton cape and grin at Carrie as she lifts her hand to touch the cold draft emanating from a vent. We both love air conditioning, something we'd never be allowed to have at home.

"So, what is in the package you're picking up?" Carrie asks when we are at last eating chocolates.

The candy store is near the package pickup counter, and we have a clear view of the platform. Above our heads, a sign flashes that the train is on time and about to arrive.

My father's stern face smiles with affection at me. His obvious love forms a lump in my throat. The fact I conspired to run away from him makes me feel simply horrible.

"It's silk fabric for Ilyse's wedding gown. Only the best for my daughters," he says proudly.

"Thank you," I stammer, and quickly push a ball of chocolate into my mouth. I don't think my conscience can take much more.

"What's silk?" Carrie fishes another chocolate out of the brown bag my father is clutching. She unwraps the bright pink foil and pops the candy into her mouth.

"It's a very fine fabric. I special ordered it from the Enclave. She will be humble and without pride, but dressed as a favored daughter at her Bridal Auction."

A loud bell rings out through the speakers overhead, and a voice announces the arrival of the train. It enters the terminal, whisper quiet, resembling a sleek silver snake. People emerge from shops to await the arrival of friends and family or perhaps preparing to depart. The smooth silver skin of the train opens to reveal doorways. Soon a steady stream of people flow from the train and across the concourse.

Carrie and I openly watch the exotic newcomers in their unusual clothing. I wonder where they are from. The Enclave? The Republic? The Radiated Lands? The Reclaimed Settlements? With sorrow, I realize it doesn't matter. I will never see those places, even if I escape into the Deadlands and manage to survive. I feel sickened by the realization that I no longer have a future.

As the passengers thin out, my father watches with a stern look on his face. "I see they're respecting our wishes," he says at last.

"Who?" I ask.

"The Enclave. They asked the Council if they could send a Cleric to deal with the Unblessed Dead that are gathering near the river. The Elders told them not to send one of their heretics here. That we will deal with the issue." My father appears satisfied when no one in the robes of a necromancer appears. "I see that they are finally respecting our wishes. We've had to turn away several heretics in the last few weeks."

"What will we do to the Unblessed?" Carrie digs around in the paper bag and pulls out another candy.

"Undecided, but they'll be dealt with," my father assures her.

It appears as if all the passengers have disembarked, and I start to look away when one last person emerges. A young man with a scruffy blond goatee steps down from the train dressed strikingly in a long black coat and wide-brimmed black hat. His dark blond hair feathers against his high collar and frames a handsome face with high cheekbones, hooded eyes, and a finely-shaped mouth. He's probably only a few years older than me, but there is a confident swagger to his gait. Feelings that I don't even have names for bubble up inside me, flushing my cheeks and making my heart beat faster. I lower my eyes to hide the fact he's captured my attention, but I continue to furtively watch him.

Pausing in the center of the concourse, he scratches his chin with fingers adorned with silver rings.

But it's not the jewelry that catches my eye.

It's the swirling greenish fire dancing around his hands.

I gasp, and Carrie sharply looks at me.

And so does the stranger.

It's impossible to look away from the strange glow around the man's fingers. I start to turn to Carrie to ask if she sees it, but I realize from the calm demeanor of everyone around the man that no one else is witness to the eerie phenomena.

My father folds the top of the brown paper bag and hands it to me. "They're about to open the package counter. We best get in line."

I clutch the bag of sweets and follow him. I try not to look back at the stranger, but I can't stop myself.

Standing in the center of the concourse, the newcomer watches me trail after my father.

A crooked smile on his lips, he lifts his hand and waves at me. The green flames around his fingers expand like a vaporous ribbon, rippling through the air, and reaching out to me.

In my mind, I hear a voice that is not my own.

_Don't speak about what you see. Wait for me._
5

# The Unblessed Dead

It's difficult to pretend everything is fine when you're terrified.

I don't know how to smile and carry on a conversation with my father and Carrie in the aftermath of what I've seen, but somehow I do. The bustle of the passengers coming and going is drowned out by my heartbeat thudding in my ears. It's hard to concentrate when fear has a stranglehold on my body.

I discreetly look over my shoulder searching for the stranger, but he's gone.

I'm not certain if I'm relieved or not.

A part of me wants to confront him to ask if he's connected to the Chantry. If he is, maybe he can tell me if I'm a necromancer like my mother. But the larger part of me wants to forget what I saw completely. I don't want to share my mother's fate. My life once seemed normal and my future prospects full of the promise of a good life until the Beloved Dead started to appear in the garden. I was foolish to believe I could escape. I must resign myself to my fate. I'm not like Angelina. I won't risk scaling the wall and entering the Deadlands. Instead, like all the other girls who've turned eighteen, I'll be presented at the Bridal Auction and will marry someone who will help my father advance his business. In the aftermath of my wedding, I'll pray to the gods that none of the Beloved Dead will appear in my new garden. Otherwise, I'm doomed.

The taste of chocolate turns bitter on my tongue. I save the rest of my share for Rennon. Carrie watches me from beneath her bonnet with concern, but my father doesn't seem to notice. He claims the newly arrived package, and we start our journey home.

I walk beside Carrie with my eyes averted from my surroundings. I'm certain I appear to be the picture of piety, but I'm actually too afraid to face the world. My gaze settles on my hands and I'm relieved that greenish flames aren't encapsulating them. I want to believe I imagined what I saw at the station, but after encountering the Beloved Dead in my garden three times, I know I didn't.

Carrie nudges me with her shoulder, and I glance her way. She gives me a questioning look, her eyebrows drawn together, furrowing her brow. I subtly shake my head, my gaze flicking toward our father's back.

_What happened?_

Her lips silently form the words with exaggerated emphasis.

_Nothing._

I mouth the word and give her a warning glare.

Annoyed, she shakes her head at me.

I hate keeping secrets from her, but I don't dare draw her into my problems. If I'm discovered, I want her to be able to tell the truth that I never confided in her. I don't want her to endure the Necromancer Trial that drove Angelina from the settlement and haunts my nightmares.

We leave the cool air of the station behind and walk down the incline to the street below. The flagstones are warm beneath my slippers. The brim of my bonnet shades my eyes from the blazing sun, but the glare hurts my eyes. I'm tired from our adventure the night before, but I won't be able to sleep until bedtime. My father considers napping to be a sign of laziness.

A loud clatter draws my attention. I see the same group of workmen from this morning performing maintenance on the shutters of a nearby shop. Bale is crouched, picking up a tool. When he catches my eye, he winks again. I pointedly look away. I suspect he dropped the tool to draw my attention, and I refuse to give it to him. I have enough to worry about. I don't need him assuming I have any sort of interest in him.

Carrie smirks when I look in her direction.

I sigh with frustration. I don't want to have to explain about Bale and his ridiculous flirtation, but Carrie will likely pester me. At least it's a different topic to discuss other than the dead.

The world pivots around me, and the ground tilts upward. Carrie catches me before I can fall face first onto the road. The air feels heavy, and my lungs gasp for oxygen. My vision blurs when I raise my eyes. My father hasn't taken note of my near fainting spell, and continues strolling down the road.

"What is it?" Carrie whispers.

I can't seem to catch my breath. My skin feels like a thousand hot needles are pricking at it. Something is terribly wrong. The world continues to swing wildly around me, and I struggle to stand upright.

Then an image assaults my mind for one brief second. I see hundreds of the Unblessed Dead clustered around the high fence that protects the train tracks, their decayed hands gripping the metal mesh.

"The Unblessed," I gasp.

I startle when the warning bells in the guard towers begin to clang from every direction. The piercing sound reverberates through the settlement, bouncing off the stone walls.

"The Unblessed are attacking the walls!" a man shouts. "Seek shelter!"

Every time the warning bells sound, dread fills me.

It was during an attack that my mother's powers were revealed.

Will mine?

In a panic, I search the faces of those around me, but no one appears to be paying attention to me. They're all hurrying to find shelter.

"Come on, Ilyse," Carrie urges, pulling on my arm.

The street clears, people flooding into the buildings around us. Father hurries toward the nearest shop expecting us to follow in his wake. I feel disoriented and it's difficult to move my feet forward. Carrie slings her arm around me and props me up. Together, we hurry toward the spot where Father is waiting for us. We're jostled about by the other pedestrians scurrying for shelter. The vertigo makes walking difficult, but Carrie keeps me upright. Our father holds open the door to the shop and waves people inside. Across the street, several shops are already full and close their doors.

When we reach our father, he gestures for us to enter. "Hurry, girls!"

We obey and Father stays behind, holding the heavy metal door for stragglers. He's a voluntary steward, and it is part of his duties to make sure everyone is safe during attacks.

As others squeeze in behind us, the shutters along the street slam shut with loud bangs. People cry out in fear while dashing for safety.

The shop is long and narrow and smells of oil and leather. Boots line shelves and belts hang from hooks. Carrie clutches my hand and pulls me behind her into the limited space between a long counter and several tables covered in hats. I find myself pressed against a showcase housing an assortment of belt buckles.

Nausea sweeps over me again.

Another image of the Unblessed bombards my mind's eye, and this time I even hear their moans of hunger.

"Ilyse, are you okay?" my sister asks, worried.

Carrie's fingers are warm and sweaty against my palm. I squeeze her hand reassuringly as the bells continue to ring.

"I'm okay. Just dizzy," I answer.

When the shutters close over the display window and the heavy metal door slams shut, the store is plunged into darkness. Cries of fear fill the small space and a child begins to cry.

"Everyone calm down! It's all right!" a man's voice says. "Give me a moment to reach the switches for the lights!"

The pitch-black room is terrifying. With the bells clanging loudly, it's far too easy to imagine the rustling around me is the Unblessed coming to tear me apart. I close my eyes against the darkness, but only see the rotting faces of the Unblessed. I gasp, open my eyes, and look down, afraid I'll see my hands glowing with unearthly green fire. Instead, all I see is blackness.

"Please hurry with the lights!" a woman cries out.

"Yes, please," a man says, his voice strained.

Murmurs of agreement come from all around me.

Perhaps we're all imagining the undead are among us in the dark. I take solace in the thought. Maybe I'm just afraid like everyone else. Then another wave of vertigo strikes me. Again, I see the Unblessed rattling the fence protecting the train tracks. This time I realize I'm standing among them, watching the humans on the other side scramble to kill invaders.

I gasp, and the vision disappears, returning me to the absolute dark of the shop.

A few seconds later, the shopkeeper turns on the oil lamps, and the dim light washes over the frightened faces of the townspeople. We're crammed together and I press close to Carrie to avoid being touched by strangers. I see a few familiar faces, but the settlement is large so I don't recognize everyone around us. People shift about, attempting to find a comfortable spot. Despite my bouts with vertigo, I dare to stand on my toes and crane my head to look for my father. I spot him in the corner near the door clutching the package of silk fabric for my wedding dress.

Carrie holds me, her gaze watching my face worriedly. "What's wrong, Ilyse?"

"I got a little overheated. That's all," I lie. "Plus, I'm scared."

"Is that all?"

"Of course," I reply, forcing a smile.

Several people press past me. From their garb I suspect they're visitors to the settlement. The women aren't wearing head coverings and the men are clean shaven. One of the men, dressed in a brightly colored suit and hat, brushes past us. His arm accidentally sweeps across our breasts and we both shirk from him. He doesn't even seem to notice that he's violated the laws of the settlement as he waves to one of his friends near the back of the store.

"How dare he?" Carrie gasps.

"They don't know our ways," a male voice says to me.

I look over my shoulder to see Bale leaning against the counter just behind me. I didn't even see him approach and I'm very uncomfortable with his nearness. I've never been this close to a man that's not in my family. His blond hair is damp from his long day at work and I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. The reek of dirt and sweat wrinkles my nose and he grins. Realizing I'm staring at him, I turn away and rest my cheek against Carrie's hair. She holds onto me protectively as we listen to the warning bells clanging and the murmur of voices around us.

Despite my best efforts, I can feel Bale's presence at my back. That he dared to talk to me is unsettling. Especially with my father nearby. My status is vitally important to the plans he and my aunt have made for my future. I must enter the Bridal Auction with my Pious Standing intact to garner a good husband. Interacting with Bale is a threat to my status.

"Don't be afraid," Bale says. "We just checked the shutters and they're secure."

"Is he talking to us?" Carrie whispers.

"Ignore him," I answer.

"I know it's scary when the Unblessed attack, but the settlement is safe," Bale continues in a soft voice.

Why he persists on speaking to me I don't understand. I keep my back to him, my body pressed into my sister.

"How long will it take for them to get it under control?" one of the women in garish clothing asks.

It's my father who answers. "Perhaps a few hours."

"A few hours?" the woman gasps. "Why so long?"

"They don't use modern weapons," one of her companions answers. "They use bolt guns and fire."

Another woman from the same group exclaims, "We have to stay in here for _hours_? Listening to that noise!"

My head is throbbing and the sound of the tolling bells matches each painful pulse. Again, I'm assailed by the sensation of my body being pricked my needles. I try not to squirm with discomfort.

"They don't believe in technology," someone else says.

"Ridiculous," another person grunts.

"Technology destroyed the world," my father answers gruffly.

"But you have gas lights," the man who brushed past me and Carrie retorts.

"We're using the natural resources provided to us by the gods." My father's voice is resolute.

"Then you should use gunpowder and make bullets!"

"Bullets kill other people more than they do the Unblessed," another man from the settlement responds. "Weapons of such deadliness are only used by the wardens in the direst of circumstances."

"Our ways are not up for debate. You are a guest in our settlement. I suggest you abide by our laws and be thankful for the shelter we're providing."

My father's proclamation is met with applause and the strangers to our settlement murmur among themselves.

"Can you believe their rudeness?" Carrie shakes her head.

"Like I said: they don't know our ways," Bale says.

"And you know not to speak to me," I respond before realizing it's a foolhardy move.

I can see Bale's grin out of the corner of my eye, and I turn my back on him again.

A loud explosion rattles the building, and the counter trembles against my hip.

"What was that?"

"Was that a bomb?"

"I thought they used only bolt weapons?"

"No, the man says they do have guns."

A frenzy of terrified voices overlap.

Another loud detonation nearby draws gasps of fear and panic starts to ripple through the narrow shop.

"What is _that_?" Carrie lifts her gaze as though she can see through the ceiling.

Vertigo steals my balance completely and I slump to the floor. I feel my sister grabbing at me as I fall, but her fingers only grip my dress. I crash to the wood floor and the concerned faces around me spin as the world tilts dangerously side to side.

And then I stand among the Unblessed again.

I inhale sharply and gag on the stench of death. Fear washes over me like cold water. Trembling, I clench my hands at my side to keep from screaming. I can feel the press of the rotting bodies all around me. Their gnarled hands rise, the stiff rags they wear fluttering in the hot breeze around their emaciated arms. I wait for the horrific moment when they see me, but it doesn't come.

How can I be here? Why can't they see me?

Daring to look around, I see the desiccated faces of the dead staring upward. Though they're standing outside the fence that protects the train tracks, they aren't paying attention to the settlement wardens.

Then I see why.

Their gaze is riveted by the copters circling overhead. I've never seen one before, but I know what they are from my studies. They resemble insects with their squat bodies and extended rotors. Something falls from one of the copters and I watch the dark shape as it plummets. It disappears into the mass of the Unblessed.

What was it?

A second later there is a massive explosion and fire sweeps toward me, bright and deadly.

I start to scream as it consumes me.

_You're not there. Open your eyes. Break the connection._

I hear a man's voice speaking to me in my head, but the pain is unbearable. All around me the Unblessed are torches, their flesh and bones being consumed by the fire. Then, out of the flames, the man from the train station appears. His long coat flaring around him and his face in shadow beneath the brim of his hat, he remains untouched by the inferno.

"Open your eyes," he says.

"I'm on fire!" I cry out.

I'm shocked when he grips my arm with a hand enshrouded in green fire. I lift my gaze to see that his eyes are green with rings of gold and brown around the edge of the iris. They're as pretty as the rest of him and my fear drains away into a pleasant numbness.

Staring at me somberly, he says, "You're not on fire. You're safe in the shop. Now, open your eyes."

Somehow, I obey, and find myself on the floor of the shop surrounded by concerned looking people. Kneeling at my side is the same man from my vision. His hand is still holding my arm, and his unusual eyes gaze steadily into mine.

_Don't let them know what you saw._

"What happened?" My father reaches my side and kneels.

The package he was holding falls to one side and comes to rest on Bale's boot. The workman's blue eyes are fastened on me and his expression is not easily read.

"She fainted," the stranger answers.

My father sees his hand on my arm and immediately shoves it away. "Do not touch her!"

"I was trying to help. I apologize," he answers with a slight nod of his head.

"We do not touch women we are not wedded to in this settlement. Do not sully her," my father snaps.

"Again, I apologize." The stranger stands and takes a step back, his gaze holding mine.

_Tell them nothing._

"Ilyse, what happened?" my father asks with concern.

"I was overcome with fear," I reply, still shaken from what I witnessed.

Another explosion draws the bystanders' attention away from me.

"Did you hurt yourself when you fell?" My father helps me sit up and I lean against him.

"No, Carrie caught me," I say.

"I _tried_ to, but she fell so fast." Carrie sits on the floor next to us.

My father holds me close, placing his body between me and the stranger. I can tell he's concerned with the fact I was touched by a man in front of so many. But from the looks on the faces of those around us, I don't think they're concerned at all with my status. They're afraid of what is unfolding outside the settlement.

I listen to the blasts destroying the Unblessed. I still feel queasy and my skin is crawling, but I don't experience any more of the visions. I sense that the stranger is helping me hold them off. I still feel as though his hand is on me keeping me grounded and calm. I can't explain what just happened, but I know he saved me. The stranger continues to linger close by and I feel his gaze on me. It doesn't feel as intrusive as Bale's. I dare to look toward him and he gives me the slightest nod.

_Don't tell anyone what you saw. Stay focused, and don't let your mind wander back to the dead._

Not certain what I'm even doing, I try to direct my thoughts toward him.

_Can I really hear you? Or am I imagining this?_

Rubbing his chin, he grins and gives me the slightest nod.

_My name is Quade. I really am speaking to you. And you're a quick learner._

Bale steps between us. I suspect it's deliberate. He probably saw me stealing a look toward Quade. I turn my attention away from both men and take comfort in my father's embrace.

Finally, the bells stop clanging.

"At last," my father says with relief.

He helps Carrie and me to our feet, and reclaims the package from the floor. "Stay close to me." He pushes through the crowd to the doorway and we follow in his wake.

I'm relieved to find that I can walk without the world tilting back and forth.

When my father reaches the door, he leans against it, waiting.

"Hurry up and open it!" someone shouts.

I suspect it's a visitor.

"There are protocols," my father answers. "We have to wait for the all-clear."

Attacks on our walls are not an unusual event, and I know what will happen next. The word will be spread, steward to steward, that it's safe to return to normal life. It's an old system built around the fact we don't have communication devices. A few minutes later, there are several sharp raps on the door that give the all-clear. My father unlocks the heavy door and swings it open.

"Keep it orderly, everyone," he orders.

Since we're closest to him, Carrie and I are the first ones to step outside. Soon there is a steady stream of people flowing out into the street. Black smoke billows into the air from outside the settlement.

"Harris! Did you hear?" Jeremiah, a friend of my father's, rushes up to him. "It was copters that destroyed the Unblessed outside the walls."

"I suspected as much from the explosions. What right does The Enclave claim to infringe on our territory?" my father asks, his tone sharp.

The ruddy, sweaty face of the other man scowls. "They claim because the train track was under attack, they had a right to send the copters to defend their trade route."

"We will need to send a formal complaint to King Maximillian." My father shakes his head with annoyance. "The Enclave has no respect for the sovereignty of the settlements."

As my father and Jeremiah complain bitterly about The Enclave, Bale escapes the store and gives us wide berth. He doesn't even look our way. I sigh with relief. Bale's attention makes me very uncomfortable. He knows it's unwanted and yet he persists.

Carrie widens her eyes at me, her expression amused. At first I think she's responding to Bale, but then Quade-if that really is his name-emerges from the shop. He sidesteps us to pause in front of our father.

"I'd like to apologize again, sir. I'm new to the settlement and have yet to learn all the customs," he says in a voice that is rough, yet soft.

My father regards the man's earnest expression before nodding. "Apology accepted."

"I don't want to cause any offense," the stranger continues. "I just recently purchased the Murrow House and I hope to make a home here."

"The Murrow House?" Jeremiah gasps.

Carrie whispers, "Isn't that the old house with the big porch and pillars?"

I lean toward her. "Yes. The one everyone says is haunted."

She shivers.

"I see it has a reputation," the stranger says, smiling.

My father nods. "That it has. It was a mortuary long ago before we stopped barbaric burial rituals and began releasing the Beloved Dead into the Perdition Sanctuary. It also pre-dates The Fall. It's been rebuilt many times. That being said, it's a fine house when it's in good repair."

"I have plenty of money to restore it, I can assure you. Forgive me. Let me introduce myself. Master Quade Reed."

I try not to look as shocked as I feel when I hear his name confirmed. Every time I start to convince myself I am imagining all the strange things happen to me, something happens to substantiate the truth. I am not a normal girl. I am something _more_ , like my mother.

"Master Reed? From the textile company?" My father looks impressed, though the name is meaningless to me.

"Yes, I am. I'm considering opening a new factory in this settlement."

My father is instantly interested and I'm instantly bored.

"I won't _bore_ you with all the details," Quade says with a charming smile. "Besides, I have a lot to do before evening falls."

Did he just read my mind? I make a mental note to watch my thoughts when around him. A moment later I realize how presumptuous and unlikely it is that I will see Quade again. After the Bridal Auction, I will most likely be stuck on a farm. I dare to look toward Quade again. The green fire is no longer swirling about his hands, but I know he has the answers to so many questions about what I've been going through.

There is no other choice.

Somehow, before I am married off, I need to speak to him.

He may hold the keys to my survival.
6

# Fearful Ruminations

In the aftermath of the attack of the Unblessed, the world feels unsettled. The wardens make their appearance known, strolling through the streets in their sharply-cut navy blue uniforms with their weapons slung over their shoulders. Their presence is supposed to be reassuring, but they're a reminder of the dangerous situation we all endured. If my vision is true, the threat from the Unblessed might have been beyond the capabilities of the Atonement Settlement's defenses. It was fortunate that the copters from The Enclave arrived. Otherwise we might have spent days waiting for the attack to be repelled. I hate to consider what could have happened if the Unblessed had somehow scaled the walls, or downed the fence that protects the train tracks.

People hurry through the streets, casting wary glances at the black smoke filling the sky. Though the wind is blowing away from the settlement, the air is tainted with the fetid smell of death.

Father escorts us home, but this time walks between Carrie and me, a rare break from tradition. After my supposed fainting spell, he's more attentive. Or perhaps he's still upset over Quade touching my arm in clear view of the people taking refuge in the shop. Maybe he's attempting to project the image of a watchful guardian. My father's devotion to the Lost Texts makes him a complex man who isn't easy to read. I have always worried that his fear of violating the Lost Texts trumps his love of his family.

I stumble a few times, still shaken from the visions I experienced. He catches me about the waist and holds me at his side.

"As soon as we arrive at the house, Ilyse, drink water and rest," my father says. "You must be dehydrated."

I'm grateful to hear the concern and affection in his voice. I know it's possible that one day he won't even mention my existence in the same way he won't speak about my mother or Angelina. If I'm really a necromancer like my mother, I will stop existing in his world and perhaps even in his heart.

Making matters even more complicated, Quade preoccupies my thoughts. Despite all my worries, I ashamedly admit I was drawn to him the moment I saw him. He is handsome and alluring in his mysteriousness. The kindness he showed me when collapsed only made him more attractive in my eyes. The forbidden feelings Quade elicits inside me are likely how Bale wishes I would feel about _him._

After what occurred between us, I am convinced that I am a necromancer like my mother. My powers seem to be awakening. Without guidance, I'm certain I will be discovered. Hopefully Quade will be able to help me since he seems to have necromantic powers. Of course, that means risking my father's wrath and my Pious Standing. It's one I have to take.

At last we turn down the lane that leads to our home. The gray houses behind the stone walls look identical. Uniformity is important to the way of life in the settlement. The only variation is the gardens. I used to believe that my father never tore out the decorative flowers my mother planted because it was his way of remembering her. But as I've grown older it's become harder to see him as sentimental.

Rennon greets us at the door, excitement brightening his face. The attack of the Unblessed isn't a source of dread and worry for him. He enthusiastically tells us all about the shutters closing over the windows and waiting in the dark with his mother for the all-clear. To him the whole event was an adventure. My aunt watches him with a slight frown on her face. She hates it when he gets over stimulated, but my father listens with a pleased look. He often remarks on Rennon's fearlessness and that it is a good sign that he'll grow up to be a leader of men.

When I hand Rennon the chocolates, the pure joy in his reaction makes me smile. He wheels away, his wooden wheelchair creaking.

"Look, Mother! Chocolates! I'll share them with you!"

I waver on my feet, and steady myself with a hand on my father's shoulder. I feel weakened from earlier.

"Go sit in the parlor near the big windows. I'll have Annah bring you some water," my father says to me. "I want to show your mother the silk I ordered for your dress."

"All right, Father," I answer, trying not to bristle. I know who my mother is and she stands among the Beloved Dead.

My aunt and cousin are eating the chocolates we brought. I catch my aunt's eyes watching me as I depart the main hall. I wonder if my father will tell her about Quade touching me in the shop in front of everyone.

Carrie follows me to the parlor and sits with me on the couch near the tall open windows. The air is warm, but at least we're out of the sunlight. The house is still stuffy from being closed up during the attack, but the breeze is gradually making a difference. The fragrance from the blooming flowers outside the window chases away the stench of smoke and sweat. The parlor is where my father entertains guests and the furniture is highly-polished cherry wood with light blue damask cushions. It's my favorite room in the house. I often sit in the comfortable chair in the corner to read.

Carrie cranes her head to make sure no one is in the hallway before turning to me and asking, "What happened?"

"I was tired and got overheated."

Staring at me with her eyes widened with disbelief, she angrily whispers, "When will you stop lying to me? I might be only fourteen years old, but I'm not stupid, Ilyse."

Tears prick at my eyes, and I stare at her with a heavy heart. I can't tell her. I don't dare. One day she will face the Elders and she has to be able to tell them truthfully that I never confided in her that I am a necromancer.

"I'm worried about Bale," I say at last. "Prudence told me he likes me."

"Oh," she says. "I knew that. He's always staring at you at Wednesday Gathering."

"Really?" I'm surprised by this information.

"Oh, yes. He's discreet, but I've noticed. Do you like him?"

"I don't know him. Plus, I would _never_ risk my status. His forwardness frightens me. It feels so intrusive. I don't know what he expects of me." It feels good to be able to tell the truth and not lie.

"Margot says that sometimes girls and boys of the same age sneak off together to the old cemetery," Carrie says, her voice hushed to avoid being overhead.

"Near the Murrow House?"

She nods. "Prudence goes there. Margot told me. She asked if you go with her, but I told her that you're firmly Pious Standing. That you never do anything outside the rules."

I feel my cheeks heating as I blush at the mere thought of doing something illicit. "I _wouldn't_. Never. Except for dealing with..." The memory of the three Beloved Dead who appeared in the garden steals away my voice. If another comes to the garden, the risk of being caught escalates.

Carrie clutches my hands, her eyes worried. "Do you think the Beloved Dead escaping the Perdition Sanctuary is somehow connected to the Unblessed outside the walls?"

Shrugging, I say, "Perhaps? I just don't understand how they're getting out."

"I wish we could tell someone, but I know we can't. Because of Mother."

I meet my sister's gaze and neither one of us say another word. She expressed earlier that she doesn't want us falling under suspicion like our mother, but I feel like she's waiting for something. Does she want a confession? Am I supposed to calm her fears? I'm not certain, so I remain silent.

Annah enters the room with a glass of water. Chunks of ice float at the top, a luxury I'm not used to. Father must be very concerned about me to allow such opulence. I take the glass from her thankfully and she bows her head.

"Thank you, Annah," I say.

"To serve is to be blessed," she answers automatically and rapidly backs out of the parlor.

Carrie stares after Annah, her brow furrowed.

"What is it?" I sip the water, enjoying the coldness on my throat.

"I just hope she didn't overhear us. Did you notice she didn't enter until we stopped talking?" Carrie answers in a hushed voice. "Though, I guess everyone knows about Mother anyway. I just hope that if the Beloved Dead are showing up in other people's gardens they don't blame us."

Ah! There it is! What she's worried about.

I match her quiet tones. "If the Beloved Dead are showing up in other people's gardens, Carrie, they're not going to say anything out of fear of being suspected of necromancy."

"Like us," she says with a sigh.

I still feel lightheaded. I mop the cold condensation from the glass and press my damp fingers to my forehead. The coolness feels so good in the humid air.

"Ilyse, what if a necromancer is in town? What if they're guiding the Beloved Dead out of the Perdition Sanctuary and into our garden?"

"Why would they do that?"

"To test us maybe? To see what we'll do?"

I frown at the thought. "Us specifically?"

"Because of our mother, Ilyse."

It does make some sense. What if the Necromancer Chantry sent someone to test us? The news of our mother's trial and death would have reached The Enclave years ago. They'd know she had children. Maybe like the Elders of the Atonement Settlement, the Clerics suspect we may follow in our mother's footsteps. Yet, according to our mother's family history, she's the only known necromancer. The Elders of the Atonement Settlement decided she was an outlier, an aberration. I know that's not true. How many members of my family had to hide their nature, fearful of detection?

"It's been bothering me since the first time it happened. Why now, Ilyse? After all this time? When father talked about the girl in the Bridgetown Settlement raising the dead to destroy it, it occurred to me that maybe we're under suspicion of being just like her. Maybe the Chantry is testing us because of what she did and to prevent us from doing the same thing. People fear the necromancers, but trust them. But after what that girl did, I bet there's been an outcry."

The Chantry is powerful, but restricted by treaties with other settlements of the Outland Territory and The Republic. The Chantry doesn't force discovered talent to join them according to their spokeswoman, but potential necromancers have been known to disappear. Authorities declare them runaways, but I've heard my father say he suspects they were kidnapped by the nomads that roam the world outside the walls and turned over to the Chantry.

I clutch the now empty glass to my chest. My heart thumps with fear. Perhaps there is much more happening than I imagined. If I hadn't witnessed Quade's powers with my own eyes, I wouldn't have suspected him of being from the Chantry. After what happened in the shop earlier, it's evident that he has some sort of power. Maybe he's like me: an unknown person with power attempting to stay hidden.

"Ilyse?" Carrie touches my arm lightly to draw my attention. "Why are you so quiet?"

"I think you might be right," I answer. "Which means we have to be very careful."

"So what do we do if another of the Beloved Dead appears in the garden? Do we take them back to the Perdition Sanctuary again?"

"I don't know," I answer truthfully.

"I'm scared, Ilyse. What if they suspect us?"

I realize how foolhardy I was to believe that I could protect Carrie. While I stayed silent, she's been living alone with her fears. "You're not a necromancer, Carrie. They can't suspect you."

Pressing her lips together, she swallows hard. She lowers her gaze and says, "But you are."

I exhale, nodding. Of course, she had suspected the truth. She's not a fool. "I might be. If the Elders come, you will say that you knew nothing about any of this and I will confess."

"Ilyse, you can't!" She flinches, realizing she raised her voice. Keeping a wary eye on the doorway, she whispers, "You can't confess. You must hide whatever you are until we can figure out what to do."

"This is my burden to bear, not yours." I give her a stern look. "Mine, Carrie. Mine alone."

There's a step outside the door and we fall silent, our backs straightening with fear and anticipation.

Our aunt steps into the parlor. "Enough dawdling, girls. Wash up for dinner. Your father expects you to be seated on time. Ilyse, are you feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you," I answer.

My aunt stares at me, her lean face emotionless and her eyes piercing. It feels as if she's peeling away all my barriers to expose my hidden lies. With a tight smile, she says, "I'm glad. It's unfortunate you had a fainting spell during the attack of the Unblessed. I know you'll do your best to not suffer any more such episodes so close to your Bridal Auction. People do talk."

"I won't. I promise," I answer.

She nods and departs, leaving us in uneasy silence. Carrie reaches out and takes my hand, her fingers shaking. It's then I make up my mind to do something that's both necessary and incredibly risky. If I'm caught, I will immediately lose my Pious Standing, but I fear something much worse will happen to me if I don't.

When midnight comes, I'll sneak out and go see Quade at the old Murrow House at the edge of the cemetery.
7

# The House on the Hill

I try not to fall asleep, but the moment my head settles on my pillow I lose the battle. I might have slept through the night if not for continuous nightmares.

In every one I'm standing among the Unblessed outside the high walls that protect the Atonement Settlement. The overwhelming smell of death fills my nostrils, and I recoil as rotting bodies brush against my bare arms. None reach for me, or try to bite into my flesh. Instead, they seem to welcome me as one of their own. The Unblessed spread out around me for endless miles with only the walls of the Atonement Settlement blocking their passage. Their moans vibrate in my chest as I'm swept forward, caught in the horde. I struggle to free myself from the crushing bodies but I'm trapped. The dreams end with the resounding crack of the wall shattering and the dead flooding into the settlement.

I struggle to escape the nightmares, but I'm caught in their snare. If the dream alters to something more mundane, it instantly resets so I stand among the Unblessed again. Each time I'm carried along with the dead, my feet unable to find purchase on the hard earth until the wall collapses.

Sleep holds me captive, and my mind refuses to release me from the nightmares. The dream begins again and I scream with frustration as I'm once again caught in the crush of bodies. Again, I'm pushed toward the wall, and I dread witnessing it fall again.

One of the Unblessed in front of me abruptly turns around and I find myself staring into the dead eyes of my mother.

"Wake up, Ilyse. Wake up!" she shouts.

I startle awake. Kicking off my covers, I exhale with relief. The moonlight filters through the cotton curtains illuminating Carrie asleep in her bed. Swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress, I take deep breaths to help calm my nerves. The nightmare had such a stranglehold on my mind, it felt as though I would never escape.

My attention is drawn to the clock on the wall and I'm relieved it's close to midnight. I creep across the wooden floor, one watchful eye on Carrie. She sleeps burrowed under her covers, silent and unmoving. Relieved, I pull on my simplest day dress and step into my slippers. I flinch when I lift my hooded cloak off the hook, hearing the wood floor creak under my feet. A quick peek at Carrie reveals she's still sleeping.

My heart thudding in my chest, I tiptoe to the window and press the pane open. The garden is lit by the moon, and there aren't any stray Beloved Dead waiting for me. I sigh with relief. After the nightmares, I'd almost expected to find my mother. Carefully, I let myself over the windowsill, my feet settling onto the damp earth.

I gingerly creep across the garden. The windows of the house are darkened. My father and aunt are deep sleepers and I don't fear them waking. The neighbors are more of a concern, but their houses are dark, too.

It's past midnight and the last of the work crews are home. The path along the wall should guide me straight to the Murrow House. I've only seen it from afar since it's a forbidden area. It's been a source of much frustration among the Council of Crats, who control the economy and infrastructure of the settlement. The owners have adamantly refused to destroy the house or remove the cemetery since they're not followers of the Lost Texts. Though the dead long ago abandoned their graves, the headstones, marking what should have been their final resting place remain. At dinner, my father expressed hope that Quade might finally remove the graveyard and renovate the house to match the rest of the settlement houses. My father is disappointed that Quade is not a follower of the Lost Texts but excited by the prospect of him infusing the economy with a new business.

When I reach the other side of the garden, I let myself through the gate into the walled path that curves around the settlement. I hurry along the same route I took with Carrie and Schoolmaster Simmons. When I pass the gate that exits to the Perdition Sanctuary, I warily glance up at its imposing steeple.

Do the Beloved Dead feel my presence?

Does my mother know I'm nearby?

I push those disturbing thoughts away and continue through the shadows toward the outer rim of the settlement. The dogs are quiet tonight. Maybe they wore themselves out barking earlier when the copters destroyed the zombie horde. I'm grateful for the silence. If anyone approaches, I'll hear them in time to hide in the shadows. At the same time, it also makes me much more nervous for it feels like every noise I make is amplified. I'm acutely aware of the slap of my slippers against the stones and the sound of my breathing.

When I pass by the residence of the unmarried women, I note that a few lights are still on. I stay close to the inner wall hoping to avoid being spotted in case anyone is near the windows. My steps become slower when I hear voices in the garden. Two women are chatting and giggling together. They sound cheerful and this surprises me. The Unclaimed look so dour in public I'd assumed their lives were unhappy. On the other side of the wall, the women who were discarded at the Bridal Auction and deemed unworthy to be wives and mothers sound more joyful than people in my carefully structured life.

I continue onward, a little shaken by the discovery. Piece by piece, I feel my convictions being taken apart. All my life I've tried to follow the Lost Texts and adhere to the tenets of the faith. My father ingrained in me the belief that the Lost Texts are the only truth and to waver from them would be my undoing. Despite my adherence to the Lost Texts and my desire to not falter, I am steadily drifting away from the life I thought was my future. There's no doubt in my mind that I have inherited some of my mother's abilities. I cannot remain at the Atonement Settlement and survive. I never wanted to be a necromancer, but I obviously have no choice.

I'm so deep in my dreary thoughts I almost miss the exit to the street near the Murrow House. Reaching for the latch, I'm startled by a sharp cry followed by a thud.

Someone is behind me!

At first, I search for a place to hide before realizing the voice sounded very familiar. Suspicion draws me back the way I'd come. Moving along the curve of the wall, I see a slight figure climbing to their feet.

"Carrie," I hiss.

Surprised, she hops backwards from me, hiding her face in her hood, tensed to scamper away before realizing it's me glaring at her.

"What are you doing here?" I whisper.

"Following you to see Quade," she answers.

I frown at her. "You were awake and pretending to be asleep!"

Lifting her chin, she defiantly says, "Maybe I was."

Exasperated, I shake my head with annoyance. "Why?"

"I knew what you were going to do, and wanted to come. If I'd tried to convince you to let me come with you, I knew you'd tell me no. So... I waited and followed."

I fold my arms across my breasts and glare at her. "How did you know I'd come here?"

"Because it's what I'd do," she replies. "You're not that clever."

Rolling my eyes, I exhale with complete frustration. "You need to go home. You can't risk your standing."

"Just being our mother's child is enough to risk my standing. Do you think you're the only one they might accuse?" It's her turn to roll her eyes. "You're so clueless sometimes."

I hate that my sister has a valid point. I'm not very good at seeing outside my own perspective. I should've realized I couldn't protect my sister from what's happening to me. I've done a terrible job hiding my worries from her and only made hers worse.

"You should go back," I say again. "You can't risk this."

"And you can? Your Bridal Auction is close but you're still here."

"I have to find out the truth, Carrie."

"From Quade."

I nod, then give her a sharp look. "How did you know I'd seek him out?"

"When he touched you during your fit, you calmed down and woke up."

Dread bubbles inside me. "Do you think anyone else noticed?"

Carrie shrugs. "Most of the people around us weren't from the settlement. I don't think Father noticed anything other than you being at risk of losing your standing. I've been watching him. I don't think he has a clue what's going on with you, which probably means you got your tunnel vision from him. Once you both get something in your head, you lock everything else out."

I snort with annoyance, yet I know she's right. "Fine. You're right. Now go back home."

"No, and you can't make me go back. We're in this together. We're both daughters of the only known necromancer in the history of the Atonement Sanctuary. I'm going with you."

I know from many years of quarreling with my younger sister that I won't win this battle. She's as stubborn as I am and we'll just waste precious time arguing.

"Fine. You can come with me."

"I was going to anyway," she retorts, but smiles. Taking my hand, she walks with me toward the gate.

I pull on the latch, slowly easing the heavy gate open to reveal the narrow flagstone road on the other side. It cuts along the edge of the Murrow House property and swerves past the cemetery before continuing past an expanse of wooded land to the heavily fortified gate that opens to the farmlands. Tall trees laden with Spanish moss surround the tall three-story house with the peaked roof and wide wrap-around porch. There aren't any iron shutters attached to the windows and the only protection is a wrought iron fence that's leaning in a few places and covered in rust.

We slip through the gate and hurry through the cover of the trees and blooming oleander bushes. The half-moon is bright and high in the heavens, illuminating the world enough to allow us to traverse the uneven ground near the fence without falling. I cautiously peer up the street toward the neighborhood that ends just before the Murrow House. All the windows are dark and the gas street lamps give off a soft glow in the humid air.

Rubbing my clammy hands on my dress, I stare toward the Murrow House on the other side of the fence. It sits on a small hill and the stone steps leading to the front door are cracked and crumbling. The front of the building is dark, but several windows in the back glow with light.

"Should we knock?" Carrie asks.

"I suppose. It's not like we can just enter."

Holding hands, we hurry along the fence to the gate. It groans when I push it open, and we both flinch.

"Just go," Carrie urges.

The stone steps are uneven and not easy to traverse, but we climb rapidly toward the entrance. The double doors are inlaid with stained glass, portraying angels kneeling over the sick and dying. The house is unlike any other building in the entire settlement and I'm in awe of the fancy façade. When I reach the porch, I step cautiously onto the wood surface. It creaks, but holds my weight. Carrie is more daring and rushes to the door and begins to knock.

Strange music pours into the night from deep within the house. It's unlike anything I've ever heard before. Music is restricted to the Wednesday Gathering and consists of only a harp and choir. This is different and I can't even fathom what sort of instrument is creating the sounds.

Carrie persistently knocks on the door while I stand behind her watching the street. My gaze is drawn to the rows of stone monuments drowning in weeds and tall grass on the other side of the house. A canopy of trees envelopes the area in darkness. I wonder how people my age dare to gather in such a foreboding place. Are any of them out there now? It's difficult to tell with the constantly shifting shadows beneath the trees.

"No answer," Carrie huffs with annoyance. "The music is covering the sound. We need to find another door."

Nervously, I stare at the thick foliage surrounding the outside of the house. "It could be dangerous. What about snakes and spiders?"

Far more fearless than I'll ever be, Carrie drags me along the porch by the arm. "We came this far, we can't turn back."

The porch curves along the side of the house. I attempt to peer into the house, but all the windows are covered in thick curtains. Another smaller door sits at the far end of the porch and Carrie boldly runs up to it while I linger near the railing to peer down at a narrow path that winds through the overgrown side garden to the rear of the house.

From where I stand, I can see the dim glow of the burning bodies of the Unblessed beyond the perimeter wall. How could Angelina dare to climb the wall when it's so dangerous? Was she a necromancer, too? Did she somehow learn how to use her powers before scaling the wall to escape? I hope so. Or else she's dead out there among the Unblessed.

My sister pounds on the door, her agitation growing. I worry that her boldness will get us caught, but the settlement is entirely dark. "Ugh! Why does he have to be playing music? And what sort of music is that?"

Gathering up my resolve, I attempt to be brave. "Stay here. I'm going to the back of the house to see if there is a door there."

"What if there are snakes or spiders?" Carrie smirks at me in the dim light.

"Thanks for reminding me!"

I playfully sneer at her before descending the stairs near the door. The overgrown garden is fragrant with herbs and flowers. Though grass pokes through the flagstones, it appears someone has taken the time to weed the garden over the years. I wonder at this, but don't give it too much thought as I gingerly make my way through the dark. I duck under the low-hanging branches covered in Spanish moss and bat away cobwebs that float across my path.

The moonlight barely pierces the gloom, and I start to reconsider my attempt at bravery. I tilt my head to see a window bright with light over my head. The music is louder here, thrumming in my bones.

I bend over and scrabble at the path. The flagstones are rough and broken. I find a decent size pebble and straighten. Aiming at the window, I toss it. It clangs against the glass, but the music doesn't lower.

"Please hear, Quade," I mutter.

I search for another pebble.

Hands close around my waist, and I am pulled back against a muscled body. I yelp in shock. Whipping about, I find myself in the grip of a tall man. I strike his chest with a closed fist and wrench myself backward.

A grunt of pain follows.

I rapidly rush along the path away from my attacker in a panic. I can't believe someone dared to lay hands on me and tears flood my vision. I'm nearly to the rear of the house when my arm is grabbed in a firm grip. I whip about, my fist raised.

Bale's face looms over me in the moonlight. He's grinning with amusement.

"I knew it was you when I saw you from the cemetery. Were you looking for me? Did you get Prudence's message? We gather down in the cemetery near the big mausoleum, not at the house."

Gasping, I stare at his fingers pressing into my forearm. "Let go of me."

"Why?" Bale asks, his smile teasing. "Didn't you come here for me?"

"No, I did not. Now release me."

"You like it though, don't you?"

"I'm Pious Standing!" I blurt out. "I'm about to have my Bridal Auction." I don't know why I'm explaining all of this to him since he already knows, but my heart is hammering in my chest.

"Isn't that why you're here? Because your time is running out."

Bale pulls me closer to his chest. He's dressed in a dark shirt and jeans. I admit he's handsome, but something about his gaze scares me. I struggle to free myself, but he's much stronger than I am.

"Let go!"

"Ilyse, I know what it's like to have your future decided for you. I'm lucky. One day I'll get my pick of pretty girls for a wife, but you don't have a choice. You're going to stand up there in your white dress and hope that the man who picks you is someone you can stand. My mother hates my father. Despises him. If she could run away, she would."

I continue to pull away from him. "My future doesn't concern you."

Bale releases my arm only to seize my shoulders. Yanking me against his body, his voice lowers. "This is your chance to make a decision for yourself. I've seen you peeking at me. I know that you're drawn to me just like I am to you. Maybe if we lived in a different settlement, we could be together. But we're trapped here and this night might be your only chance to choose passion over duty."

I gape at him in disbelief. The press of his body against mine is unrelenting and sickens me. I hate the way my breasts are mashed against his chest and how he sways with me in his grip.

"You have misread my intentions, Bale, in every way. I don't desire you."

"I know you're lying. I know what you want, Ilyse. I can see it in your eyes."

When he mashes his mouth over mine, I freeze in terror. I remember the times that Prudence encouraged me to meet her brother. I'd dismissed her messages from him, never giving them serious thought. I never dreamed he'd violate my Pious Standing or my body in this manner. I don't want to be touched by him and I'm repulsed by his passionate kiss. The more I struggle, the more ardent he becomes. Bale is clearly excited by my futile attempt to free myself and I wish my aunt hadn't already instructed me about my wifely duties in the bedroom. I'm acutely aware of his arousal against my stomach.

"All the Pious Standing girls struggle at first," he mutters against my lips.

"Stop!" I exclaim but his tongue ends up in my mouth. Gagging, I let my body go limp hoping gravity will pull me free.

Instead, Bale lifts me up in his arms and heaves me under a curtain of Spanish moss and pushes my back against the tree trunk. The rough bark scratches my skin through the lightweight cotton of my dress. His hips pinning mine, his hands slide my dress upward.

Tears stinging my eyes, I gather up all my strength and shove against his chest. He doesn't budge in the slightest. Far stronger than I am, I realize in a panic that he can force himself on me and I can't stop him. His words return to my mind and it dawns on me that he has done this to other girls in the settlement.

"Ilyse?" Carrie calls out from further down the path.

In a blind panic, I struggle against his searching hands trailing up my thighs.

"Ilyse?" Carrie is so close, I can hear her footfalls on the flagstones.

Bale ignores my sister's approach. I consider not struggling so that she'll safely pass without seeing us. But what if Bale one day tries to do this to her?

Rage flares through me, dark with green fire, and I scream inside my mind at the futility of my struggle.

Hands surge through the thick foliage and grab Bale. Startled, he gasps. He's wrenched through the moss and branches, liberating me. I dart out onto the path to find Carrie staring wide-eyed at the struggle. I turn expecting to see that my savior is Quade. Instead, Quade stands a few feet from the grappling figures with a startled expression on his face.

Headmaster Simmons and my mother hold Bale between them, their gnarled fingers digging into his muscled body. He stares in terror at their dead faces and sharp teeth. Too terrified to even cry out, he jerks against their tight hold. It's my dead mother who tears into his throat. Blood sprays onto Headmaster Simmons, causing him to frenzy. They enfold Bale in their embrace, their mouths buried in his neck. I watch in horror as the ground opens beneath them, and the three are dragged into the dark earth.

"Ilyse!" Carrie gasps. "Ilyse! Stop!"

Bale stretches his hands out toward us, terror in his eyes as his body sinks up to his waist. The dead don't release their hold on him, but push him downward.

Quade takes two sharp steps toward Bale and the undead, then hesitates. His gaze settles on my trembling body and my rumpled clothing. Raising one hand to his mouth, he watches Bale being dragged into the soil and doesn't move to save him.

"Help me," Bale manages to whimper and then he's swallowed by the ground.

Walking to where Bale vanished, Quade smooths the ground with the toe of his boot.

Carrie spins about and stares at me in shock. "What did you do, Ilyse?"

I can't answer. I'm shaking so violently my teeth bite my tongue. I just killed a man and I can't even fathom that reality.

Quade brushes past Carrie and gently rests his fingertips against my cheek. Staring into my eyes, he seems to be searching for something.

_I came when I heard you scream._

"Help me," I whisper aloud.

Nodding, Quade settles his hand on my shoulder. Instead of shirking away, I lean into his side. Somehow, I know he's safe. The warmth of his body is comforting.

"Ilyse..." Carrie is afraid. She stares toward the front of the house, but doesn't attempt to leave.

I clutch her hand, tears obscuring my vision. I can't even start to process what just occurred and a piece of me wants the world to cease to exist so I won't have to.

"It's done," Quade says to Carrie. "Now we deal with it. Understand?"

Carrie nods.

Quade guides me toward the back of the house and my sister follows.
8

# The Undertaker

I can't believe I killed Bale.

As Quade guides me along the pathway to a narrow stone staircase rising to a screen door, I replay in my mind the image of Bale being dragged into the ground by my dead mother and mentor. I can't seem to stop the endless loop of his stricken face right before he disappeared.

It's hard to focus on anything around me. I stumble on the stairs, forcing Quade to wrap his arm around me and lift me up step by step to the doorway. Carrie follows us and I imagine I can feel her accusing gaze on my back. If I'm horrified by what I've done, what must she be feeling?

When we arrive on the doorstep, I peer through the rusted metal mesh into the house. A very long, dimly lit hallway stretches before me. Quade yanks the door open and helps me inside. The air is musty, but cooler than the outside. Carrie scurries past Quade to stand nervously at my side. He leans me against the wall, and turns to close both the screen door and a heavier metal door that clangs loudly when shut.

Squaring his shoulders, he takes a deep breath before turning around.

"Okay, Ilyse. We need to get you sorted out," he says in his husky voice.

"I killed him," I murmur.

"Yes, yes, you did." Quade reaches out to me, his silver rings glinting in the glow of the light fixture dangling over my head. I feel tainted by my horrific deed and unworthy of any comfort, so I shirk away.

"You shouldn't touch her," Carrie snaps. "She's Pious Standing."

"I killed someone. My standing is destroyed."

"No one knows you killed him," Carrie retorts.

"Your sister is right. No one knows you killed him and it needs to stay that way. But in the meantime, we need to get you taken care of. You look shaky on your feet." He keeps his hand extended toward me. "I'm sorry I touched you earlier, but right now, I think you need some help getting to the other room."

I study his expression and decide he's sincere. "It's okay. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Not anymore."

"We need to go home, Ilyse." Carrie sounds young and scared. "We need to pretend this didn't happen. We shouldn't be here."

"You can't go home with bruises and scratches on you," Quade says. "Your parents will know something happened. I can take care of those for you."

"He has a point, Carrie."

She lets out an exasperated noise. "Fine."

I timidly take his hand and he pulls me against his side. With an arm slung across my shoulders, he guides me through the long hallway past darkened doorways to an enormous room filled with large black crates made out a glossy material, a table and chairs, ceiling-high bookcases devoid of books, and an inflatable bed covered in colorful bedding. Wall sconces cast bright light over the room. I lift my head to gawk at the ornate crown molding that includes fancy scrollwork and what looks like babies with wings. It's hard to discern details since grime and cobwebs obscure the decoration that would never be included in any of the settlement homes. The house is definitely from before The Fall.

"Those cherubs up there are supposed to be comforting, but they really creep me out," Quade says with a wry smile. He yanks out a chair for me to sit at the table. The furniture is heavy and scrapes loudly against the wood floor. The dining set has a dark shiny varnish and is intricately carved. It almost feels wrong to sit on something that's so pretty.

"Those are cherubs?" Carrie frowns. "It's not right to have graven images. Especially of the angels of the Three Gods."

Quade ignores her scowl and opens one of the big black crates that are nearly as tall as him. Inside is a myriad of drawers of different sizes. His dark blond hair falls across his brow in long, jagged bangs and he sweeps them to one side as he scans the labels on the drawers.

"Did these come today?" I ask.

"The crates, yes. The furniture was already here. There are a few rooms just crammed with the stuff. I pulled out what I needed for now." Quade starts to set things on the table. I don't recognize any of the objects. The cylinders have matte metal surfaces and are labeled in black lettering I can't read from where I sit.

"This house is very different from ours," I say, my voice quavering. The world around me doesn't feel real anymore. It's as if I'm untethered from reality and drifting in a bubble.

Carrie wanders around the large room. She pokes at the musty curtains, peers up at a gigantic light that's made up of what looks like hundreds of glass crystals, and studies the shipping labels on the crates.

"Be careful over there," Quade warns her. "There's some loose flooring."

"Why do you want to live here? It's filthy." Carrie gives Quade a piercing look. "You're from The Enclave. Don't you have a home there?"

Quade tosses some clothes onto the table before turning to regard Carrie. "Is there a reason you don't like me?" He doesn't sound unkind, mostly amused.

"Maybe you killed, Bale and are trying to make my sister take the fall," she blurts out. "You're a necromancer!"

"I'm _not_ a necromancer." Quade scoffs at her words with a shake of his head. "Only women are necromancers."

"Oh. Well, then, you're something just as bad." Carrie always stands her ground in an argument.

Quade gives her an amused smile. "Nah, I'm nowhere near that powerful."

"How do we know that's true?"

Pressing my hand to my face, I'm unsettled by the clamminess of my skin. I don't feel well at all, and the world is tipping to one side again. "Carrie, leave him alone. I did it. I killed Bale."

"But you're good, Ilyse! So good! You've always been so devout and kind. How could you kill someone?" Carrie stares at me with tears in her eyes.

"Because she didn't know what she was doing," Quade answers for me. "Undisciplined power is dangerous."

Carrie spins away from us and stalks over to the far end of the room, ignoring his earlier warning. I can hear her sniffling and I wonder if she'll run home and tell my father what I did.

Quade takes my hand, turns it over, and sets one of the smaller cylinders to my wrist. I feel a hard press against my skin. "That's for the shock."

"Shock?" I stare at him, not understanding.

"You're in shock from what happened. It's one of the more adverse side effects of using your powers when you're not trained. The medicine I just gave you will help regulate your blood pressure."

I'm already feeling a little less dizzy and nauseous. "Thank you."

"This is what you're going to do," Quade says, leaning toward me. His eyes are mesmerizing with how they transition from green to gold to brown. "Go in that door over there, wash up, and put on these clothes. Bring me your dress when you're done. I'll treat your bruises and cuts then."

"What will you do with my dress?"

"I've got a portable clothes washer in that crate over there. It also mends." He points to a tear in my sleeve I didn't even know I had. "It'll take about thirty minutes to run your dress through it."

"A machine that washes and mends?" I'm awed by the thought.

"And dries." Quade points to the door. "Now, go clean up. Right in there."

I stand without his help. I'm relieved when the room doesn't tilt and I'm able to walk without assistance. When I'm finally in the small bathroom, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The reflective surface is freshly polished and my image stares back at me. My light brown eyes are bloodshot and glassy. I've been crying this whole time and didn't realize it. I poke the puffy lower lids with the tip of my finger before wiping away the tears. My lips are swollen and there is a bruise forming on my cheek. I am surprised to see that my lip is cut since I don't recall that happening. Bits of bark and leaves are in my tangled auburn hair. Tears well in my eyes again and I choke back sobs. The need to wash away the signs of my struggle with Bale overcomes me and I scramble to get clean.

There isn't a water pump over the surprisingly clean tub and it takes me a minute to understand how to work the faucet. When I finally have fresh water running, I take off my cape and dress. Tears drip from my chin when I see the ugly bruises forming on my pale, freckled thighs. Again, I feel Bale's hands on my body and I retch. The water carries the vomit away down the drain.

I find a wash cloth and soap on a shelf and scrub my body and face. It's difficult to keep my tears from flowing as I finally surrender to the emotions boiling inside me. Weeping, I wash my hair and body until it feels clean again.

Afterward, I put on the clothing Quade gave me. It's a soft gray T-shirt with long sleeves and lightweight black pants with a drawstring waist. I roll up the sleeves and pant legs, feeling awkward being in a man's clothing. I stifle my tears and wash my face one more time. Gathering my cape and dress, I open the door.

Carrie stands in front of Quade, arms folded over her chest, glaring up at him while he stares at her with a confused look on his face. Her voice is low, speaking rapidly, and she's clearly not happy. When she notices me, she whirls about, storms over to the inflated bed and sits on the edge.

"What's going on?" I demand.

"Your sister thinks I'm raising the... uh... Beloved? Is that right? Beloved Undead?"

"Yes," I answer. "That's what we call them."

"She thinks I've raised the Beloved Undead to trap you."

"Not _raising_. Helping them escape the Perdition Sanctuary to go into our garden."

"What is the Perdition Sanctuary?" he asks.

"It's where we place the people who die. They're sanctified and placed inside the Perdition Sanctuary. It's the big metal building with the high steeple," I answer.

"You should be burning the bodies so they don't rise." Quade shakes his head in disbelief. "Or at least chopping up the bodies."

Carrie stares at me in horror. "He's a barbarian!"

"You don't want them getting out, do you? Keeping the dead _inside_ the settlement is just foolhardy."

"The Beloved dead are waiting for Resurrection," I explain. "The Three Gods will one day cleanse the world and resurrect the dead that have been sanctified."

"They're at peace," Carrie insists. "Not like the Unblessed."

Quade rubs his goatee with his long fingers. "And these Beloved Dead won't attack you? Try to tear you apart and eat you?"

Carrie ducks her head, unwilling to answer.

"That's what we were told," I whisper.

"The two who attacked Bale were definitely not at peace," Quade points out.

I feel sickened with that truth. "I know."

"You're the one who let them out. Just admit it! You're the one who made them not be at peace!" Carrie exclaims, her righteous indignation rising to the forefront again.

"For what purpose?" Quade looks both annoyed and amused.

"As a test!" Carrie glares at him.

"I told you. I'm not a necromancer. I don't have that kind of power."

"But you do have power," I say. "I've seen it. It looks like green fire around your hands."

The corner of Quade's lip tilts upward as he regards me thoughtfully. "So that's what caught your eye at the train station."

Of course, what first caught my eye was how attractive he is, but I'm not about to admit that to him.

"Yes, I saw your power. Can you see it on me?" I look down at my hands curiously.

"I see blackish vapor swirling around you. Not all the time."

"So you admit you have enough power to know my sister is a necromancer!" Carrie narrows her eyes, obviously furious with him.

"Yes. I do. I'm what they call an Undertaker."

"So what's that?" my sister demands.

"I sense what you call the Beloved Undead and I call zombies. I know when they're around. I can't control them though."

"So what's the use in that?" Carrie sounds downright hostile.

"It allows me to get away. Hide. Whatever."

"But there's more than just that, right?" Carrie clearly doesn't trust Quade despite the help he's giving me.

"Yeah, there's more." Quade gives me a thoughtful look.

_Ilyse, we shouldn't tell her everything._

_I don't know everything, Quade._

_Will she tell on us?_

I look at my sister and contemplate his question. Carrie is furious, scared, and suspicious, but I also know she's loyal.

"He can talk to me in my head," I say. "And I can answer him."

Carrie stares at me in disbelief. "Seriously?"

"From the first time I saw him at the train station, I've been able to hear him."

"I'm not a necromancer, but I help them through my abilities."

Carrie looks triumphant, as though she has wrestled incriminating information from him. "So you're from the Necromancer Chantry in the Enclave!"

In a firm voice Quade says, "Don't go telling everyone about that. That information needs to stay in this room. I know enough about the Lost Texts to know that your people don't like the Chantry."

"You're heretics," I say.

Quade gives me a startled look. "You think so?"

"Aren't you?" I don't understand his surprise.

"Well, we don't believe in the Lost Texts, so I don't think we can be heretics."

This response stumps my sister and me, and we fall silent.

Quade takes my dress from me and walks over to a crate. He opens it and reveals a small machine tucked into a nook inside. He pops the lid, drops my dress inside, and taps a glowing blue panel. I wander over to gaze at the piece of high-tech equipment my father would despise. Timidly, I touch the top of the machine and feel a low vibration.

Watching me, Quade says, "So your people really do despise tech, huh?"

"It brought about The Fall."

"I thought they blamed the necromancers."

"The Lost Texts say that tech brought about both the Unblessed and devil-women. Which is what it calls the necromancers," I reply. "The devil-women made people create technology to destroy the world."

"I don't remember reading that." Quade picks up a tablet from the table and swipes the screen. He flips it around so I can see what he was reading before we interrupted his night. It's a digital version of the Lost Texts. Observing my discomfort, he sets it down so Carrie can see it. It's heresy for the Lost Texts to be transferred to a hi-tech device. I wonder who would dare break the tenets of the faith to do such a thing.

"If you're not a believer, why are you reading the Lost Texts?" Carrie stares at the tablet apprehensively.

"I started reading it on my way here. Usually when I'm sent to a settlement I have more time to prepare, but after what happened to the Bridgetown Settlement, the Chantry was anxious to dispatch an Undertaker here."

His words confirm Carrie's hunch that someone is watching us.

"So you are here with a purpose and it has to do with Ilyse. I knew you couldn't be trusted!"

Quade sets his hands on his waist and stares at my little sister. With a defiant tilt of her head, she glares back at him. Carrie's much more outspoken than I'll ever be, and she has no qualms about confronting this strange man in his own home. Finally, with a weary sigh, Quade focuses on me.

"Sit down, Ilyse. Let's get rid of those bruises and cuts. I'll explain while I patch you up."

I take a seat at the table and he pulls a chair around so he can sit facing me. Picking up one of the canisters, he leans forward to spray something on my lip. It feels cold against my skin, but refreshing.

"Undertakers serve the Chantry by seeking out newly awakened necromancers. We're assigned to a settlement and keep watch for any signs of necromancy. I've been doing this since I was eighteen. In four years, I've brought six awakened necromancers to the Chantry. I'm good at my job."

Carrie snorts.

Ignoring her, Quade continues: "After what happened to the Bridgetown settlement, the Undertakers were dispatched to any settlement with a large infestation of the dead."

"Why didn't they do that before?" Carrie asks.

"Because it's not that unusual for the dead to gather around settlements of the living. Don't get me wrong. It was part of the algorithm the Clerics use to pinpoint potential necromancers, but once you're further out on the continent near the Radiated Lands, the algorithm falls apart."

"And that's where the Bridgetown Settlement used to be." I touch my lip to find it healed. I'm in awe and for the first time I wonder why we're not allowed to embrace healing tech.

Quade inclines his head. "And now it's gone. I had just returned from the Lone Star Settlement when the Clerics decided to send out Undertakers to all the settlements with any large amassing of the dead, which included this one. Additionally, we knew there was a suspected necromancer discovered in this settlement a few years ago that was killed when she was discovered."

I shiver at the memory of my dead mother grabbing Bale. "That was my mother."

"She wasn't killed. She committed suicide," Carrie says sharply. "She didn't want to be a necromancer."

Quade doesn't respond to her outburst, and presses another cylinder to my wrist. "This is for the bruising."

"My mother died because she didn't want to be a heretic," Carrie persists, but even I can hear doubt in her voice. She doesn't believe what our father told us? I'm stunned by this revelation, but then begin to wonder if maybe she's right to suspect.

Quade glances toward my sister, and I suspect he's trying not to rile her further. "I don't know all the details about what happened to your mother."

"She was terrified of what she was and it drove her to commit a terrible sin," Carrie replies.

"Whatever happened to your mother is a tragedy. I was sent to investigate her surviving daughters. I didn't expect to spot you as soon as I got off the train. This has been my easiest recruitment."

"She's not recruited," Carrie declares.

"I don't want to be a necromancer," I tell him, tears threatening to fall again.

Quade sets the cylinder down on the table and leans back in his chair. With a sympathetic tone in his voice, he says, "You may not want to be, but that is most likely what you are. You could also be a Summoner, which is what we call people who can summon the dead at will, but that's the limit of their power. They can't actually control the dead."

"I made them kill Bale," I whisper.

"Or they did what they do naturally: attack the living. And when you willed them away, they took Bale with them. There are tests to determine the limits of your power, Ilyse."

Though I'd been contemplating leaving the settlement to escape suspicion and persecution, I'd never really thought about going to The Enclave. I've heard stories about its towering buildings and enormous wall, but I can't even imagine such a place. What would it be like to enter the Chantry and be among people with powers over the dead?

"Is there a cure?" I dare to ask.

Exhaling slowly, Quade rubs his chin. "No, but there is a drug that suppresses the powers. It affects the neural pathways of the brain and, for some reason that no one has yet to figure out, it keeps necromancers from using their power."

"Then you have to get it for my sister!" Carrie skitters across the floor to slam her hands down on the table and glare at Quade.

"It's an illegal drug that is sold in the Deadlands. I can't get it for her, and there are dire side effects. It might be the reason behind Aura's insanity. Her mother was taking the drug and it could've affected Aura's development in the womb."

"So a girl really did wipe out the settlement on purpose." The mere thought is too awful to believe.

Quade rubs at the scruff over his lip. "Yeah. She sent thousands of zombies over the walls. Cleric Fabiola was forced to kill her and had a difficult time getting the dead under control. It was a very bad situation. Very few people lived."

I ponder what it would take to secure the drug and then keep it hidden. It would enable me to live an ordinary life, but at what risk? I'll be expected to have children. What if they grew up to be like Aura? The life designed for me has never held great allure, but I thought it was what I was supposed to do. Now that it seems unobtainable, I feel so sad. Maybe it's because I'm not who I imagined myself to be. I always wanted to please my father, but I know for certain that I will be banished from his lips and heart very soon.

"You can't stay here, Ilyse." Quade rests his elbows on his knees and regards me sadly. "You need to be where you can be trained and protected."

"I can't leave the settlement with you," I say.

"Once they figure out what you are, you'll be in danger," Quade answers.

"No, you don't understand. I literally cannot leave the settlement with you. I'm supposed to face my Bridal Auction soon. I'm not yet an adult. I won't be allowed to leave. Before the train departs from the station, the wardens come on board to make sure that everyone departing has permission to do so. I can't even walk down the road without a chaperone."

"She's right. If we were caught here with you, we'd both be barred from the Bridal Auction and become Unclaimed."

"What is this Bridal Auction?"

Carrie and I exchange surprised looks. Just how different is the outside world from ours?

"All young women on their eighteenth birthday attend the Bridal Auction. The eligible Crats attend and bid on wives. The women who aren't chosen are Unclaimed and enter the work force. I'm about to turn eighteen."

Quade frowns. "The Crats are the land owners and tradesman, right?"

Carrie bobs her head. "Right."

"So you see I can't leave here on my own. Even after I'm married, I can't leave without my husband's permission. If I want to leave, I'd have to go over the wall." The memory of the Unblessed outside the walls in the seconds before they were destroyed will forever haunt me and I shudder.

"That's not a good idea. I can't control the dead and you're untrained." Folding his arms over his chest, Quade slumps in his chair. "This will be more complicated than I thought."

Slapping her hands against the surface of the table, Carrie exclaims, "You have to train her so she can control it and won't be exposed! You can't let her life be ruined!"

A loud beep startles all of us. Quade slides out of his chair and walks over to the machine that's cleaning and mending my gown. He pulls it out and tosses it over to me. I catch it and find it warm to the touch.

"Get dressed and go home," he says.

"You have to help her," Carrie insists.

"The best way to help both of you right now is for you to go home and pretend none of this happened. You need to act like normal. No crying. No moping. No unusual behavior." Quade's voice is clipped and his gaze piercing. "You were never here. We never saw each other. This conversation did not happen. If anyone asks, you were asleep all night."

"Are you on Ilyse's side or not?" Carrie puts her hands on her hips and glares at him. "Or are you setting her up?"

"Right now I'm not sure what to do. I have to do some research, talk to the Chantry, and sort out what my role is here. The best thing you two can do is act like nothing happened."

Afraid I'm about to start weeping again, I rush to the bathroom to change. For some reason, his words feel like rejection and it stings. This time my reflection looks almost normal except for the tears glimmering in my eyes. I study my thighs and find that the bruises are gone. I pull on my dress, fold Quade's clothes, and leave them on a counter.

Again, when I exit the bathroom, Carrie and Quade are standing nearly toe to toe glaring at each other.

"Maybe it's not her, but someone else," Carrie says.

"I told you I can't raise-"

"Maybe not you. Maybe someone else. Someone trying to set her up. Or playing a game. I don't know! But my sister is of Pious Standing, which means she is one of the best among us. I can't believe she killed Bale."

"But I did," I say with certainty. "I killed him because he attempted to force me into relations with him."

Carrie's face pales. "What?"

I realize then that Carrie didn't even understand what had happened between me and Bale. Quade and I regard each other for a moment.

_She doesn't understand why you did it._

_Should I tell her? It's shameful._

_It's not your shame, Ilyse. It's his._

Taking a deep breath, I turn to face my sister _._ "Bale wanted to have relations with me like a husband has with his wife. Our aunt explained it to me a few weeks ago, and it's when-"

"I know what it is!" Carrie surges toward me, grabbing my arms. "He tried to put his thing in you?"

"How do you know about _that_?"

"Rachel-Ann told everyone in her class when she found out from her older married sister."

There were many times when I caught my classmates snickering about things we shouldn't know at our age. I had chosen to walk away in fear of losing my standing. It's evident that Carrie had no such fears.

"He wanted to," I reply. "I fought him, but he was too strong. He said other girls with Pious Standing had resisted at first, too, but had given in eventually."

"That boy was a serial rapist." Quade sneers with disgust. "He deserved what he got."

"Why did you think I killed him, Carrie?"

"I thought you hadn't! I thought he had!" Carrie points at Quade. "I couldn't imagine a reason why you'd hurt Bale. But now that I know I don't feel bad for him!"

"So you do believe it was me now?"

Carrie presses her lips together, then nods.

Quade's fingers play with his goatee, a nervous tick, I've observed, and he stares at me solemnly.

_Go home. Go to sleep. Pretend that everything is normal. The simplest explanation for everything that has happened is that you're an awakening necromancer, but I'll keep an eye out for anything that might point to an unknown necromancer in action, okay?_

_Yes, but when will we talk again?_ I try not to project too much hope into that thought, but I do want to see him soon. My heart even beats faster at the thought of it.

_When it's safe. Bale's disappearance is going to cause some issues. Just take care of yourself._

I pull my cape about my shoulders and secure it about my throat. Carrie raises her hood, mimicking me. We stare at each other and I'm certain that my sister will not falter in her loyalty to me. I hold out my hand and she takes it. Her fingers squeeze mine, the gesture very reassuring.

"Thank you," I say to Quade.

"Just be careful going home," he replies.

"You better be a good guy," my sister grouses as I drag her down the hallway to the back door.

Quade's only answer is to chuckle.

Through the darkness of the night we retrace our steps home until we're finally in our beds again. Dread and guilt settle on me like a heavy mantle. Flashes of the Unblessed and Bale make it hard to fall asleep. I toss and turn throughout the rest of the night and don't fall asleep until nearly dawn.

In my dreams, I see my mother, her mouth bloodied, standing at my window, watching me with a smile on her lips.
9

# Nothing is the Same

Carrie shakes me to consciousness. I stare at her, bleary-eyed, unsure of what time it is or where I am. My thoughts are jumbled together and I can't seem to focus. I'm so tired my eyelids close.

I want more sleep. I'll deal with the world later.

"You need to wake up, Ilyse," Carrie insists, shaking me harder. "I let you sleep late and now you need to hurry. Father will be home soon for breakfast."

Groaning, I force myself upright. My head feels heavy from sleeping so soundly. I don't even want to think about the long day that stretches out before me. Carrie rushes about, gathering my dress, underthings, and shoes. She dumps them onto my lap.

"Hurry," she whispers. "And act normal."

I stare at her, blinking my eyes in confusion, and, all at once, remember. I gasp and cover my mouth. "It wasn't a dream!"

"Shh!" She waves her hands at me.

Bale's stricken face as he was dragged beneath the ground fills my mind's eye and I almost retch.

"Deep breaths, Ilyse. Calm yourself. We have to act normal. Do you understand?"

Staring into my sister's frightened eyes, I nod. I do understand but I'm not sure what normal is anymore. I feel as though everything I ever believed about my religion, my family, and myself is being ripped from my flesh, one bloody strip after the other. My legs are trembling when I stand, and Carrie steadies me with one hand.

"Ilyse, you can do this," she says, her fingers giving my arm an encouraging squeeze.

"I _can_ do this," I reply, squaring my shoulders.

Feeling exhausted makes everything harder this morning, but I force my way through my morning routine. As I bathe, I study my arms and legs. There isn't a sign of the bruises Bale's fingers left on my skin. The memory of him pressing me against the tree threatens to reduce me to tears again.

Taking a deep breath, I focus on the coming day. I have exams to plan for in preparation for my Bridal Auction, which I promised my father I would do my best on. High scores will elevate my status, which will bring a better payment. After I'm gone, I want him to have some good memories of me. Maybe he won't always think of me as a vile necromancer, but as a faithful daughter until my heritage destroyed my life.

I finish washing and start to dress. Every time my thoughts start to turn to Bale, I recite the vow of a Pious Woman in my mind.

_I am humble_

_I am quiet._

_I am kind._

_I am faithful._

_I am hardworking._

_I am fruitful._

_I am plain._

_I am pious._

Arriving last at the breakfast table, I'm a little breathless from hurrying. My aunt's gaze rests heavily on me as I greet Rennon with a kiss on his forehead.

"You were almost late," he whispers to me.

"We can't all be early like you," I answer, tweaking his nose.

"I am always on time," he says with pride.

I take my seat and face Carrie. She looks the same as always, with her slightly damp hair resting on her shoulders and her cheeks flushed from rushing about to be on time. That seems a little odd, since I was the last to bathe, but I don't give it much thought.

"How are you this morning, Ilyse?" my aunt asks.

Perhaps it's my guilty conscience, but her gaze feels especially pointed this morning.

"A little tired," I answer truthfully. "I'm a little nervous about my upcoming exams and the Bridal Auction."

"Your marks are always excellent, and you've kept yourself properly plain. You will find a good husband," my aunt reassures me.

"I aspire to be humble and without pride," I answer automatically.

"As all good women should."

The sunlight filtering through the curtains warms my shoulders. Like any proper woman, I don't show discomfort by squirming. I keep perfectly still, my hands in my lap while we wait for my father. Any second now the front door will open and he will enter.

The minutes tick by and my worries start to deepen. Our lives are meticulously planned from the time we wake up to the time we lay down in our beds. The patriarch of each family maintains strict control over the lives of those in his household. My father knows exactly where each member of his family is scheduled to be at any given time of the day. My father is never late or early, but always precisely on time.

But not today.

My aunt's chair creaks as she shifts her weight, the only sign she might be anxious about my father's lateness. Carrie sits across the table from me with her hands in her lap and her head slightly bowed. She looks at me through her lashes, but doesn't say a word. I wish I could read her thoughts like I can read Quade's. A tiny frown forms between Carrie's eyebrows which matches mine. We don't speak up though. We're well-trained to behave properly.

Rennon has no compunction about being proper, and wriggles around in his wheelchair. Tilting his head, he surveys the clock. "Father is late."

My aunt's eyes flick toward him. "Your father is never late."

"He is this morning. By three minutes." Rennon frowns. "I'm hungry."

"Sit still and wait like a proper young man," she tells him, but her unease is clear in her expression and the sound of her voice.

A few minutes later, we hear a sharp rap on the door. My aunt stands sharply, her hand over her heart. I observe the look of alarm on her face, and my own stomach lurches. I'd be worrying about Bale, but it didn't occur to me that something had happened to my father at the bakery. I glance at Rennon in his chair and panic fills me.

Forcing herself to sit down, my aunt clasps her hands together. "Annah, get the door."

Annah obeys and rushes from the back of the house to answer the front hall.

At the table, my family sits with stiff backs as we wait in horrible anticipation. The door shuts and a moment later Annah appears with a loaf of bread wrapped in paper.

"Ma'am, the master has been summoned to the council building. He will not be joining you," Annah explains, then sets the bread in the waiting basket near my father's plate.

"Did the messenger explain why he was summoned?" my aunt asks.

"No, ma'am. He did not." Annah begins to slice the bread, and it feels odd to see her perform the task instead of my father.

"I will do that, Annah. Bring me the bread and the knife."

Flustered, Annah hastily obeys, then hurries from the room to return to her duties. I've noticed before that Annah is intimidated by my aunt. I wonder if it's because she secretly covets my aunt's position.

My aunt finishes the task. She's clearly upset and wields the knife with far too much force, creating uneven slices. Carrie and I watch her worriedly while Rennon regards the bread with hunger.

"Why would father be summoned?" Carrie dares to ask.

My aunt sets the knife down with quivering fingers. "To fulfill his duty as a member of the Council of Crats."

Carrie stares at her in confusion.

"They convene the Council of Crats when there has been a serious crime in the settlement," she further explains. "Which is a very rare occurrence. The last time was when my sister..." Realizing she's saying too much, my aunt falls silent.

"Does that mean they found a necromancer?" Carrie is so bold I'm not certain if it is foolhardy or brave.

My aunt's fingers pluck nervously at the silverware next to her plate. It clunks against the stoneware and she becomes aware of what she's doing. Setting her hands in her lap, she takes a deep breath.

"Let us eat," she says, ignoring Carrie's question completely.

"So they did find a necromancer?" Rennon excitedly asks. "Did the necromancer make all the Unblessed come to the wall?"

"Rennon, I know just as much as you do. This topic is not suitable for breakfast," my aunt answers, the sharpness in her voice returning. Her eyes, though, are haunted and fearful. "May the gods bless us on this day."

"Amen," we reply.

Rennon is a little late in answering, disappointment on his face. Of course, the idea of a necromancer must seem exciting to him. He's a little boy without any true understanding of how dangerous the world is.

"May the gods bless our food."

"Amen."

"May the gods bless our family."

"Amen."

"Let us eat."

I force myself to eat breakfast, keeping to the exact same portion I consume every day. I notice Carrie does the same. My aunt, though, mostly moves her food around on her plate. Maybe it's my imagination, but I'm convinced she glances toward me more often than usual.

After our meal, Carrie and I put on our capes and bonnets for our walk to school. My aunt makes certain Rennon is settled at his small desk for his studies before joining us. Since our father is not at home, it falls to her to escort us. Her cape and bonnet are gray to match her dress. She looks very dour in her garb and for the first time I wonder why we must be restricted to certain colors. Conformity is an important part of our belief system, but I wonder what my aunt would look like in a more cheerful color.

"Hurry. We're late as it is," she mutters.

Without a man to accompany us, we do not acknowledge anyone passing us. We keep our heads down, and our gazes focused on where we step. Since we are all women, we walk in a single line with my aunt in the center. Everyone born in the settlement understands the foot traffic must be orderly. This morning the roads are more congested than normal and the pace is a little more urgent today. After yesterday's attack of the Unblessed, I suspect many people didn't sleep well and are leaving their homes later than usual and scurrying to make up the time. It's a very rare case of chaos in our streets and it's unsettling.

When we arrive at the school, my aunt unexpectedly takes our hands in hers. They're cool and a little clammy.

"Whatever is happening in the settlement is not your concern. It will be handled by the Council of Crats. Maintain your humble manner and concentrate on your studies." She hesitates, and I see a rare flash of anger in her eyes. "If there is a necromancer in the settlement, we must show everyone that we are Plain, Humble, and Pious women in word and deed and not guilty of any dark magic. Understand?"

"You think they'll come for us," Carrie states, her eyes widening.

"Do as I say," our aunt answers before dropping our hands and leaving us at the gate to the schoolyard.

I watch her depart with my heart beating harder in my chest.

Already the students are filing into the entrance. We hurry to reach the tail end of the crowd.

"They found Bale, didn't they?" Carrie says under her breath.

"I don't know. Maybe Father was called away because of the Unblessed at the walls yesterday. Maybe it's something as simple as someone saw Quade touch me."

"Then it would have been the Elders to summon him," Carrie reminds me. "It's something much bigger than Quade touching your arm."

We near the other students and Carrie stumbles. She catches my arm, pulling me close. Her breath is hot against my ear as she whispers, "Remember what Quade and Aunt Leticia said." Recovering, she rushes to join her classmates.

My stomach lurching with queasiness, I follow. To my dismay, Prudence waits for me near the steps. I grow even more uneasy when I see the desperate look on her face. Dark blue eyes fastening on me like a vise, she pushes through the other girls to face me.

In a voice that is nearly a hiss, she says, "What happened to Bale?"

"Wha-What?" I cannot keep my surprise from my expression.

"He told me he saw you yesterday and that you signaled to him you'd meet him at the cemetery," she answers in hushed tones.

"That's not true." I recoil, insulted that Bale misread anything I said or did as an invitation for his amorous attention. It's hard not to shudder at the memory of his groping hands. "We were in the same shop when the Unblessed attacked, but I didn't indicate that I would meet him."

"He told me you _spoke_ to him," Prudence insists.

Blinking with confusion, I ransack my mind trying to remember if I'd spoken to him at all. Then I recall telling him not to speak to me and his wide grin in response. Had he taken that moment as some sort of agreement to meet him?

"You've never spoken to him before and he said you finally did _yesterday_. After I told you again about how much he likes you. He said he thought you were going to the cemetery."

"Why would I go there?" I ask, faking confusion.

"Oh, come now." Prudence rolls her eyes. "I've told you of the kisses I've had there in the past. And I told you all about the illicit things that happen there."

"I don't recall anything about the cemetery."

"I _know_ I mentioned the cemetery. Why are you lying?" Prudence frowns at me. "Bale was convinced you were going to meet him there."

"You told me about marital relations, and made it sound much more horrific than anything my aunt told me. I would never do anything like that with someone I'm not married to. Especially in a cemetery!"

"He was certain you signaled him. You're so Pious you've never spoken to him before, so he was convinced it was a sign!"

"I was flustered by the Unblessed Dead attacking the settlement. I never would have violated our ways otherwise. And I'd rather you didn't tell anyone. My Bridal Auction is soon and I'd like to preserve my Pious Standing."

Prudence stares at me with such intensity it's as if she's able to read my very thoughts. Thankfully, it seems only Quade can do that. Finally, she looks away, her shoulders sagging. "You haven't asked me why I'm worried about Bale."

I realize she's right, and panic enfolds me.

"You were too busy defending your purity to even ask," Prudence continues.

"Is something wrong with Bale?" I hope my question sounds like genuine concern. "Is he okay?"

"No, he's missing. After dinner, we went to bed as usual. He slipped out during the night. When he didn't come down to breakfast, my father checked his room. His bed wasn't even slept in and his window was open. The wardens are looking for him. I'm really, really scared, Ilyse. I was hoping you'd know where he is." Again, her piercing stare returns to my face.

"I was home in bed. I didn't see Bale. I intend to keep my Purity and Pious Standing until I'm married."

Maybe I'm imagining it, but I don't think she believes my protest.

The cluster of girls entering the school has dwindled to a few latecomers. I fidget, wanting to escape this awkward conversation. I'm afraid Prudence believes I'm lying.

"We should go inside. We don't want to besmirch your Pious Standing," Prudence says without a smile.

I follow her inside and up the stairs to the upper floors. She keeps several steps ahead of me instead of staying at my side to chat. My heart sinks and I fear that I've somehow incriminated myself.

When we enter our first class, Prudence immediately takes her seat, and ignores me. This behavior continues throughout the morning until lunch. I eat alone, for Prudence is nowhere to be seen in the cafeteria. As I eat my sandwich, I find myself going over every single detail from the day before. Did someone else overhear me speak to Bale? Will that one comment be seen as some kind of secret code? A chilling thought occurs to me. What if I become suspect? Only my sister and Quade know what happened and I've done nothing else to bring suspicion on me.

And then I remember.

I stuff the rest of my sandwich into my mouth and rush to the main building. I don't have an appointment, but I hope Schoolmistress Simmons will be in her office. When I reach her doorway, I rap on the door and wait anxiously for her to answer. My stomach is in knots and I feel like I'm about to retch. Wobbling on my feet, I lean against the door and rap again.

Schoolmistress Simmons opens the door, and catches me as I pitch forward. "Oh, Ilyse!"

Embarrassed, I regain my balance. "Apologies, Schoolmistress."

"I was reading while I ate my lunch and didn't hear you at first. Come in."

I step inside the small office, and she shuts the door behind me. On her desk is her tablet, not a book. The curtains are drawn back on the window behind her desk and a small solar panel leans against the glass. She must use it to power her tech. An abandoned solar panel array is outside the settlement. I learned about it in my history lessons when I was taught about how the Atonement Settlement abandoned the tech that destroyed the world. I'd never considered how difficult it must be for her to live her life.

She notices me staring at her tablet.

"I like to stay informed of the news from other settlements," she explains.

I want to ask her what the news is today, but fear holds me back. My religious training is ingrained in me. Tech is evil and Atonement Settlement is my home. Other places are not my concern. Lifting my eyes to Jane's face, I wonder if her unorthodox usage of tech is because she experienced the world beyond the Atonement Settlement. It appears that everything is far different out there than inside our walls. Our history courses only covered the Atonement Settlement and I'm beginning to recognize my view of the world is very narrow.

"Ilyse, sit down. You look upset."

I sit down sharply. I force my hands to rest gently on my lap and not turn into fists of frustration.

"Have you reconsidered, Ilyse? Would you like for me to speak to your father about you attending the Academy?" she asks when I don't speak first.

Sitting forward on my chair, I rest my hands on the edge of her desk. "I need you to erase everything about my application to the Academy." If I fall under suspicion because Bale talked to me, I don't want there to be any sort of evidence that might indicate I am not truly Pious Standing.

Her mouth opens in an O and she stares at me in surprise. "Ilyse, are you sure? You're such a smart young woman. All your scores are very high. You could do so much more with your life. You could use your schooling for more than budgeting for a household. If you want a husband and children, those can come later after you find a career you enjoy. I was blessed that my love of teaching was something I shared with my husband. I would like to see you enjoy the same."

"My father will never allow me to go to the Academy. He already has plans about who I should marry. He can't discover that I considered leaving here. Please. I don't want my father angry with me." My words are vehement because they're partially true. I curse Bale for having the nerve to speak to me in the shop. He had absolutely no respect for me, which was confirmed when he assaulted me.

"Your hands are shaking. Is something wrong, Ilyse?"

"I don't want anything to disrupt my future," I answer truthfully.

With a sad sigh, she begins to swipe and tap the screen with a finger. I anxiously watch the images on the surface change. The sooner she erases any sign of my application, the safer I'll be.

A rap at the door startles us.

Before she can call out, the door swings open, revealing two wardens in their crisp navy blue uniforms and black caps. They're both young men, probably in the first year of their mandatory service.

"Schoolmistress Simmons, we have a writ from the Council of Crats," one of the men says.

"For me?" She presses a hand against her chest in surprise.

"No, ma'am. For one of your students." The speaker thrusts a piece of paper at her.

Taking the writ, she reads it with gradually widening eyes. She lowers the paper, covering the tablet surface. "Ilyse, they're here for you."

I don't hear what she says next, for the floor comes rushing up to meet my face and the world turns dark.
10

# The Wardens

"Of course she's upset. You've given her a fright," Schoolmistress Simmon's voice says through the murky water drowning me.

"It wasn't intentional, I can assure you, Schoolmistress," a man answers, his voice defensive, yet commanding.

Light draws me back to full awareness. I'm not drowning at all, but lying on the floor with people gathered about me. The sight of the navy blue uniforms of the wardens sends a bolt of dread through me again, but this time I manage to not slip into the safety of unconsciousness.

Kneeling at my side, Schoolmistress Simmons' fingers are pressed to my wrist, reading my pulse. The two wardens bend over me, their young faces concerned but also impatient.

"Ilyse, move slowly. You hit your head when you fell," Schoolmistress Simmon's warns when I attempt to sit up.

"What happened?" I groggily ask.

I remember speaking to her about my concerns and then the door opening.

"You fainted when the wardens arrived with a writ for you," she answers. Something in her gaze is warning and I feel uneasy. "You were already highly emotional because of our discussion about your final exam before your Bridal Auction."

I nod. "I remember. I don't want to fail my father."

"We need to take her to the Council of Crats," one of the wardens says. "You need to get her on her feet. Now."

"You gave her a fright during a delicate time. You should have more patience," Schoolmistress Simmons retorts. "She needs to lie down for a bit longer before getting up. One of you get her some water."

I feel disoriented and a bit woozy. Lack of sleep and stress has worn me down this last week. "I'm sorry I fainted."

"Stress can be taxing," she says. "Every young potential bride is a bundle of nerves before her Bridal Auction."

I'm thankful for the cover she's providing. My mind is still in shambles and I'm horribly queasy. It's best that she speaks instead of me.

The younger of the two wardens brings me a cup of water from the fountain in the hallway, and is very careful not to touch me when he sets it down on the floor beside me. I've seen him occasionally at Wednesday Gathering. He's one of those boys that are almost too pretty, with rosy cheeks and lips, dark hair and skin, and thick eyelashes over gray eyes. I suspect he's kind at heart, but his uniform fills me with dread.

The older of the two men, his white face flushed red, stares at me with fierce pale blue eyes. Moving slowly, I roll to one side to claim the cup. I sip the cold water and it helps a little. Schoolmistress Simmons hands me a sugar cookie from the lunch box on her desk, and I take it gratefully. The first bite is heavenly.

"The sugar will help," she says with an encouraging smile.

"When will she be ready to leave? We were told to bring her straight away for questioning," the older warden says irritably.

Leaning forward to see his badge, Schoolmistress Simmons says, "Warden Strom, let her recover. Why the urgency? What could the Council of Crats possibly want with her?"

"That isn't your concern," Warden Strom, the one with the pale blue eyes, replies. "Now, get her on her feet."

I appreciate Schoolmistress Simmons' gentleness as she helps me off the floor. I feel unsteady, a bit nauseous, and it takes a moment for me to find my balance. She picks up the cup of water off the floor and hands it to me.

"Finish drinking the water and eating the cookie to stabilize your blood sugar," she instructs.

I can see that my mentor's wife is clearly concerned about the situation. Of course, she can't imagine why I'd be summoned by writ to the Council of Crats, but I am fairly certain it has to do with Prudence not being at lunch. I have an awful feeling that she may have reported me for speaking to her brother.

"I'm uncomfortable with releasing her to you without a proper chaperone," Schoolmistress Simmons says. "I should send a messenger to her father."

"We're wardens, ma'am, and in obedience to the Lost Texts. Also, her father is aware of the writ," Strom answers in a peeved manner.

The cookie no longer tastes delicious in my mouth, but like ash. What did Prudence say? What do the wardens believe I did? I remember Quade's admonishment and I mentally prepare myself to evade incriminating myself at all costs. I have been Pious Standing all my life in the eyes of my community. The only dark mark in my ledger is my mother's necromancy and I was formally absolved of suspicion.

Under Strom's furious gaze I finish eating the cookie and drinking the water. My hand trembles when I hand the cup to Schoolmistress Simmons. "Thank you for your kindness. I'm ready to go now."

The younger warden gestures for me to exit the room. He keeps a safe distance from me, but I make a point of reading his name badge when I pass him: Witt. I commit the two names to memory. I'm nervous to be in their presence without a chaperone and if they dare touch me I will report them. My father always taught me to be careful in the presence of men, even those in authority.

Schoolmistress Simmons follows in our wake while I claim my cape and bonnet from the cloak room. Strom regards her with a dour look, but she ignores him. I notice her tablet in her hand. I hope she's finished erasing all the correspondence regarding my application to the Academy. When I finish securing my bonnet, I give the wardens a nod.

"Walk two feet in front of us. Follow our instructions. Don't attempt to detour. If you do, we'll use the control pole," Strom informs me.

I blush at the mere thought of being guided around like a rabid Unblessed but nod.

"You won't need to. She'll obey. She's Pious Standing." Schoolmistress Simmons moves about to glare at Strom. "Give her the respect due for someone of her standing."

"You don't know what she's accused of, ma'am. If you did, you would change your tone with me."

My heart thuds harder in my chest. I'm accused of a crime. Did Prudence report that I performed illicit acts with her brother? My face flushes with the heat of my anger and embarrassment. I can still remember Bale's awful hands on my body.

Walking down the steps and through the empty halls to the entrance to the school, I'm anxious to leave the building before lunch is over. I don't want my fellow students to see me in custody when they return to the halls. The humiliation would be too great.

Instead, much to my dismay, I'm paraded through a small gathering of girls waiting on the front steps for the bell to ring. The girls watch with wide eyes and dropped jaws. I stare straight ahead while walking briskly toward the open gates. I still feel a bit wobbly on my feet, but my head is clearing with the fresh air.

"Wait for me, Ilyse!"

I spin about to see Carrie rushing out of the school clutching her bonnet and cape to her chest. Blond hair shimmering in the sunlight, she descends on the wardens like my avenging angel.

"There's been a writ issued for her by the Council of Crats," Strom explains in a short tone. He can speak to us, but we cannot respond. "Return to your class."

Carrie darts around him to my side. "I'm going with you."

"You're not on the writ," Strom insists.

"Where you go, Ilyse, so do I." Pulling on her bonnet, Carrie glares at the wardens. "You're Pious Standing, Ilyse, and I won't allow you to be sullied by being paraded alone through the streets."

"We're not parading her," Witt protests.

Glowering at him, Carrie dons her cloak and fastens it at her throat.

"You don't need to do this," I whisper to her.

"Yes I do. I am always at your side. If you're being accused of something, I am your witness," she answers.

I understand.

She's my alibi.

Taking my hand, she ignores the wardens as they discuss this unexpected turn of events. I squeeze her fingers and she gives me an encouraging smile.

"Wait until father finds out," she whispers to me.

"The wardens claim he knows," I say, my heart sinking again. It will be difficult to face my father.

"And he allowed this?" She jerks her head toward the two wardens who are still arguing.

"He might not have had a choice. Not after mother."

Carrie frowns. Our mother's fate complicates everything about the situation.

"When will they stop arguing? Shouldn't we be hurrying," Carrie says in a loud voice.

Witt blushes while Strom scowls.

After a moment of indecision, Strom waves us forward.

The sun is directly overhead and heat shimmers over the cobblestone road. I keep my face in the shadows of my bonnet but I can still feel the stares of those we pass on our trek. The easiest and fastest path to the Council of Crats leads directly through the heart of the settlement. Humiliation weighs on my shoulders. People will presume that I'm guilty of a crime, and even though I am, I seethe with anger at being escorted so openly. If Bale hadn't attacked me none of this would be happening.

After a long walk, we at last we ascend the steps to the pink granite council house with its white pillars and tall peaked roof. I swallow down the hard lump forming in my throat. Carrie tightens her hold on my sweaty hand when we near the tall double doors. Above the entrance are the words Piety and Justice.

Any piety I had seems lost now and I wonder if there can possibly be justice for me. Yes, I killed Bale but he forced me to defend myself. Does that balance the scales?

Drawing a deep breath, I push open the doors and enter the cold interior. The marble floor is highly polished and a blurred reflection of me and my sister greets us. The vast foyer is eerily empty. The walls, floor, staircase, and the rotunda overhead are various shades of white with no sign of color. The sterility of the building only adds to my unease.

Strom moves around us to approach a window that reveals a small office on the other side. I watch Strom sign my writ and slip it through a slot in the glass.

A young woman takes the paper and peers past the warden to where I stand. Her frizzy blond hair, ruddy face, and very thin frame are familiar. She was several years ahead of me at school and is obviously Unclaimed, since no married woman would have a job. I don't recall her name but she appears to recognize me. I'm surprised by the smirk she casts in my direction before she bends over the form and begins to scrawl on it. She then hands Strom another piece of paper and they repeat the process.

Witt awkwardly stands near us. I wonder how long he's been a warden for he seems less inclined to exert his authority.

When Strom returns, he motions toward the impressive stairwell. "The questioning room is on the second floor."

The steps are well-worn and I grip the brass railing to keep from slipping. The clack of the wardens' boot heels echoes through the space and a shiver slides down my spine. In my head, I repeat my story over and over again.

The second floor is just as unwelcoming as the first. Cold ivory marble surrounds us. White doors are labeled with black letters and the word "Truth" is printed on the doorframes. Strom guides me down the long hallway until he finally arrives at the eighth door. Unlocking it, he reveals a windowless room that is a stark contrast to the rest of the building. The walls are painted black and the floor is black marble. Chairs are arranged in a circle and one wall is mirrored.

Witt stands near the door looking unsure. I suppose it's not every day he's sent out to drag teenage girls in for questioning.

When I enter the room, I'm surprised to see Prudence sitting in one of the chairs. Tears stain her cheeks and her eyes are swollen from crying.

"Take a seat," Strom orders. "It's a good thing your sister volunteered to come. I was given her writ when we arrived."

Carrie doesn't seem upset by this announcement and actually gives him a triumphant look.

"Do they have to be in here?" Prudence demands in a raw voice.

Strom looks surprised at her break of protocol but must excuse it on her emotional state for he answers her. "Yes, they do. Now, sit down and wait for the Interrogator."

This pronouncement makes me tremble again, making it difficult to maintain a timid exterior. I hope I don't look as guilty as I feel.

Carrie takes a seat near the door and glares at Prudence. I sit beside my sister, focusing on the empty chair across from me. I can see my friend fidgeting in my periphery when the door shuts.

"I would really like to know what this is all about," Carrie says in a loud voice.

"My brother is missing and it's your sister's fault!" Prudence shoves an accusing finger in my direction.

I swivel toward her, my anger flaring. "I never encouraged your brother. Never! I'm Pious Standing!"

"So you claim! But I wonder! He told me you spoke to him!"

"I told you that I only told him to stop speaking to me out of fear of him ruining my standing!"

Carrie grabs my wrist, her eyes flicking to the mirrored wall. "Don't argue with her. Let's wait for the Interrogator. We both know you were in bed last night."

"Liars!"

Prudence shifts around in her chair so her back is to us. The quaking of her shoulders touches my heart and I fight the urge to comfort her. When Angelina disappeared, I was devastated and terrified. I'd hoped for weeks that she'd returned, but finally accepted she was gone forever. I know the awful feeling of helplessness and loss that comes when a sibling is missing. She'll never see Bale again. Our friendship is in tatters and I know it can never be repaired.

I sit stiffly on the uncomfortable chair with my hands on my lap and my head bowed. Carrie follows my example but Prudence remains hunched in her chair clearly not caring for decorum.

The door opens again.

"Well, this is curious," Quade's voice says.

"Just take a seat," Witt replies.

"Is someone going to tell me why I've been taken into custody? I'm a citizen of The Enclave and I have a right to contact the consulate."

"This is only a questioning," Witt says. "I was told you are to take a seat until the Interrogator arrives. Do not speak to the young women or approach them. That would be a violation of the Lost Texts."

"What if I don't follow the Lost Texts?" Quade asks while wandering close to the mirrored wall.

I lift my eyes to see he's grinning at the befuddled Witt. Wearing a black wide-brimmed hat and matching duster, Quade definitely does not look like anyone from the settlement.

"Well, we do follow the Lost Texts, so you best remember that." Witt steps outside and shuts the door.

Silver rings glinting on his fingers, Quade raps against the reflective glass. "Two-way mirror, huh? Interesting. Just so you folks know, I'm not talking to the young ladies. I'm talking to whoever is watching us on the other side of this mirror. If it's such a violation of your Lost Texts for me to interact with them, why did you leave me, an outsider, in here with these young ladies? Aren't you afraid of me corrupting them? Or are you hoping we'll speak of whatever dastardly crime you think we've committed and incriminate ourselves?"

Next to me, Carrie giggles.

Prudence twists around in her chair to stare in disbelief at Quade.

"Look, I realize I'm a stranger in this settlement, but I'd like to know why I was so kindly escorted here. I have a lot of work to do on my new house." Quade leans against the mirror and raps on it with his knuckles. "I know you're in there. Why keep us waiting?"

The minutes pass by and Quade continues to knock on the mirror.

"I'm waiting for answers," he says, sounding bored.

The door opens with a loud click. My father enters with two other men. Both are Elder Crats. Elder Johan and Elder Alvus are two of the most respected people in the settlement. Their wrinkled, sun-leathered faces are stern with disapproval. My father, meanwhile, looks stricken. I haven't seen this particular expression on his face since my mother died and Angelina went over the wall.

"Master Reed, please take a seat," Elder Johan orders.

"I am a citizen of the Enclave and if you're planning to hold me here, I wish to speak to my consulate." Quade folds his arms over his chest and regards the Elders with defiance.

I'm shocked by his boldness. No one from the Atonement Settlement would ever dare to speak to the Elders in such a manner. Prudence stares at him with her mouth gaping open while Carrie stifles a giggle that sounds more like a snort. Our father gives her a sharp look and she ducks her head.

"Master Reed, you're here because a most disturbing event has taken place in Atonement Settlement," Elder Johan replies. His very white hair and beard stand out starkly against his dark skin.

Prudence clearly wants to speak out but she knows the rules. She bites her lip, her hands pressed together in a tight knot on her lap.

"Again, what does this have to do with me? Or these girls?" Quade doesn't move from the wall. Keeping his arms folded across his chest, he stares at the three men blocking the doorway.

My father stands behind the two Elders facing Quade, but his gaze is solidly on me. I'm not certain if he is angry with me or upset we're being questioned. Panic has muzzled all my senses. I remain with my head down, peering at the Elders through my eyelashes.

"Master Bale Wescott has been missing since sometime last night," Elder Johan says. "Prudence Wescott informed us that her brother often visited the cemetery near your home after nightfall. He was.... meeting with someone."

I can feel my father's gaze weighing on me like hot coals. Certainly, he can't believe Prudence? I want to speak out but I'm confined by the Lost Texts. If I'm to maintain the illusion of Pious Standing, I must bite my tongue.

"So you think I may have seen something?" Quade lifts his eyebrows. "If that's the case, the answer is easy. No."

"Earlier that answer may have sufficed," Elder Johan says in a solemn tone, "but all that is changed now."

"Did you find him?" Prudence blurts out, unable to maintain her silence. "Did you find Bale?"

"Sadly, dear child, we did," Elder Alvus replies, surprisingly ignoring her violation of the Lost Texts.

I catch Carrie giving me a worried look. How could they have found Bale? He was dragged beneath the ground? Does this mean they dug up his body in Quade's garden?

Lips trembling, Prudence looks close to flying out of her chair. "Is he okay?"

My father motions for her to remain seated. "No, I'm afraid not. The Brethren found him in the Perdition Sanctuary among the Beloved Dead."

The world tilts around me and I fear I'll faint again. Instead, I grip Carrie's hand and listen to Prudence's screams reverberating through the room.
11

# The Accuser

The shrill screams of my only friend slice through me like a knife. The piercing sound ricochets around the room. The three older men wince at Prudence's emotional display while Quade takes several steps toward her before hesitating. His gaze slides to me and Carrie. We both shake our heads. Fingers twitching at his sides, Quade grunts with frustration.

"Don't touch her," my father says to Quade. "I can see you wish to console her but it's our way."

"At least get her mother in here to take care of her," Quade replies. "She's clearly devastated."

Prudence rips at her hair with her hands, rocking back and forth on her chair. I don't know how the Elders expected her to respond to the news of her brother's death. If someone told me my brother was among the Beloved Dead, I wouldn't be able to contain myself. I scoot toward the edge of my chair, tempted to console her. Prudence stood by my side during my worst days and I want to do the same for her. I start to stand but Carrie grabs my wrist to hold me in place.

It's too late. Prudence sees my aborted attempt to go comfort her and she lets out a terrifying, guttural cry. "You did this!"

"No, no! Never!"

"You lured him to the cemetery and... and... afterward killed him!" Thrusting an accusing, shaking finger at me, Prudence's red face hardens with hatred. "You killed my brother to protect your Pious Standing!"

_This is why we are all in here, Ilyse. It's a trap._

It's difficult not to look at Quade when I hear his voice in my head. I know he's right. I realize a bit too late that Elder Johan is the Interrogator. He placed us in this room to coerce the truth from us. Prudence is our greatest threat.

"How can you say such a thing?" Carrie glares at Prudence. "My sister had nothing to do with your brother."

"That's a lie!" Prudence roars back, lunging out of her chair toward me.

My instinct is to verbally defend myself but Quade makes a subtle move in my direction.

_Let Carrie deal with her._

Carrie intercepts her, pushing her away from me. "No, it's not! I saw your brother attempt to engage her more than once and my sister ignored him!"

"Is this true, Carrie?" my father asks hopefully.

"Of course, it is!" Carrie stares at my father with shock and disappointment. "You know my sister is faithful to the Lost Texts."

"No, she's not! She killed him! I know it! I never should have trusted her! She's just like her mother!"

My father pales at this slight and raises a shaking hand to his brow. Prudence's words obviously sliced deep and my anger against her grows.

Elder Alvus's watery eyes regard us from beneath his shaggy salt and pepper eyebrows. He raises one age-speckled hand, gesturing for Prudence to return to her chair. "Calm yourself, Prudence, and explain your accusation."

Wiping away tears and snot with the back of her hand, Prudence automatically obeys, years of training taking hold despite her outburst. In a voice that is hitched with emotion, she says, "My brother liked Ilyse. He told me he thought she was very pretty. He gave me messages to relay to her. I even told her about the meeting place at the cemetery where some gather after dark."

"That doesn't mean anything since Ilyse ignored those messages," Carrie says in my defense.

"Did you ignore the messages, Ilyse?" Elder Alvus asks me directly.

"Yes, sir. I had no intention of ever speaking to Bale or being with him in an illicit manner," I reply truthfully.

I'm hurt by the relief written on my father's face. Knowing that he doubted my loyalty to the Lost Texts is painful, especially because I am doomed to crush his hopes for me.

"That's a lie! You spoke to him!" Prudence protests. "He told me!"

_Careful, Ilyse._

"Only to tell him to not speak to me! It was a moment of weakness. I was afraid of the Unblessed attacking our walls and fear loosened my tongue." I unleash the tears that have been threatening to fall since I arrived in the room, and turn to face my father. I hate that I'm willing to use my tears to sway him. "I'm so sorry, Father! I never meant to sin against the Lost Texts."

My father reaches out to take my hands. "Ilyse, you did sin and it has brought us to this moment. I'm disappointed but it is important that you fully confess to the Elders."

I nod and slide from my chair in obedience. Quade continues to linger nearby, having placed himself between Prudence and me. He regards the proceedings with apprehension, his fingers lightly stroking the golden scruff on his chin.

_I have to do this, Quade or they'll suspect me of even greater sins._

Kneeling in front of the two Elders, I bow my head. "I confess my sin before the Elders of the Lost Texts. I spoke to a man who is not my father, brother, husband, or leader of my faith."

Elder Johan replies, "Detail your sin and seek forgiveness."

"I was approached by a man and he spoke to me. Instead of walking away to inform my father, I indulged in the sin of pride, believing I could rebuff him with silence. When he persisted, I gave into the sin of anger and told him to cease speaking to me."

_Those are pretty lame sins in my opinion._

"Was this the only time you spoke to Bale?" Elder Alvus asks.

I nod. "Yes, this was the only time I spoke to him."

"Was there any other form of communication with him? Did you send messages through his sister?" Elder Johan looms over me, his shadow blotting out the light overhead.

Tears trickle along my cheeks. "I never sent him messages through Prudence or anyone else."

"Is this true, Prudence?" Elder Johan directs his attention toward my former friend.

Prudence clenches her hands into fists on her lap while staring at me with unbridled hatred.

_If she lies, stay calm._

"Prudence, did Ilyse send messages through you to your brother?" Elder Johan slowly walks toward her, his robe flaring out about him. He reminds me of a hawk swooping down on prey.

"She never rebuffed me when I delivered the messages from Bale. Ilyse always listened, clearly intrigued," Prudence answers at last. "Especially when I told her about the illicit things happening in the cemetery. I could see she wanted to meet with him even though she pretended to deny him."

"And you told your brother that?" My father sounds furious. I'm not certain who the target of that anger is.

Prudence nods. "Yes."

"If you follow the Lost Texts, why would you encourage both your brother and friend to sin?" Elder Alvus's query is pointed and his harsh glare frightens me.

Lips trembling, Prudence swallows nervously. All eyes rest on her for she's condemning herself as much as me.

"Did she encourage you to sin with her brother?" my father asks me.

_Don't lie, Ilyse. Tell the truth._

_She's my friend, Quade._

_Not anymore. She's trying to hang you._

_I am guilty._

_You defended yourself. Don't throw your life away for a serial rapist._

"Ilyse, if you are truly humble and pious, you must answer your father's question in a spirit of truthfulness. The Three Gods demand it," Elder Alvus says to me.

With a weary sigh, I nod. "Yes, she encouraged me to meet with her brother. I refused. I did not want to go against the gods and defy the Lost Texts. I aspire to honor my family and adhere to my faith. I wish to be Pious Standing in all ways."

Elder Johan moves to stand in front of my sister. "Carrie, did Ilyse ever sway from the path of the Pious?"

"Never," Carrie lies without hesitation. I marvel at how convincingly she projects innocence and honesty. "My sister is plain, humble, and pious. I aspire to follow in her footsteps."

"Did Ilyse at any time leave your house at night?" Elder Alvus stands with his arms folded over his scrawny chest. He frightens me more than Johan for his gaze implies that we are guilty and he knows it.

"Never."

"How can you be certain?" Elder Johan asks.

"Ilyse snores. She wakes me up," Carrie answers. "If she attempted to sneak out, I would hear her moving about. I'm a very light sleeper."

"That is all true," my father interjects. "Ilyse does snore and Carrie awakens at a pin drop."

Elder Johan tilts his head to regard all of us one by one before turning to face my sister. "Carrie, on the Lost Texts, do you swear that your sister remained in her bed all night?"

Carrie doesn't hesitate. "I do."

"She's lying!" Prudence shouts. "Bale told me he saw both of them near the Perdition Sanctuary a few nights ago after midnight! He was returning home from his late shift when he saw them holding control poles and looking through the observation window at the Beloved Dead. He followed to see what they were doing, and saw them reenter their house."

I'm glad that I'm on my knees with my head bowed, otherwise my expression may have revealed my guilt. I swiftly rein in my fear and hope that Carrie managed to retain her composure.

_Damn! She's trying hard to hang you._

Carrie's laughter startles me and I raise my head.

"Carrie?" My father regards her with uncertainty.

"Can't you see how desperate Prudence is to lay her brother's sins at my sister's feet? She won't accept that he was lecherous. He pursued Ilyse and she ignored him even when he openly defied the Lost Texts to engage with her. Yes, she slipped, but I almost told him to shut up myself! He was so persistent!" Carrie confronts the two Elders without a shred of fear in her countenance. "My sister is being falsely accused. Can't you see that by Prudence's own words she's revealed her brother to be a cancer in our midst?"

"No! You are! You're both necromancers! Everyone knows what you mother was! What you are! What were you doing with the control poles? Is that how you got my brother into the Perdition Sanctuary?"

"We don't possess control poles," Carrie retorts.

"Bale saw you!"

My heart beats ever faster in my chest.

"Have their room searched," Elder Johan instructs Elder Alvus. "Oversee the search yourself."

"Understood." Elder Alvus immediately departs, the door shutting behind him.

Panic fills me. If they find the control poles hidden in the frames of our beds, Carrie and I will both be found guilty. Carrie appears completely unbothered by the order to search our room.

"Can't you see what happened?" Prudence leaps to her feet and darts past Carrie to stare up at Elder Johan. "They're necromancers! They killed my brother for seeing them that night."

"I thought your allegation was that Ilyse killed your brother to cover their illicit tryst in my cemetery," Quade says.

Prudence frowns at him. "You have no say here. You're not one of us!"

Quade shrugs dismissively. "No, I'm not, but I know you're trying your best to condemn Ilyse when you know your brother was engaged in all manner of sinning. I'm no fool. I saw the way he looked at your friend. I was in the shop with them during the attack of the-what do you call them?-the Unblessed. I'm from The Enclave where men are much more open with their interest in women and I know all the moves. Hell, I've used them myself. She shot him down and ignored him. If your brother ended up in the Perdition Sanctuary, it was most likely due to his own misdeeds."

"Master Reed, are you certain you didn't see or hear anything unusual outside your home last night?" Elder Johan steps toward Quade so he can meet him eye to eye. "It's vital that you do not lie to us."

Quade doesn't waver when he says, "I saw and heard nothing unusual."

"What more do you need to hear?" my father dares to ask. "It seems Bale had many secrets and one of those may have been his undoing. Prudence is a distraught child attempting to lay blame on someone other than her brother. Her family has been disgraced in the past and nearly exiled. She's trying to protect her family's honor."

At some point the Wescott family had a scandal that lowered their standing in the community. I've only heard rumors about what they'd done wrong, but didn't know they'd been close to being evicted from the settlement. Is this why Prudence was my friend? Maybe the other girls had rejected her and I hadn't noticed since I was wrapped up in my own problems.

"His daughters are evil! They're necromancers and their father is trying to cover for them! Ilyse met with my brother, seduced him and killed him! Then she used her necromancer powers to put him in the Perdition Sanctuary!"

"I thought you said she used a control pole?" Quade arches an eyebrow at Prudence.

Prudence sputters with indignation before lunging toward me. Clutching my arm, she hoists me to my feet. Spittle striking my face, she screams, "Tell them what you did! Tell them what you are!"

The stricken look upon her face reminds me far too much of her brother's before he was dragged beneath the earth. A confession lingers on the tip of my tongue.

_Don't, Ilyse._

_I killed him, Quade._

_He forced you to defend yourself._

"I'm sorry your brother died but I never went to see him. I had no interest in him," I answer. I'm relieved that it's the truth.

Prudence slaps me so hard, my teeth tear open the inside of my mouth.

Quade doesn't hesitate to pick her up and haul her away from me. My father and Elder Johan don't attempt to stop him. With a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach, I understand why. Prudence has lost all her standing.

Elder Johan opens the door to the hallway and gestures the two waiting wardens inside. Witt and another young man enter. I wonder if Strom is with Elder Alvus searching mine and Carrie's room.

"Warden Witt, please escort Prudence to the House of the Unclaimed. Please send four more guards as you depart."

The wardens immediately claim Prudence from Quade. Startled, she struggles against them. My former friend is so distraught she doesn't realize that she's sacrificed her own future in her attempt to end mine. Her cries when they drag her from the room will remain with me forever.

"What of my daughters?" My father attempts to remain calm, but his colorless face and strained voice betray his fear.

"We have no choice, Harris. The accusation is made. They must be tested."

My heart races as Carrie gasps.

My father shakes his head. "Ilyse was tested before and found innocent."

"But she's been accused again. We cannot falter, Harris."

"What do you mean 'tested?'' Quade asks. "They clearly didn't do anything wrong. That girl's distress was misdirected."

"I recognize you are a newcomer here, Master Reed, so I will excuse your breaches of decorum," Elder Johan says. "Necromancy is a mortal sin and these two young women have been accused of it. We have no choice but to test them."

"Test how? I don't get it."

"It's the Necromancer Trial. They'll have to face the Unblessed Dead. If they are necromancers, their powers will be discovered. If they are innocent, that will also be revealed. The Council of Crats has spoken."

Carrie stretches her hand to me and I clasp it tightly.

I will once again have to stand on a platform surrounded by the Unblessed Dead. Will they howl for my blood this time? Or will they reveal me to be a necromancer?
12

# Courtyard of the Accused

The scene before me is frightening in its familiarity. Stripped of our bonnets and capes, I stand with Carrie in the center of the Courtyard of the Accused. The sun is starting to set, but the flagstones are warm under our feet. The air is still and humid, and my shoulders twitch as sweat runs from my scalp down my neck.

The Council of Crats stands in a semi-circle to our left, grouped by their guild colors. The trade emblem stitched onto their shoulders is the sole decoration on their long capes. My father stands apart from them with my aunt in the area designated for the family of the accused. The Elders, the oldest and most powerful of all the Crats, loom over us on the dais set over the heavy iron doors leading to the testing room.

Trembling, I stare at the entrance with dread. I remember all too well the horrors I endured on the other side of those doors. I wish Carrie didn't have to endure the Necromancer Trial, but I'm helpless to protect her. Is this how Angelina had felt about me when we'd been forced to walk to the Courtyard of the Accused? My older sister had held my hand, told me to be strong, and dried my tears with the sleeve of her dress when I'd been frightened by the angry faces of the public.

Much to my relief, the tradition of parading the accused through the streets was eliminated after one woman was trampled when her family attempted to rescue her. I'm glad that Carrie has been spared that humiliation. Instead, we were taken by a covered horse-drawn cart from the council building to where trials for crimes take place. Usually the public is allowed to observe, but since we're not formally on trial, the stands are empty. If we fail the test, those risers will be packed with people wanting to see the necromancers on trial.

I listen to Elder Alvus read Prudence's official accusation with my heart thudding so loud in my ears I can barely hear it. My mouth and throat are parched, so I swallow continuously trying to moisten them. I don't raise my eyes to watch Elder Alvus as he drones on, but instead stare at the doors that will open in a few scant minutes.

What will happen when I face the Unblessed if I really am a full-blown necromancer? What if I'm something else, like Quade, and the Unblessed attempt to drag me off the platform again? Will the wardens save me since I'm accused of murder?

"This is ridiculous," Carrie mutters.

We stand alone in the center of the courtyard and no one is close enough to hear us. "I know."

"If they eat us, will that prove we're innocent?"

"I guess so."

"Like I said. Ridiculous."

I remember Angelina said something similar when we stood side by side years ago. Chin thrust out, her long blond hair whipping about her head like serpents, she'd glared at the Elder reading the accusation against us. Out of the three sisters, only she had inherited our father's curly locks, and they had always made her appear a bit wild. She'd openly mocked the accusation against her, resisted entering the testing ground, and screamed at the Crats that they were unjust. After she'd passed the test, she'd been declared Unclaimed due to her outburst. She'd gone over the wall soon after.

"I could tell them I'm the necromancer so they'll let you go, Carrie." The thought has been on my mind since we were told we must face the Necromancer Trial. I don't want to die, but I'm not innocent and Carrie is.

Carrie glowers at me, her lowered voice harsh when she speaks. "If you do, then I will confess, too. This isn't your fault. Besides, we both know they'll make me do this in the future because of our mother. Someone will accuse me one day. Might as well get it over with now. It won't be so bad, since you'll be with me."

"Carrie, it's awful. You know what happened to me."

White scars crisscross my feet and ankles where the Unblessed grabbed me, shredding my skin.

"We're in this together," my little sister answers, taking my hand.

I sigh with surrender. Carrie is not easily deterred. In that regard, she reminds me of Angelina. I don't have their rebellious spirit and strong resolve. All my life I've tried to obey the Lost Texts and only faltered when I realized I might be a necromancer. If not for the Beloved Dead appearing in the garden, I would be preparing for a humble life as the wife of a Crat.

"Do any gathered here have reason why these accusations should be dismissed?" Elder Johan calls out.

"I do," my father says, stepping forward. "The accusations leveled at my daughters have been found to be untrue. Master Quade Reed testified he did not see my daughter or Bale in the cemetery or near his home. My youngest daughter vouches for the whereabouts of her sister last night. A thorough investigation of the girls' room did not turn up the control poles the accuser claimed they were seen wielding. There isn't any evidence to connect my daughters to the death of Bale Wescott. Just the accusations of his sister who has been declared Unclaimed due to her deception and illicit behavior! Both of my daughters are of Pious Standing."

I glanced toward Carrie, confused. How had they missed the control poles we had hidden in the frames of our beds? Then I remember how flushed she'd looked before breakfast. The slight upturn of her lips says it all. She'd taken the time to dispose of them before she joined us at the table. My sister is better at being sneaky than I am.

The Elders don't even discuss my father's points.

Elder Johan dismisses his words with a flick of his hand. "Your protest has been heard and considered, Harris, but the accusation of necromancy has been made and cannot be disregarded. Your family has harbored a necromancer in the past and we cannot ignore that fact."

"My family atoned for that sin and has lived in obedience to the Lost Texts. We've been faithful in all ways." The raw anger in my father's tone and manner is shocking. Even when my mother, Angelina, and I endured the test before, he hadn't protested with such vehemence.

"And once your daughters pass the test, your family can continue its service to the Lost Texts," Elder Johan answers. "And if they fail, your remaining family will once again atone."

"This isn't right! To do this to my daughters because of the accusation of a duplicitous, ill-behaved-"

"This is your burden to bear, Harris, given to you by the Three Gods," another Elder says. "Do not falter. Offer up your daughters for judgment as any man of piety would."

"And take heart that your remaining child is a boy and cannot be a necromancer," another says.

"Ilyse was already tested and passed! Carrie hasn't done anything to garner suspicion!"

"The mere fact your daughters were born from the womb of a necromancer is enough," Elder Alvus replies.

"If you do not hold your tongue, you will be removed and dealt with by the Officer of Moral Conduct," Elder Johan warns, his voice deepening with annoyance.

My aunt lays her hand on my father's arm and he reluctantly steps back, bowing his head in surrender.

"He tried," my sister says in awe. "I didn't think he would."

"He loves us," I reply. "I have never doubted that."

"But he won't even speak of Angelina. Why?"

I have no answer for her. It has always weighed heavily on me that he won't mention our mother or sister. It's as if they didn't exist to him after what happened.

"Who will bear witness for the accused, Ilyse Nott?" Elder Alvus calls out.

I look toward my father. He was my witness before and I expect he will be again.

Before he calls out, another voice says, "I will."

It's Quade, pushing his way through the gathering of Crats. I'm startled to see him and wonder why he was allowed inside the Courtyard of the Accused.

"You're not one of us," Elder Johan replies.

"Technically, I am. I may not follow your religion, but as a property owner I am a citizen of the Atonement Settlement. I'm a Crat by purchase of Murrow House. You're accusing these young ladies of terrible things on my property, so I want to see if you're right or not." Quade stops at my side, his hands thrust into his duster's pockets.

"It's not our accusation," Elder Johan retorts. "Prudence Wes-"

"I know. I was there. I'll witness for Ilyse Nott."

_Why are you doing this, Quade?_

_I'm an Undertaker. We assist necromancers, remember?_

The Elders cluster together, their murmurs louder than I suspect they realize. From witnessing my father's excitement over Quade's possible investments in the settlement, it's apparent he has some clout even if he is a new arrival. The animated discussion among the Elders continues for a few minutes, and it's obvious a few are opposed to Quade stepping forward.

Finally, the Elders separate.

"Master Quade Reed, we accept your request to witness for Ilyse." Shifting his gaze away from Quade, Elder Johan continues, "Who will witness for Carrie Nott?"

"I will," my aunt says before my father can speak up.

Carrie and I are both surprised. This time there isn't a discussion as to whether or not my aunt can fulfill the role of witness for my sister. It's within her right, even though she's a secondary citizen due to her gender.

Aunt Leticia strides toward us, her thin face pale, yet fierce. At first I think she's angry with us, but then I notice the tears brimming in her eyes. Guilt billows up inside my chest. I failed to consider that she's already lost a sister and niece. She's always so dour it's far too easy to believe she's uncaring. When she reaches us, she rests her palms against our cheeks. She doesn't say a word, but her trembling fingers and pained expression projects the love that she never vocalizes. After a beat, she drops her hands and steps to Carrie's side.

"Necromancy is against the order of nature and therefore, against Three Gods. The Mother, Father, and Child do not abide such dark magic," Elder Johan intones. "We must never allow evil forces to invade the Atonement Settlement, or we will lose our divine blessing."

My fear is not as suffocating as the first time I stood and heard these same words. Anger burns away the edges. I'm furious at Bale for forcing me into this situation, my heritage that may have made me a necromancer, and, much to my despair and guilt, my religion and its leaders. Maybe I deserve this, but Carrie doesn't.

_What happens in there, Ilyse?_

_We stand on platforms in the middle of a corral and they let the Unblessed enter. They lower the platforms a little every hour, and wait for us to control the Unblessed when we become too afraid._

_And if you don't?_

_It hurts. A lot._

Out of the corner of my eye, Quade cocks his head to stare at me in disbelief.

"...may the Three Gods have mercy on your souls," Elder Johan finishes.

The recollection of what comes next roots me to where I stand. I don't want to be taken through those metal doors and I certainly don't want my sister to be. I dig my heels into the ground, casting a fearful look at Quade seconds before the wardens are dispatched to claim me and Carrie. In their right hands they wield shortened versions of the control poles. Our Pious Standing will remain intact until we're found guilty, so the wardens cannot touch us.

"Don't resist," my aunt whispers. "Heads up, walk forward. Don't give them the pleasure of seeing Harris Nott's daughters on the end of a pole."

Still holding my hand, Carrie walks forward with her chin at a defiant angle, reminding me of Angelina. I wish I was so bold. At first it's hard to get my feet to follow, since fear has pinned them to the ground. When they do start to move, they feel heavy and awkward. The wardens fall in beside us, while Aunt Leticia and Quade take up the rear. The strong metal doors roll back, groaning and creaking. I step out of the last light of the day into the shadow of the dais. The gloomy interior of the testing area is humid and smells of rot.

"This is disturbing," Quade declares to no one in particular.

The testing area is a large corral encircled by a high metal wall. A catwalk borders the rim and two platforms are on either side of the enclosure. Rising out of the floor are four scaffold towers currently raised to match the height of the catwalk. Using the levers on the platforms, where the wardens and witnesses observe the accused, the scaffolding can be raised or lowered. On the far end of the room are the large sliding doors that open to allow the Unblessed to enter.

Carrie's fingers press hard into my palm and she throws a frightened look in my direction as we're ushered up a metal stairway to the catwalk.

"This looks ominous," Quade mutters behind us.

It becomes harder to breathe the closer I get to the top of the steps. Panic seizes me and I come to a halt. Carrie turns toward me, concerned, while my aunt slips her arm around my shoulders. Between the two of them, they manage to hoist me up the last few steps.

"I can't do this again," I breathlessly exclaim to my aunt.

Aunt Leticia waves off the wardens and takes hold of my shoulders. "You have to do this, Ilyse, for your future. I know you're scared but you can do this."

"What is the delay?" Elder Johan and the other Elders ascend the steps, the metal clanging loudly.

My aunt kisses my cheek and whispers in my ear, "Don't give in to fear."

"The accused need to take their places now," a warden with a too-red face and eager eyes tells my aunt.

I hug Carrie. "Be strong."

"You, too," she answers.

The tap of a control pole on my back indicates the wardens are impatient. I reluctantly release my sister and follow the warden. Quade trails in my wake, his manner unsure and nervous.

"What do I do as a witness?" Quade asks one of the wardens.

"Your role is to observe the accused. That's it," the warden answers.

_In other words, if I show necromancer powers, you're the witness at my trial._

"So I watch to see if she's guilty or not," Quade says to the warden.

The warden gives him a disapproving look. "If you followed our ways, you wouldn't be asking about the role you volunteered for."

"To follow your ways, maybe I need to understand them more," Quade replies with a cocky grin.

The warden disregards him. Stepping up to where multiple gears are located on a platform, he pulls one down and a gangway descends from the rafters high above our heads. When it's parallel with the catwalk and one of the scaffold towers, he stops its descent, and pulls another lever so it swings into place to connect the two.

On the verge of hyperventilating, I struggle to breathe in the warm air. The wardens motion me to the gangway and it takes every ounce of willpower to step onto it. It sways slightly under my feet, so I clutch the railing on either side.

_You can do this, Ilyse._

Pulling myself along, my body quakes with small tremors. I feel nauseous and swallow hard against the need to gag. A warden follows me, his boots clanging loudly. When I finally reach the small platform at the top of the tower, I reluctantly step onto it. My hands quickly find the rail that wraps around three sides while the warden bends to pick up the harness I must wear around my waist. I'm glad he's not the bad-tempered one who remained at the gears.

"Don't take this off. If you fall asleep, you might fall off the tower. If you're innocent, you'll definitely want to keep this on for safety reasons," the warden informs me.

"It's the only thing that kept them from dragging me off the last time," I reply.

The warden gives me a startled look, but says nothing as he buckles the harness around my waist, careful to not touch me. The weight of the chains pulls at my hips and bunches my dress when he lets go.

Looking over at the next tower, I see Carrie being secured in the same manner. She meets my gaze and doesn't even attempt to hide her terror. Her eyes are wide, and her face very, very pale.

From the main platform, the Elders observe the proceedings. I hate their satisfied expressions and haughty demeanors. I remember Angelina screaming curses at them when she'd been secured to the tower. I don't dare do the same. I want to survive long enough to escape with Quade. I could never dare to go over the wall alone like my older sister did.

"Ilyse Nott is secured."

"Carrie Nott is secured."

"Secure the last one," Elder Johan instructs.

The shocked silence that follows is only broken when the loop of a control pole closes over my aunt's head.
13

# The Necromancer Trial

"No!"

Carrie and my screams of protest blend together as my aunt is forced onto the gangway leading to one of the other towers. Our cries echo in this vast room.

Spinning about, Aunt Leticia finds the control pole loop around her neck with her hands and forces it over her head before it tightens. Pointing a shaking finger at the wardens, she says, "Don't touch me! I will go willingly!"

My father appears at the top of the steps with several wardens in pursuit. "You can't do this! She's not accused!"

The wardens move to seize him, but Elder Alvus gestures for them to stand down.

_This is worrying._

I shoot Quade an annoyed look.

_This is more than worrying, Quade._

"We are correcting an oversight," Elder Johan proclaims. "She's the sister of a necromancer and never properly tested."

"She's never been accused! There has never been cause to suspect her," my father insists.

Elder Johan squares his shoulders beneath his cloak and imperiously stares down at my father. "The basis of the accusation, which I am leveling against Leticia Nott, is that her sister was a necromancer and her nieces have been accused of necromancy. This sin runs in the blood of the women of her family. If she is innocent, she has nothing to fear."

My father's face reddens with fury. "Nothing to fear? Ilyse still wears the scars from the Unblessed attack on her when she was tested before. My eldest daughter was so traumatized by the test she fled into the Deadlands. I don't dare entertain the hope she might have survived. How can you do this without evidence?"

"The evidence is your dead wife's necromancy," Elder Johan retorts with the arrogant lift of his chin.

While the two men argue, Aunt Leticia walks to the platform and secures the safety harness about her without any assistance. My aunt watches the discussion with a face carved of stone, yet I somehow sense that she's frightened and angry. I never realized how deep her love and compassion flowed in her heart until this moment. Tilting her head toward me, she gives me a feeble smile.

The heated exchange between my father and the Elders comes to an end when Elder Johan says, "The accusation is made. Leticia Nott will be tested. This leaves Carrie Nott without a witness. Will you be your daughter's witness? This is the only way you can remain, Harris."

I've never seen my father so shaken in my entire life. He nods mutely. "I will."

"Who will stand witness for Leticia Nott?" Elder Johan asks, his gaze sweeping over the other Elders.

"I will stand witness," Elder Alvus declares stepping forward.

This pronouncement is unsettling. Elder Alvus has always intimidated me with his piercing gaze and judgmental demeanor. His disapproving gaze and condescending tone are his natural state of being. The only time I've seen him smile was when Angelina screamed at the Elders when she was dragged into the testing area. Was it because she was afraid? Or because he thought he'd captured a necromancer?

"Wardens, are the accused secure?" Elder Johan asks while he and the other Elders begin to move toward the stairs to exit. Watching them depart makes me want to scream. They're condemning us to hell, but aren't even brave enough to watch from their lofty perch.

"The accused are secure," comes the reply.

"Open the doors and let the Unblessed inside." With those final words, Elder Johan disappears from view as he descends the stairs to the exit.

The sound of protesting metal is accompanied by the creak of the large gears churning. The thick metal doors at the far end of the room begin to lift. The stink of death flows into the warm room and my stomach lurches. The wardens on the catwalk secure masks over their mouths and nose to blot out the stench. One tries to hand a mask to Quade, but he brushes it away.

"If the women have to endure it, so will I," he says.

The noise of many feet shuffling reverberates through the large enclosure. An unearthly keening starts with one voice and blooms into a loud disharmony. The Unblessed scrabble against rising doors with their decayed hands, and the increasing noise shatters what's left of my resolve. With a hiccupping cry, I cover my mouth with my hands in an attempt to stave off the need to scream.

"I can't do this!" Carrie's loud cry of despair draws my attention to her. "I was wrong. I'm not this strong!"

"Carrie, you can. Don't look at them. Don't let fear take over," Aunt Leticia answers. "Ilyse, do the same."

At the tower to my right, Carrie sinks to the floor and wraps her arms around her legs before hiding her face against her knees. Threading her fingers through her blond hair, she rocks back and forth.

I want to close my eyes and pretend this isn't happening again, but I can't. My gaze is pinned to the doors inching upward. Gas lamps along the walls shed pale illumination over the vast area, but the floor of the enclosure remains shrouded in shadows.

I miss when the first of the Unblessed slip into the gloom, so I scream when sharp bangs ring out and the tower vibrates beneath my feet.

_They're small. Kids. Don't panic._

I peer over the edge of the platform and can barely discern the small faces turned upward to growl at me.

The doors clang to a stop. The crowd of Unblessed surges forward in a wave of gray skin and tattered clothes. My aunt lets out a gasp of fright. Her tower is the closest to the doors, but she's not immediately visible to the Unblessed. The towers that Carrie and I are perched on are directly in their line of sight. The air trembles with the reverberation of so many feet shuffling over the wooden floor. My fingers ache from the fierce grip I have on the railing and I force myself to loosen it. The Unblessed swarm around my tower and Carrie's, their hands slapping against the metal sheeting that protects the base.

"Close the doors!" a warden orders.

I look toward the gaping entrance to catch a glimpse of the corral on the outside of the wall where the Unblessed are herded for the test. It's nearly empty, but something odd catches my eye. One figure stands just outside the door shrouded in a dark cape and hood.

Excited, I turn toward Quade.

_Did you see that, Quade?_

_What?_

_A person outside in the corral._

Quade cranes his head to study the descending doors. Forehead bunched in consternation, he shakes his head.

_I don't see anyone._

I look back, and the figure is gone.

_They were just there, Quade. I saw someone._

_Are you sure?_

My stomach flutters and I feel queasy. The stench is so bad I cover my nose and mouth with my hand. I stare at the swarm of Unblessed. Some are aimlessly wandering around, others are determined to somehow scale the tower to reach me, and the rest split between the towers my aunt and sister are on. The mass below churns with activity, but none of the Unblessed are standing still to observe their surroundings. None are acting like the person I spotted.

_Yes, I'm sure I saw someone. A person. A necromancer._

_I don't sense one, but that doesn't mean one isn't nearby. If she's strong enough, she can hide her presence._

_Would she be from the Chantry?_

_If she was, I would know she's here. She could be a rogue. The Republic has also been trying to recruit necromancers._

_So we can't be sure she's here to help._

_No, we can't. I'll keep an eye out for anything that looks like interference._

I'm grateful that Quade is nearby and that we can speak without being noticed. It helps quell the dread threatening to drown me and distracts me from the roiling mass of Unblessed moaning for my blood.

Even over the ruckus, I can hear Carrie sobbing. Her thin frame looks so tiny and child-like on the platform to my right. My father sits on the witness bench speaking to her. I see his mouth moving but can't hear his words. He's probably trying to console my sister. She doesn't give any indication she can hear him.

Across from me, Aunt Leticia is huddled on her tower but, unlike Carrie, she's watching the Unblessed. There is a very loud group surrounding her tower banging on the metal sheeting. My aunt regards them with a blank expression. I suspect she's trying not to show fear.

On the platform behind her, Elder Alvis lounges on his witness bench while chatting and laughing with the wardens. I never thought I'd see the man laugh. The desire to punish him for hurting my loved ones is so strong it makes my hands tremble. I wish with all my heart the Unblessed would hurt him.

Below me, several Unblessed turn to look toward the chuckling men. A few break off from the group and head in the direction of Elder Alvis with swift, jerking strides.

_Don't, Ilyse! Pull you anger inside yourself. Don't feed it into the dead. Imagine a hole in the ground and bury it inside._

_I'm sorry!_

_Just do it! Visualize it! Make it happen._

I close my eyes, imagine the well in our garden, and envision pouring molten lava from a bucket into the darkness below.

_Good. Keep doing that._

Squeezing my eyelids shut, I sink to the floor of the platform and keep the image in my head. Gradually, I feel the heat of anger dissipating. I don't stop until I feel lightheaded. When I open my eyes, I see the swarming Unblessed below me clawing at each other to reach the towers. The ones that peeled off have rejoined the chaos. None appear to be obeying a silent summons.

_You did a good job. You can do this._

_I'm still scared._

_I know._

Maybe it's the way his words sound inside my head or maybe it's my imagination, but Quade's words seem to reveal his own fear. I'm not a fool. I know how precarious my situation is since I have no idea how to wield my abilities, which is obvious from how I nearly sent some Unblessed after Elder Alvus. I'm glad Quade's my witness. If not for him, I would have already revealed myself.

"Ilyse, don't be afraid. The shielding at the bottom will keep them from toppling the tower," my father says, his voice breaking through my dark thoughts. "They've improved the test since you last took it."

I turn my head to see he's moved along the catwalk to be closer to me. Hands clutching the rail in front of him, he bends over as far as he can so I can hear him. Behind him, Quade leans back against the far rail, arms folded across his chest, watching.

"I thought women only had to take the test once," I reply.

Tears prick at my eyes. The stench from below is nearly overwhelming and my stomach trembles with nausea.

"Ilyse, fear drives people to foolish decisions," my father answers. "They've been rewriting the rules on how to deal with necromancers since the Bridgeport Settlement was destroyed. They're very, very afraid."

The moans of the Unblessed grow louder as my father speaks.

"It's not fair, Father."

Watching me with sorrow, my father says, "No, it's not fair."

It's strange to hear those words come from my father. He is an adamant supporter of the Lost Texts and the laws based on them. To have him admit that the Elders have done something unjust is surprising.

"This is cruel," Quade interjects over the increasing noise of the Unblessed.

My father agrees with a bob of his head. "Perhaps, but what happened to Bale has only driven the Elders further into their paranoia. When Bale was reported missing, there were grave concerns that we might be dealing with a criminal element. There have been some instances of thievery in the settlement. There was a serious investigation underway to uncover the thief and possible murderer when your friend made her accusation against you. After that the Elders were swept into hysteria."

_I should have confessed, Quade, and spared everyone._

_You heard them, Ilyse. They would have forced your aunt and sister into the test anyway. Especially if you'd confessed. They're on a witch hunt._

My father's fingers flex around the metal railing in an agitated manner. "Ilyse, your mother was powerful. When I saw what she could do, I understood why necromancers must be...dealt with swiftly and without mercy. Your mother understood that truth, too. She was brave and took the poison without complaining."

I stare at him stunned, understanding for the first time that father stood by and allowed the Elders to execute my mother. A stabbing pain in my chest makes it hard to breathe. How could he betray her like that?

He continues: "I know that all three of you are innocent. I've never seen in you what I saw in her. All the warnings. All the hints. I believe in you. Don't be afraid. You'll be found innocent. I promise."

His words are meaningless because they're not true. Of course, he doesn't know that, but I do. He missed all the warnings and hints he spoke of in me. Carrie was right about my father and me. Once we decide something, we develop severe tunnel vision. My father obviously decided that my mother was an outlier and that the rest of the women of his family weren't like her. How will he react when he realizes he was wrong about me? Staring at his stricken expression, I wonder if he would stand by and watch them execute me, too, without trying to interfere.

Below me the Unblessed start to howl.

_Calm down, Ilyse. You're stirring them up again._

I force myself to say, "Thank you, Father. Your words are a comfort."

With a short nod, he departs.

Closing my eyes, I imagine the well in the garden again. In my vision, I stand with my bucket filled with hot lava, but I can't tip it over. My anger is raw and painful, throbbing in my chest. My father let them kill my mother. How can I let that go?

The Unblessed writhe around the tower and I feel it shuddering under my feet. The harness digs into my waist, the weight of the chains pulling on me. The discomfort shakes me from my vision and I stare down at the Unblessed. The reach for me with dry, shriveled hands that resemble claws.

_Ilyse...you need to-_

I mute Quade's voice in my head. I have a right to feel the way I do. How can I ignore the injustice? Instead of pouring my anger into the dark place inside myself, I let it flow into the Unblessed. They pound harder on the tower, desperate now to reach me.

I killed Bale to protect myself. I regret my actions not only for taking his life, but because Carrie and Aunt Leticia have to suffer. If I alone was accused, I'd probably confess but Quade is right. A confession would put even more scrutiny on my family. I have to somehow find a way to keep myself from revealing myself not just to save my own life but those of the women I love. None of the Nott women are truly safe in Atonement Settlement, and probably never will be.

They're certainly not safe from my father.

_Stop it!_

At first I think my aunt has screamed at me from across the corral but then the truth dawns on me. Clutching the edge of her tower, she stares at me with an intensity that is truly frightening.

_Stop it, Ilyse, or you'll doom us all!_

My anger dissolves into disbelief.

It's increasingly clear that all I believed about my life was lies.
14

# The Verdict

My aunt's words echo in my mind.

Staring across the expanse between us, I understand so much about her that I didn't before. All this time she's been living with the curse of our bloodline and hiding it from the world. I've barely been able to keep the secret these last few weeks without falling apart. This explains why she's always been so strict with us and distant. My vision blurs with tears and I wipe them away with trembling fingers.

_Restrain yourself and we might just survive this, Ilyse._

_Why didn't you say something, Aunt Leticia?_

_I wasn't certain. Now I am. Which is dangerous for all of us. Look away from me and act like a normal girl facing this awful test._

I sense her cutting me off. It feels like a door shutting inside my mind. It's a strange sensation. I don't like it much. I keep my eyes away from her and stare down at the Unblessed churning about at the base of my tower. I'm glad for the shadows. It makes their grotesque faces not so ghastly.

Carrie is silent on her tower. Curled into a tight ball, she has her eyes squeezed shut. Her face looks so pale in the dim lighting and I wish I could console her. I attempt to reach out to her like my aunt did to me but I don't feel there is a door between us to open. I can't explain it any other way. I'm both relieved and disappointed. Perhaps Carrie hasn't inherited the necromancy curse or maybe it just hasn't manifested yet. I hope she's free of it. She deserves to live a life without constant dread.

I adjust the heavy harness around my torso, and sit cross-legged in the center of the platform. I search for my father, curious about what he's doing. I spot him on the other side of the cavernous room talking to Elder Alvus. They're arguing, but I can't hear their words.

Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. It's Quade leaning over the railing to stare at the Unblessed. Ashamed at my earlier behavior, I let him back into my thoughts.

_Sorry._

_For not having any instruction, you're good at shutting me out. You're a natural, which is good and bad._

_My aunt is one of us. Did you know?_

Quade rubs his fingers over his goatee, his eyes growing thoughtful. _No, I did not. That is an interesting development. Did she speak to you?_

_When I cut you off, she did._

_You forced her to act when you were stirring up the Unblessed like that._

_Sorry._

_You're young. You'll learn, Ilyse._

_If I survive this._

_You will._

A loud claxon rings out. The Unblessed howl in response. I grab onto the rail and take a deep breath. I know what comes next.

The tower shudders beneath me as one level of the scaffolding folds, lowering the platform. The metal squeals and the gears protest. Carrie's shrill screams echo around me. As we sink closer to the Unblessed, they become even more agitated. The tower continues to shake after the mechanism lowering the platform comes to a stop. The Unblessed know their prey is nearer to their reach now.

The smell is awful. I can barely keep from retching. Closer to the ground of the corral, the air is thick, humid, and dense with the scent of decay. The cries of the dead are louder than before. I dare to peek over the edge of the platform and estimate how much room is left before their hands will be able to grip the edge.

Twelve feet.

I cover my mouth with the collar of my dress and press my forehead against my knees. This is more terrible than I remembered. Perhaps time stole away the worst of my memories.

There is a commotion near Carrie's tower. My father is being forced to sit on the witness bench by two wardens.

"You're a witness! Stay there! You cannot visit with the women being tested!" a warden shouts at him. "Don't make us secure you!"

"Father! Father!" Carrie sobs. She stretches her hands out toward him. "Tell them to let me go! Tell them!"

The raised voices only provoke the Unblessed and their cries sound like a roar. In the pit of my stomach, the raw fury begins to build again as I listen to my distraught sister. I clench my eyes shut and press my face against my knees. My fingers dig into my ankles as I rock back and forth. I have to control myself and not reveal the truth for her sake, my aunt's, and my own.

_This is inhumane._

I don't answer Quade. It's taking all my willpower to not scream a confession. I hate hearing Carrie's cries. My aunt calls out to her but Carrie is inconsolable. I suspect if I look at Elder Alvus, he'll be smiling.

I start to count the seconds in my mind. Each minute ticking past is torture. I stop when I reach an hour.

The claxon rings.

The tower shudders.

We're lowered again.

The smell worsens.

The howls grow louder.

Carrie's screams are hoarse, yet shrill.

This is different from before. The process is accelerated. Angelina and I stood on the old platforms for over a day. I'd fallen asleep standing upright. My father told me a few years after Angelina went over the wall and a woman died from shock that the test was revised to be more humane but that's a lie. It's even more terrifying. There is less time to acclimate every time the tower is lowered.

When I do finally look at Elder Alvus, he _is_ smiling.

The night wears on.

Thirst and hunger become new torments.

My bladder hurts from the need to go.

I remember Angelina hoisting her skirts and urinating in plain sight of the witnesses and elders. I'm not so brave. I clench my legs together and try to ignore the need.

Carrie continues to beg for release.

"Please, please, Father. Tell them I'm innocent. Please!"

The litany makes all of this more unbearable. I guiltily remember doing the exact same thing. Angelina had begged for me to stop and implored me to be strong. I'd failed her. I wasn't strong then and I'm not strong now. I try to block out my younger sister's wails by pressing my palms against my ears and humming to myself. Her cries are worse than those of the Unblessed. The only way I can help her is to fight to contain my necromancy and not implicate all three of us.

The hours tick on.

The towers descend.

Carrie finally falls silent. When I lift my head to check on her, she's staring down at the undead a few feet below her and ignoring my father as he attempts to console her from the witness bench.

Meanwhile, my aunt sits with her back to Elder Alvus with her eyes closed. She hasn't whispered into my mind again and I wonder if she's struggling to contain her powers.

Quade sits on the witness bench, arms folded over his chest. I've heard him snore a few times but he awakens immediately. Though the witnesses are allowed to leave to eat, drink water, and use the bathroom, Quade hasn't moved from the witness bench. I suspect he's determined to stay at my side as long as I have to endure the Necromancer Trial.

The night wears on. I doze a few times. I dream of falling off the tower and into the mass of the Unblessed. I wake up instantly, gasping, terrified, and lean over the edge of the platform to make certain they cannot reach me.

Their hands are closer. Ever closer.

I run the tips of my fingers over the scars covering my feet and ankles. When the Unblessed had seized me those many years ago, the wardens had come to my rescue. The harness had kept me secured to the tower but I had deep bruises and a broken rib from nearly being pulled off. I'd been sick for weeks afterwards. My wounds had been infected by the dead flesh and the doctors had worked diligently to save not only my life but my feet. I remember when I took my first step months later and my father had wept with relief. Will the wardens come again if the Unblessed seize us? I look over my shoulder at Elder Alvus chatting with a warden and wonder.

It's hard not to cry when fear has such a fierce grip of my senses and everything is amplified: sight, sound, touch, and smell.

The tower trembles continuously beneath me. The Unblessed beat their hands against the metal sheets protecting the base. The raucous wears at my nerves and I find it increasingly difficult not to give into my fears and attempt to send them away.

The seventh hour passes and the claxon rings.

Again the towers descend, metal squealing. The tower beneath me shudders not only from the gears grinding but the continued onslaught of the Unblessed. My tower ceases its descent. I cannot help but look down at the decayed hands just two feet below me.

_When do they stop lowering it, Ilyse?_

_When they believe we're innocent, Quade._

There is a long pause.

_Do you mean when the dead hurt you?_

_Sometimes._

The groan of metal grinding against metal reverberates through the vast room. It's not my tower though. I look toward Carrie's tower to see that the Unblessed are swarming around the bottom. At first I don't see why, then I spot what's causing the heinous sound. The Unblessed have torn away the shielding around the base of the tower. They pour through the opening seeking flesh and blood only to flounder into the mechanism controlling the scaffolding.

"Stop them!" I scream, pointing.

At first the wardens don't seem to understand. My position allows me to see what they cannot. They glance at the Unblessed howling at Carrie, but then look away.

_Quade, do you see it? They're in the base where the gears are!_

_Damn! I do!_

Quade rushes along the catwalk, gesturing toward the base of Carrie's tower. "They broke into bottom of the tower! Get her off there!"

Raising her head, Carrie stares at me in confusion. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying and her lips are pale with fear.

"Don't move, Carrie! The wardens will get you!" I shout at her.

"Get her off there!" Aunt Leticia screams. "Harris, save her!"

The scaffolding holding up the platform buckles a second later. The tower descends abruptly, smashing the Unblessed thrashing around the mechanism. Instantly, the undead besiege my sister. Their fingers grip the edge of the platform just above their heads, shaking it violently.

"Get to the center of the platform!" Quade shouts at her.

Carrie scrambles to stand, her hands holding onto the railing to keep her upright. A few Unblessed are tall enough to almost reach her feet. Their clawed fingers rake at her slippers.

"Why aren't you saving her?" I scream at the wardens.

The young men are panicking. A few attempt to beat back the Unblessed with long spears, while others rush to move the gangway. Elder Alvus watches from across the corral with a stern look upon his face. I don't see concern in his gaze but interest.

To my horror, I realize Carrie's tower is off-balance due to the crushed Unblessed mucking up the mechanism. The tilt doesn't seem quite so bad until several Unblessed grab onto the metal bars holding up the railing and start to pull. Carrie shrieks as the platform starts to list. She scrambles onto the higher railing, straddling it with her legs so she can tenuously perch on it. The gangway slowly moves downward toward her position, but it's clear the situation is devolving too fast.

_We need to stop this! We need to do something!_

I'm not sure who I'm calling out to, but it's my aunt who answers.

_I love you, Ilyse. I love Carrie. I'm doing this for you both. Remember that._

I twist around just as my aunt lets out a scream that sends chills through my body. I feel her power lash out and draw the attention of the Unblessed before she drags it back into her body.

"Leave her alone! Take me!" my aunt shouts.

"No!" My voice blends with my father's.

My aunt has already released herself from the harness and she easily climbs over the railing. The Unblessed surge toward her tower. Only a few remain at Carrie's. For a moment I think my aunt intends to distract the Unblessed by dangling from her higher tower, but then she lets go and plunges into the horde of undead.

I can't breathe. I can't move. I stare at where the Unblessed swarm. The reek of blood and offal draw the others from below my tower and Carrie's. The bodies of the dead crowd each other, fighting to get to the woman who sacrificed herself.

Forcing myself to look away, I see my sister being pulled to safety by my father. He carries her along the gangway to the catwalk. I see her mouth open in a scream, but I can only hear my own cries.

"Leticia Nott and Carrie Nott are innocent," Elder Alvus announces, his voice carrying over the feeding frenzy below. "Ilyse Nott will continue the test."

Everything blurs. I'm aware of my father protesting. I'm aware of my sister screaming my name. I hear Quade coming to my defense. But I cannot stop staring at the spot where my aunt vanished into the crowd of the Unblessed.

My father and sister are forced from the testing room. Quade remains but I don't listen to him anymore. I sit on the platform, curl up like a pill bug, and cover my ears with my hands. My dress is wet and clings to my legs and I realize my bladder released without me realizing it. Sobbing, I try to blot out the world and not exist until this over.

I close my eyes.

I stand among the Unblessed. I can see myself cowering on the platform. I am prey. They want me and I feel it. Their feast done, they gather at the base of the tower, pulling me along with them. I'm not afraid when I'm outside my body and among them. I feel strangely safe even as I watch them rocking the tower.

I'm not surprised when Quade appears beside me. He doesn't say anything and I appreciate his respect for the moment. His presence offers comfort, but it's not enough.

_Can you hold me,_ I ask.

Without a word, he wraps his arms around me and I rest my head against his chest. It doesn't feel quite real. More like a whisper of a touch, but it's enough.

I'm not alone.

_I'm here for you, Ilyse._

I remain disengaged from my body until the gangway lowers and I'm declared innocent. When I open my eyes, I see Quade watching from his witness bench. The wardens escort me along the catwalk past him and he falls in behind me.

When the doors open to the Courtyard of the Accused, I'm not surprised to see my father waiting for me. He takes a step toward me, his arms opening to receive me. I ignore him, and walk past him.

I'm not ready to forgive.

I now understand exactly why Angelina went over the wall.

And I will follow her.
15

# Aftermath

I refuse to talk to my father during our walk home. We are nearly home when I realized he probably didn't notice my deliberate silence. He never reveals his emotions and he dislikes talking about upsetting situations. My aunt is dead and instead of comforting us, he'll most likely close himself.

So it's no surprise that when we enter the house my father silently walks into his study and shuts the door behind him.

I want to scream at him but I'm too tired and numb.

The household is already in mourning. The windows are draped in black blocking out the sunlight. The gloomy interior of the house makes me feel even more morose.

I seek out Carrie and Rennon. Their beds aren't slept in, and for a moment, I start to panic. I still remember waking to find Angelina's bed empty all those years ago. I rush through the house frantically searching for them. If anything happens to them, I won't be able to endure it.

In my aunt and father's bedroom, I find them. My sister is asleep in the bed with Rennon in her arms. They look surprisingly peaceful even though their eyelids are red and swollen. Their sweet faces are stained with salt from weeping. I stare at my sister and cousin through a haze of unshed tears.

At least they are safe.

I touch my aunt's robe hanging from a hook near the door. The loss of her fills me so completely I am drowning in grief and anger.

Finally, I turn away to walk down the hallway to my room. I gather fresh underthings and a nightgown. My body aches from the long night on the tower. The muscles in my shoulders and lower back are cramped and painful. I feel sluggish from physical exhaustion and emotionally devastated. I need to clean myself before I collapse.

In the bathroom, I break the rules and fill the bathtub. I don't rush through my morning routine for time no longer has meaning. I won't be sitting down to breakfast with my family or walking to school. I sit in the tepid water until my fingers are pruned and Annah knocks on the door to make certain I'm all right.

"I'm fine," I lie.

When I finish pulling on my nightgown and braiding my hair, I return to where my sister and cousin are sleeping. I climb onto the large bed beside Rennon so he's between me and Carrie. I scoot under the covers and make certain they're both tucked in properly. As I lay my head on the pillow, I smell my aunt's lavender perfume. I'm shattered by the memory of her death. I'm convinced I won't sleep but slumber immediately drags me under.

I dream of the Necromancer Trial.

I struggle to awaken, determined not to witness my aunt's death again, but I'm held captive in the dream world. As the Unblessed fill the corral, a figure in a hood walks among them. I strain to see the face obscured in shadows, but it remains hidden. The hooded figure stands beneath my tower and motions for me to climb down.

_I can't! They'll know what I am!_ I cry out.

The figure continues to motion to me, but I shake my head.

Agitated by my reluctance, the figure points the Unblessed toward my tower. They swarm around it, pushing against it, attempting to topple it. I cling to the railing, screaming for someone to help me. The tower groans beneath the assault and tips over, crashing onto the catwalk. The Unblessed swarm up the fallen structure toward me. I struggle to free myself from the harness with desperate fingers, but it's too late.

The Unblessed don't want to devour me. Instead, they climb onto the catwalk and rush toward the terrified wardens. They fill the narrow walkway, howling for blood and flesh. A warden, in a panic, opens the door to the Courtyard of the Accused in an attempt to escape. The Unblessed follow after him, and push through to the outside world. I watch in terror, realizing the settlement has been breached.

_No! No! Come back!_ I cry out.

A sharp tug on my shoulder pulls me about to face the hooded figure now crouching beside me. Absolute darkness fills the hood. Terror seizes me whole as the necromancer releases me from the harness, and points toward the Unblessed.

_Stop them, or everyone dies,_ they say.

The necromancer's voice sounds like a harsh whisper.

_I can't! I can't! They'll know!_ I cry out.

_Then everyone dies._

I awaken abruptly to voices murmuring deep in the house. Rennon and Carrie are gone. A black dress, a pair of my best slippers, and a mourning bonnet are arranged on the chest at the end of the bed waiting for me. I climb from the bed, my body leaden with despair and pain, and draw back the curtain covering the window to peer up at the sky. It's late afternoon.

Dressing slowly, I know what's expected of me, but an unusual streak of rebelliousness fills me. I consider climbing out the window and going to Quade's house near the cemetery. I find comfort in his presence and I want him to hold me again.

The thought of his real arms around me, not phantom ones, heats up my cheeks. Though Quade and I hardly know each other, there is an undeniable connection between us. Maybe it's born out of our necromancy, but it feels like the beginnings of something more. I'm not even sure how to classify what I feel. How Quade makes me feel is unlike anything I've ever experienced before. All I know is that I want to see him again and soon.

I could easily slip out the window.

Thoughts of Rennon and Carrie stop me.

They need me now.

I can't risk any infractions. More than my Pious Standing is at risk. My very life is in the balance.

Once I look like a proper young lady in mourning, I leave the bedroom and walk down the hallway to the dining room. The table is laden with covered dishes of food. Annah has arranged the offerings from our neighbors into a buffet for the mourners. I lift one lid to see stew inside. My stomach growls with hunger. Instead of serving myself the hot meat and vegetable dish, I pluck a biscuit from a tray. I nibble on the edge of it, testing my stomach, for I feel a bit queasy after smelling the food.

Annah appears from the kitchen completely clad in black from her dress, to her apron, to her bonnet. "You're awake at last. Your father will be relieved."

I don't reply. I'm not even certain what to say in regard to my father. He betrayed my mother. I don't know how to forgive him for her death and Angelina fleeing.

"The women are in the parlor. The men are in your father's study."

I remember this ritual vividly. When my mother died, the parlor had been filled with the women from our neighborhood gossiping about my mother. Angelina, furiously rebellious after the Necromancer Trial, didn't even make an appearance. I'd sat alone in a corner listening to the women discuss all the telltale signs of my mother's wickedness while enduring the darting glances directed at me.

_At least her daughters are untainted,_ had been the general consensus.

"I'm going out to the garden to eat this," I inform Annah.

Annah fidgets with the display on the table, her gaze darting nervously at the entrance to the parlor. In a whisper, she says, "You're expected to be the hostess."

I crush the biscuit in my hand, the crumbs falling to the floor. I want to hurl the remains in my hand at Annah and scream at her not to tell me. I stop myself, comprehending it's my father's command relayed through her. She stares at my clenched fingers with wide eyes. I've never shown anger before and it's evident I've shocked her.

I drop the remains of the biscuit onto a napkin. "I apologize. I'm just distraught over my aunt's death."

"Of course." Annah starts to clean the mess I've made, ignoring my trembling lips and watery eyes.

I turn toward the parlor but realize I can't do what my father requires of me. Instead, I swivel about and stride through the narrow back hallway to the door that opens to the garden. I step outside into cool, damp air that smells of rain. The porch steps are wet and I tread carefully along the stone walkway. Drops of rainwater dot the ripe tomato I pluck to satisfy my growing hunger. I bite into the juicy red fruit as I walk toward the back gate. I'm still tempted to go to Quade's house, but the ramifications restrain my unusual impulsiveness.

Thunder rumbles and the threat of more rain darkens my mood even more. Soon my father will come to claim me for the procession to the Perdition Sanctuary. Chewing slowly, I watch the storm clouds gliding toward the settlement. I sit on a bench at the rear of the garden and stare at my home. With the lights off in the bedrooms, the house looks dark and empty. I never realized how much my aunt's presence contributed to the mood of our home. I always thought her distant and a bit cold, but I never doubted she cared for me. Now she's gone and I don't know how we'll continue without her.

_Ilyse?_

I sit upright, my gaze sweeping over the garden. I don't see Quade, but suddenly he feels very near.

_Where are you, Quade?_

_The gate behind your house. I've been trying to reach you for a few hours._

I can't help but smile at this. It's comforting to know he wanted to see me, too. I wish I could see him face to face, but it's impossible if I want to retain my standing and not come under suspicion.

_Ilyse?_

_Lurking back there is not a good idea, you know. People will suspect something._

_Technically, I'm not lurking. I just found convenient reasons to keep walking back here._

_I do appreciate you coming to see me. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Quade. I just don't want you to get in trouble for looking after me._

_Everyone is concentrating on other matters now. I'm not a concern. I had to come. I need to tell you something._

I sit in silence, take another bite of my tomato, and wait for him to speak again.

_I'm sorry_ , he finally whispers in my mind.

_It's not your fault._

_If only I had realized earlier what she was, maybe we could have made another plan._

_Quade, she made her choice. None of us could have stopped her._

I hesitate in my chewing, comprehending how much Angelina was like Aunt Leticia in that regard.

_Maybe you're right. I do want you to know I'm trying to figure out how to help you. I'm reading up on the laws of the settlement and studying your Lost Texts. I'll find a way, one way or another._

I don't answer him because it feels as though all hope is lost.

_Has your father talked to you yet, Ilyse?_

_No. I'm avoiding him._

_Ilyse, you need to act like the loyal daughter. You need him to defend you. You were found innocent of necromancy, but Bale's family is now insisting you murdered him through regular means._

Tears flood my eyes again, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand. _I'm going to die, aren't I, Quade?_

_Not if I can help it._

I finish the tomato and wipe my fingers on the inside hem of my dress. Lowering my head, I stare at my hands with uncertainty. I didn't kill Bale with regular means, but with my power. There's no evidence against me, but will that spare me?

I change the subject.

_I dreamed about the necromancer I saw in the outside corral. I'm not sure if it means anything, but in the dream she unleashed the Unblessed into the settlement and wanted me to stop them._

It's Quade's turn to fall silent. On the other end of our strange connection, I can feel him sorting out my words and discerning if they mean anything or not.

_We need to be very careful, Ilyse. It might have just been a nightmare, but it could have been the necromancer sending you a message. I'm in contact with the Chantry and Cleric Fabiola is worried that a rogue necromancer is trying to call you out._

My conversation with Carrie haunts me. She'd thought it was the Chantry possibly trying to ensnare me, but unless Quade is lying, and I doubt it, the necromancer is most likely a rogue. But what does she want with me?

_This is all because of my mother, isn't it?_

_I'd say yes._

_And you can't sense the other necromancer at all?_

_Powerful ones can guard themselves if they know how. Your aunt definitely hid it well. I didn't see her power until her last moments._

The image of my aunt falling into the waiting hands of the Unblessed fills my mind and I shudder.

_I promise to do my best to get you out of here, Ilyse._

The back door opens and my father steps out. Clad all in black, he is a dour figure. He appears relieved when he sees me alone. "Ilyse, it's time."

_I have to go. It's time for my aunt to be placed in the Perdition Sanctuary._

I block out Quade's response and stand. My father holds out his hand, gestures for me to hurry, and waits for me to join his side. Remembering Quade's advice, I square my shoulders and obey. It's hard to not shirk away from my father's arm settling around my shoulders as he escorts me inside. We walk through the house to the front door and join the gathering of people on the front porch. Men and women stand apart in clusters, but Rennon and Carrie are alone on the flagstone walkway.

"Ilyse!" Rennon flings out his hands toward me and I rush to embrace him. His small fingers tangle in my hair as he presses his wet face to my neck.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper into his ear. "I am so, so sorry."

Patting my back, he says with a hitch in his voice, "Me, too, but she saved Carrie."

I kiss his cheek before letting go so I can hug my sister. Carrie clings to me wordlessly and it hurts to see the guilt in her eyes. Like I feared, she blames herself for my aunt's sacrifice.

My father walks to the gate and pushes it open, revealing the Brethren waiting for us. The six men have their heads covered with heavy wool hoods, reminding me of the necromancer. Four hold a wooden stretcher that the covered body of my aunt rests on. Beneath the covering, what remains of her reanimated body struggles to break free of her restraints.

The Brethren begin the long walk to the Perdition Sanctuary through the streets of the settlement and my family falls into line behind them. The women in mourning follow with the men in the rear. Though I try not to gaze at the writhing form beneath the covering, I can't help myself. From the irregular bumps, it's evident there is very little left of my aunt. This is the curse of the undead. Only a body turned to ash doesn't return. Skeletal remains are just as dangerous as fresh ones once reanimated.

When we arrive at the Perdition Sanctuary, the Council of Crats is waiting, along with gawkers who want to see the body of the accused necromancer. It doesn't matter that my aunt was declared innocent – my mother's guilt reflects on all the women of my family. Every time a woman is accused of necromancy, the uglier aspects of human nature reveal themselves.

Wardens keep the Elders separated from the rest of the gathering, and watch for trouble in the crowd.

My father guides me, Carrie, and Rennon to one side of the altar. Carrie pushes Rennon's chair, her knuckles white around the handles. She doesn't let go even after we're standing still. Perhaps she's holding herself up. I feel a bit unsteady on my feet but inwardly flinch when my father rests his arm about my shoulders. I suspect he's trying to project the image of a united family while consoling me. I remember Quade's admonitions to act like a devoted daughter, so I remain at his side instead of drawing away.

When the Brethren transfer my aunt to the altar, they are careful not to reveal her destroyed body. They move in unison, unfastening one limb at a time before securing it to the altar. Their robed bodies hide most of the proceedings, for which I am grateful.

Rennon sniffles but remains more composed than Carrie. She's barely holding herself upright by holding onto his chair and I rest my hand over one of hers.

"She did it for me," Carrie whispers. "I should be on the altar."

"She loved you. That's what you need to remember," I answer.

My father gives us a sharp look, shushing us without a word.

We lapse into silence.

The Sanctification Ritual begins with prayers, chanting, the lighting of incense, and a speech from Elder Johan. It's all a blur of words and images. The struggling form under the cover groans with agitation, but we've all been trained to ignore the cries of the undead.

When I can no longer watch, I turn my attention to the crowd. I'm not surprised to see Quade among the onlookers. His expression is somber beneath his wide-brimmed hat. Schoolmistress Simmons stands a few feet from him. Dabbing at her cheeks with her handkerchief, she gives me a feeble smile of encouragement when she sees me gazing at her. Deeper into the crowd are faces of people I've never met. Perhaps they are visitors curious to our ways.

The hooded necromancer stands to one side of Schoolmistress Simmons, head cocked so I can't see her face.

_Quade, the necromancer is here! To your right!_

Trapped by the crowd, he cranes his head in the direction of the hooded form. I can see the moment the necromancer knows she's been detected, for she gives me a slight bow at the waist, before sinking back into the crowd. Quade tries not to draw attention while working his way through the throng, but he can barely move through the crush of bodies.

The throng of onlookers reminds me vividly of the Unblessed swarming my aunt. I press my knuckles to my lips to keep from screaming.

My aunt is dead and I couldn't save her.

A cry from the crowd swells as my aunt's body erupts into violent contortions. Thrashing wildly, the cover starts to slip from the body. A badly gnawed, skeletal arm comes into view. I hastily cover Rennon's eyes with my hands. I curse the necromancer, for I know this is her doing to cause a distraction. The sound of bones breaking spur the Brethren into action as my aunt struggles to sit up. They activate the internal mechanism that will move the altar into the sanctuary. My aunt's body tears itself apart and the cover slips off just in time to reveal her skull sliding under the collar about her neck, tearing the remains of her face from the bone beneath.

Screams fill the air.

The drawer containing my aunt vanishes into the Perdition Sanctuary.

"She's not innocent!" a voice roars. "You saw it! The Blessed don't rest in the presence of their killers! Ilyse Nott killed her aunt by not confessing to murdering my son!"

I see Ben Wescott, Bale and Prudence's father, pushing his way through the crowd. His face is red with fury.

"Ilyse Nott is innocent of necromancy," Elder Johan retorts. He motions for the wardens to move to quell the crowd but I can see their endeavors will fail.

"But not innocent of killing my son!"

My father steps forward to defend me but a warden near us stops him.

I've lost track of Quade and the necromancer in the crowd. I want to follow them to uncover the truth but I have more pressing concerns. Ben Wescott's angry accusations rain down on me while Elder Johan attempts to counter. The people gathered grow louder and more cantankerous.

"We need to leave. Now," my father says to the warden.

My family is ushered through the same gate my sister and I crept through just nights before to return my mentor to his resting place. The narrow passage is even more ominous with the cries of the angry mob at our backs. Wardens keep us swiftly moving, guarding us at the front and the rear. I glance toward Rennon and it hurts to see his face blanched from fear. Carrie pushes his chair at a rapid pace, her lips set into a grim line.

"This needs to end," my father mutters under his breath. "This cannot go on."

The wardens escort us through the gate into our garden and secure it behind us.

"We best stay and guard you, sir," the warden in charge says.

"I agree," my father replies, glancing in my direction.

A little breathless, I help my sister maneuver Rennon's chair inside the house. The narrow hall and low-ceilinged roof are particularly claustrophobic. My entire world feels like a prison that shrinks by the day.

"Did you see?" Carrie whispers to me while my father speaks with the wardens.

"Our aunt?"

"No," Carrie replies. Her lips mouth the words, "The necromancer."

I nod, surprised that she saw the mysterious figure, too.

"What did you see?" Rennon asks.

"Quade, the man who was my witness at my trial. He was in the crowd," I answer. "He's worried about me."

"Is he strong? Will he marry you?" Rennon stares up at me, his small face pinched with worry. "You need to marry someone who will protect you. I'll do it until your Bridal Auction, but you'll need to marry a strong guy."

Carrie and I exchange startled looks with the realization Rennon has just offered a solution to how I can escape the settlement. But is it possible? And how will I be able to speak to Quade about it? With wardens protecting our home, I won't be able to sneak out. Worse yet, with the necromancer making herself known to me, it's clear I am running out of time.
16

# Trapped

Our home is a hub of activity after our return. The Elders come to speak with my father as the wardens watch the crowd gathering at our front gates. The robed men follow Father into his study and the doors shut leaving us behind.

I'm outraged at the shouting people outside the walls protecting our house and furious at our father for abandoning us in this frightening time. I stare at the study door, my rage burning in my chest.

"No, Rennon. Stay away from the windows!"

Carrie's cry draws my attention away from the door. She's fighting to hold Rennon at bay, her feet planted firmly on the ground as she pulls on the wheelchair. His jaw is set with determination and he grunts with exertion. I rush over to help. He's so strong it's hard to keep his wheelchair in place as he attempts to roll into the front parlor. His knuckles are white as he clutches the rail on the wheel attempting to roll forward. Carrie holds onto one handle and I the other, both of us fighting against him.

"Rennon, don't look out there!" I command.

"I want to see!"

"It's a bunch of angry people," Carrie answers. "You already saw them at the Perdition Sanctuary."

"What are they yelling? Why are they so angry?" he demands. "What is a slut?"

"They think I killed someone," I answer.

Carrie stares at me in surprise.

I know my aunt and father would never tell him the truth. They'd try to protect him at all costs. From experience, I understand this is definitely the wrong method to take. I resent how much has been kept from me, especially about my mother's death.

"That man? Bale? The one who's in the Perdition Sanctuary?" Rennon asks.

"How do you know that, Rennon?" I give Carrie a questioning look and she shrugs.

"Annah's friends were talking about it when they visited her in the kitchen. They said that some man disappeared and then showed up with all the other Beloved Dead in the Perdition Sanctuary. Someone _put_ him there. _Alive._ " Rennon finally stops fighting us and looks up at me with his big dark eyes. "Is that why you had to take the test?"

Carrie and I both nod at the same time. We're still holding onto his chair, not daring to release him. Rennon is one determined little boy. We know better than to let go. He is very fast and can be evasive when he needs to be.

"That's dumb," he says scowling. "Why would you kill him? You didn't even know him, right?"

"I knew who he was because he was Prudence's brother," I reply.

"But she didn't do anything with him or anything like that!" Carrie adds, immediately coming to my defense.

"Ilyse is Pious Standing. It's dumb to think she'd kill him. So dumb. She's so skinny and _weak_."

Rennon wrenches his chair out of my grip in one swift move and shimmies his chair so Carrie loses her hold. He rolls away as we flail after him. I curse his strong little arms. We scamper after him as he speeds into the parlor toward the windows.

"Rennon!" I hiss. "Don't!"

He slams into the wall and jerks the heavy curtains aside to stare out the window. It's easy to see over the gate from our vantage point and the gathering of twenty people grows rowdier at the sight of us. Fists rise in the air and the words that are being shouted become clearer.

"Whore!"

"Murderer!"

"Slut!"

"Witch!"

"Necromancer!"

The wardens guarding the front of the house stand next to the closed gate barking orders that no one is obeying.

I reach Rennon just as he undoes the latch on the window and thrusts it open. "Go away! My sister is innocent!"

I pull him back from the window as Carrie yanks the curtains closed.

"I need to go out there!" Rennon declares.

"No! You need to stay with us. Father is in the study and we need you," Carrie says. She gives me a conspiratorial wink over his head. "Who else will take care of us if they get past the wardens?"

This mollifies Rennon significantly and I give Carrie a grateful nod. She's clever when it comes to him. I tend to lecture, but she knows how to appeal to him in a way that eludes me.

"Well, I guess you're right. I want some cake anyway." He wheels himself away from us, and we follow exchanging relieved looks.

The food is still laid out from earlier and Rennon serves himself from the desert portion of the table. The stew is still warm, so I finally decide to eat since I'm feeling weak from lack of food. Carrie eats a biscuit, but her chewing appears automatic and her gaze is distant. Rennon's eyes shimmer with tears, but he doesn't cry as he tucks into his collection of sweets. I sit beside him in my aunt's chair, forcing myself to chew the bits of turnip and beef.

"Why did they make Mother take the test? Did they think she killed him, too?" Rennon asks.

"No, it's because our mother, mine and Carrie's, was a necromancer. That is why she died. That's why Father married your mother," I answer, determined that he should know the truth.

"Once Ilyse was accused, the Elders decided to test all of us because of her," Carrie adds.

"What about me? Will I be tested, too?"

"Boys can't be necromancers," Carrie answers. "That's what the Elders say. Women are weak, so we're more corruptible by the devil-women."

Rennon scowls at this answer. I'm not sure which part of her statement he disagrees with, but he's plainly not impressed.

"It's awful to be tested. I'm glad you're not going to go through that," Carrie continues. "It was...so..." Tears fall along the salty stains already tracing down her cheeks.

"But my mother was brave, right?" The little boy regards us with a fierce gaze.

"She was very, very brave," I assure him before hugging his small frame.

He doesn't embrace me, but doesn't push me away. The heat of his skin and the tiny hitches in his breathing reveal his anger. Rennon has always been a determined little boy with a loving heart. Drawing back, I can see the fierce rage in his eyes.

"I would have saved her if I was there," he says.

"I know," I reply even though we both know he couldn't have.

"I'm brave and strong, you know. I'll take care of you and Carrie. No one is going to hurt you."

"We both know that, Rennon," Carrie assures him.

"When I grow up and I'm a Crat there won't be any more tests," he continues. "We'll make friends with necromancers so no one else's mother dies. I promise."

"You can't let father hear you say that. It goes against the Lost Texts," I say gently.

"I don't think necromancers are bad! They keep the Unblessed away. I don't know why people think they're evil."

"It's because they believe the necromancers made the Unblessed," Carrie reminds him.

"Then that's an even better reason for us to be friends with them." Rennon pushes his plate away, losing interest in the sweets. Brow furrowed, eyes glossy with tears, and his hands forming small fists, he glowers toward the area of the house where our father is sequestered with the Elders. "I will change it. I promise. Watch and see."

Carrie dabs at her eyes with a napkin and sounds hoarse when she says, "Thank you, Rennon."

Raised voices draw our attention toward the hallway. My first thought is that the Elders are departing, but realize it's my father shouting inside his study. Curiosity draws me toward the hall. I gesture for Carrie and Rennon to stay back but neither one pays attention. We cluster together at the mouth of the hallway, heads craned, straining to hear what is being said. I grasp bits and pieces, and my heart speeds up with anxiety.

"...stay here where she is needed..." my father says.

There is a response, the timbre indicating it might be Elder Johan.

"Absolutely not! Post wardens! She's not leaving this house! She's innocent!"

Carrie grabs my arm, her eyes wide with terror.

The replies to my father's outburst are said in much calmer tones and I can't make out any words. Maybe it's my imagination but it feels as though the atmosphere in the house is more ominous. The conversation continues, my father louder than the rest, but not always easily understood. Gradually, I piece together a terrifying scenario. I'm being accused of murder and the Elders want to take me into custody. Only my father's fervent defense is keeping me from being dragged away by the wardens.

"It's not safe out there! You've put her life at risk too many times! She lost both her mothers!"

Rennon starts to wheel down the hall and I grab the handles on his chair.

"Let go, Ilyse," he orders.

"Don't go in there," I hiss back.

"Let go!"

He twists around in his chair, his sweet little face flushed with rage. I see the need in his eyes to do _something_ , _anything,_ to save me. Reluctantly, I release his chair. The little boy wheels himself down the hallway to the door to the study. Carrie grabs my hand and we stand watching our little cousin together. Maybe I've been wrong to keep him stubbornly categorized as my cousin because his love for me is clearly that of a brother.

Reaching the study door, Rennon lets out an awful wail and breaks into tears. He bangs on the door with his small fist. "Father! Father! I'm scared! There are mean people outside!"

Carrie gives me a startled look. Rennon never sounds this childish. Ever since his accident, he's gone out of his way to prove that he's anything but a helpless little kid.

"Father! Father!"

I rush down the hall to reclaim him, worried that I was wrong to let him near the study, just as the door opens. The gathering of Elders stares out at me as I seize the wheelchair handles. To my surprise, Rennon lifts his arms to me.

"Ilyse! Ilyse!" He grabs my hands, pulling himself into my embrace.

I pick him up, something he never lets me do, and he clings to me crying. I've seen other children his age act like this, but never Rennon. It unsettles me. From the expression on my father's face it's evident he's uneasy, too.

"I'm sorry. He got away from me before I could stop him," I say, patting Rennon's back.

"You can see she's needed here," my father says, snapping off every word.

Rennon is heavy, his small frame muscled from wheeling his chair about, and my arms ache from holding him. I endure the strain, fearfully watching the robed men who hold my future in their hands. A few aren't even looking in my direction but a few observe me comforting Rennon.

"Take Rennon back to the other room," my father instructs me and shuts the door.

"Put me down," Rennon whispers in my ear.

I obey. He keeps sobbing loudly but he grins at me and Carrie before wheeling himself back to the dining room. My sister and I follow. We return to our seats at the table, and Rennon pretends to loudly cry a few more minutes before he starts eating the remains of his cake.

"I've never seen you do that before," Carrie says to him in a hushed voice.

"That you know about," Rennon answers, grinning.

"Very clever, Rennon," I say with admiration. He reminds me a bit of Angelina. She was able to manipulate people in the same way. Sometimes it bothered me how easily she could flip moods when she wanted something. That's what made it so terrible when she was broken by the Necromancer Trial.

"I'm a little boy. I have to use little boy ways to get my way," he replies.

"You're cleverer than most little boys," I reply.

"I'm very, very smart. I read two grades higher, you know. I can do math three grades higher."

"I know."

"Maybe one day I can go to school."

"One day you will," I reply.

"I'll make it happen," he vows.

I hate that Rennon is stuck at home. The boy school is some distance away and the administrators refused to add ramps to let Rennon roll about the building.

A sharp, painful cry from Carrie startles Rennon and me. She covers her face with her hands, sobbing loudly. Her entire body shakes and I hurry to console her. Wrapping my arms around her, I press my cheek to the top of her head.

"It will be okay, Carrie."

"How?" she exclaims. "Aunt Leticia is dead and they want to take you away!"

"I don't know. We'll figure it out."

"But she's dead! They let her die!"

Rennon lets out a hiccupping sob as his bravado dissipates. "It's not fair!"

The floodgates open and I'm helpless in the emotional tumult that follows.

When Father enters the room with the Elders, they find me holding my sister, and Rennon crying with his head tucked into his folded arms on the table. It's a very dramatic scene but genuine. Surprisingly, from a few expressions on the faces of the Elders it appears to move a few to near tears.

"Very well," Elder Johan says to my father. His shoulders sag as he gives Elder Alvus a weary look. The sterner man lifts a disapproving eyebrow, but Elder Johan shakes his head. "Ilyse can stay here. Wardens will protect the house from the protesters and make sure she does not leave."

"Thank you! Thank you! She's a good girl. Pious Standing. She's a worthy wife to any man. These accusations are unfounded and cruel. You must realize that," my father blurts out.

"The investigation will continue," Elder Alvus responds. "I will see to it personally."

This is more a threat than promise, but my father appears relieved. "Thank you."

The dozen Elders leave without acknowledging me. Perhaps they don't see me as the new mistress of the house since I'll either be hauled away to jail or married off in the near future. They shake my father's hand and depart in a long line of flowing robes.

When the door shuts at last, my father stands in silence, his hands clasped beneath his chin.

"You can't let them take Ilyse away! Ever!" Carrie says, wiping her eyes with a napkin. "She's innocent!"

"They're not. No one will take her away. The charges against her are ridiculous. It's already been proven she's not a necromancer. It's only a matter of time before they recognize she's innocent of all the accusations. Now enough of this carrying on. It's time for bed. Rennon, go to Annah. She'll get you settled."

Rennon turns to me. "You will come and say goodnight, right?"

"Of course."

"Ilyse, Carrie, calm yourselves and prepare for bed. This house will return to order. I know you miss your mother but we must have faith and be strong." With those words, my father leaves us.

I'm too emotionally drained and too tired to demand he pays attention to his youngest children who clearly need him. Instead, I call for Annah so she can help Rennon prepare for bed and steer Carrie to our room.

The evening ritual feels empty. We wash our faces, brush our hair, clean our teeth, and put on our nightgowns. Instead of my aunt making the rounds to say goodnight and pray with us, I take her place. When Rennon sees me come into his bedroom, he holds out his arms. I lean over his bed, kiss his cheek, and hug him tight.

"I love you, Ilyse," he says.

"I love you, Rennon," I answer. "You're very brave to try to protect me. You're a good brother."

He inhales sharply and his eyes widen.

"What?"

"Ilyse, that's the first time you've called me your brother!"

I start to protest, but realize he's right. After my aunt arrived with him as an infant, I'd taken great pains to keep a line between me and the new members of my immediate family. To do anything less felt like a betrayal of my mother and Angelina. But at what cost? My aunt is gone now. I'll never know who she really was and what she'd gone through to hide her necromancy.

"Well, I should have said it sooner." I hug him again, and when I pull away he is grinning despite the tears pooling in his eyes. "May the Three Gods protect you."

"Until the morning," he replies.

I return to my bedroom to find Carrie perched on her bed, her knees drawn to her chest, and her hands plucking at her toes. I sit next to her and she tilts her head to gaze at me.

"Can we talk?" she asks. "About what we saw?"

I lower my voice and reply, "The necromancer?"

She nods. "I saw her before. When the wardens took us to the Courtyard of the Accused. Up on the roof in the shadows. She was watching us."

"How did you know she's a necromancer?"

"I guessed. Why else would she hide her face? Or keep out of sight? I told you before I thought there's one here in the settlement trying to draw you out."

I nod. "I saw her standing in the outside corral when the Unblessed were herded inside. Just for a moment, then she was gone."

"And she was wearing a long, dark green coat with a hood?"

"I didn't notice the color, but yeah."

Carrie sighs, her fingernails digging at the dead skin around her toenails. It's an old nervous tick I haven't seen in a long time. "The necromancer made Aunt Leticia's body try to get up. That was cruel. I don't think she's any kind of friend."

"I agree."

"Did Quade see them?"

I shake my head.

Carrie rubs her red nose against one knee. "Did they make the Unblessed try to knock over my tower?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"I hate that Aunt Leticia died for me. I hate it."

"She did it because she loved you. She wanted to protect you at all costs."

"How do you know?"

"She told me." I tap my forehead. "She was a necromancer like me and our mother."

"Oh." Carrie rubs her lips together. "Then I'm a necromancer, too, right? I'm just not showing it yet. But I will."

"Maybe. We can't be sure."

"No, I'm sure. I know it. You, Mother, Aunt Leticia...maybe even Angelina. So I have to have it, too." Slumping against my side, she whimpers, "I don't want to die."

"We're going to find a way out of this. I promise. Somehow. I'll find a way."

"How? We can't even leave the house."

"I don't know. Not yet. But I will figure it out."

When we finally lay down to sleep, I listen to my sister sobbing into her pillow. Tears trickle down my cheeks while I stare up at the ceiling. Everything is so wrong, and I have no idea how to survive what is coming. There are wardens patrolling our garden, and watching our front gate. There's no other way to leave the house. I'm a prisoner. Trapped.

_Quade, if by any chance you can hear me, help me._

Silence follows.

I close my eyes in despair.

_Fight back or die, Ilyse._

It's the voice from my nightmare. The necromancer. She must be nearby, spying from the shadows on my home.

Terrified, I roll over in my bed and hide beneath my covers. My body trembles as I fight to keep my teeth from chattering. Dread fills me as I ponder the words of the necromancer.

Were those words advice to save me? Or a threat?
17

# Truth & Lies

Life is misery.

It's been five days since my aunt died. Five long, emotional days of trying to be strong for Rennon and Carrie while they mourn her loss and our father hides in his study. Five long, terrible days of hiding behind closed curtains while a handful of protesters demand justice for Bale outside our front gate and wardens keep us safe. Five long boring days of not venturing to school or Wednesday Gathering, and not being able to reach Quade. Five long days of the necromancer whispering into my dreams and filling them with images of the Unblessed destroying the Atonement Settlement.

I don't know why the necromancer is tormenting me or how to even deal with her. I have yet to figure out how I can get word to Quade. He is the only person I can speak to about the necromancer. I haven't confided in Carrie. I don't want to worry her more than she already is now. Both she and Rennon are terrified that I'll be taken away at any moment.

I wonder if my aunt could have helped me deal with the necromancer if she'd survived. Is Carrie right? Did the necromancer compel the Unblessed to attack her tower? When I consider the dreams I suspect the necromancer is sending me, I'm inclined to believe it was a trap set for me. Was the necromancer trying to out me? If so, for what purpose?

I suppose in the end it doesn't matter. The damage is done. My aunt is dead. Our lives are forever changed, and we are in limbo.

Though trapped in the house together, my family is drifting apart. Of course, the lack of my aunt's presence is weighing heavily on everyone. Carrie spends most of her hours in bed, either sleeping or staring at the ceiling. Rennon sits in his room writing endlessly in his personal journal and he refuses to let me read it. All I want to do is lie in bed and sleep the days away like Carrie, but instead I take over my aunt's duties. Keeping the house orderly and on schedule gives me purpose and maintains a certain sense of normalcy.

When we sit down to eat, my aunt's empty chair looms over us even if my father won't acknowledge her absence. The topics of discussion at our meals are awfully mundane: the weather, profits at the bakery, recent news from outside the walls, but our father doesn't even acknowledge the protestors outside our gate.

Ugh! Father!

He won't leave the house. Though his presence is supposed to be reassuring, it rankles me. Sadly, he's made it abundantly clear that he doesn't wish to speak about her death or the trial the women in his life endured. It is difficult to pretend that I am still his faithful daughter when the fury inside me hasn't abated. He allowed my mother to be killed. How can I ever forgive him for that betrayal? I understand, more than ever, why Angelina went over the wall.

But I pretend to be the perfect daughter exactly as I was raised to do.

I'm at my aunt's desk in the kitchen working on a list of goods that are needed to maintain the house for the next month when Annah hesitates at my side.

"May I have a moment?" she asks.

"Of course." I set aside the notepad and pencil. "What is it?"

I'm surprised when she walks from the kitchen, clearly expecting me to follow. I rush to catch up with her, curiosity filling me. I almost expect we'll go to Rennon's room, but instead we arrive at the door leading to the sewing room.

"Your father requested this," she says in warning.

I know what I'll see when she opens the door. Nonetheless, my breath hitches in my throat when I see the wedding dress on the dummy near the window.

"Your aunt had already cut the dress from her pattern and basted the pieces together. I finished it using her notations as a guide," Annah explains as she shows me the notebook where my aunt kept meticulous notes and designs for the clothes she made for the family. "I did everything according to her instructions. Your father was insistent."

I take the notebook from Annah and stare at sketches of the wedding dress. She planned out every stich and tears form in my eyes. I flip the pages, examining the pattern for the dress, illustrations of where to place the lace and add little elements of flare, such as the tucks at the waist. My dress isn't the only one she designed. I find the exact same care was given in the notes for Carrie's dress, too.

Annah opens a door to the large pinewood cabinet against one wall. It's where my aunt stored her sewing utensils, fabrics, and thread. Opening a small box set on a shelf inside, Annah reveals lace.

"For Carrie's dress," she explains. "I found the lace pieces for your dress referenced in her notes in here as well. The lace is handmade by your aunt. She must have started planning for your weddings some time ago."

I step closer to the dress. It's a finer garment than any I've ever worn. It has a high neck and long sleeves made entirely of lace. It's a bit scandalous in how much skin it will show, but it's beautiful. The bodice is plain, but the tucks at the waist are striking, for they form little rosettes. The skirt is straight, but the train is ruffled, resembling a bustle.

"It's so extravagant," I whisper.

"A wedding gown is allowed to be," Annah says, her voice shadowed by sadness. She lightly touches the sleeve of the dress. "I'm still working on the veil."

"But why?" I ask. "There's no way any man will want to marry me now. Will they even let me into the auction? I haven't been to school and I missed my final exam."

Annah shuts the cabinet door, then leans against it. Her chubby face is rather pretty, but always flushed, giving the impression that she's persistently anxious about something.

"Ilyse, please don't let your father know this but I did overhear him speaking with Crofter Beckett in his study. This was when you were in the garden with Rennon and Carrie yesterday picking the strawberries. Your father is giving up half of his business so Crofter Beckett will marry you."

"No!" I gasp. Even though I'm furious with him, I know my father worked years to build up the bakery that provides bread not only to our settlement, but to other communities including the Enclave. My marriage was supposed to expand his business, not take half of it from him.

"He's doing it to save you. Crofter Beckett doesn't believe you're guilty and is willing to protect you from accusations. Besides," she flushes, "he says you're very pretty, even if you're too thin."

I wonder how many times Annah has listened in on conversations and just how much she knows about our family. It's shameful to admit but I often regarded her as a piece of the background of our life. My aunt oversaw her duties and dealt with her on a daily basis. In many ways, Annah never felt like a fully realized person until this moment. Away from the scrutinizing glare of my father or watchful gaze of my aunt, Annah seems younger and more animated than I've ever seen her.

"My father says a thin girl shows discipline," I say weakly. As the words leave my mouth, they sound foolish.

Annah pats her wide hip. "Yet, many men like a girl they can grab onto."

"Do they?" I'm curious, my eyebrows lifting. I always assumed the Unclaimed never interacted with men.

"Oh, I can assure you, they do. Make sure you eat extra portions once you're married. Crofter Beckett will be pleased." Annah points to the dress. "Shall we try it on?"

I shake my head. "No, no. I can't. I just..."

It's hard not to cry. My aunt should be in this room with us, explaining each detail of the dress, then observing critically as I tried it on. Instead, Annah stares at me in confusion. I understand why. I have what she was denied: a chance at a husband and a future. What she doesn't comprehend is that I'm doomed to die if I don't escape.

"The Bridal Auction is so soon. It really is best if we try it on you and see if we need to tweak anything. I'm worried the waist is a little big. You have lost some weight since... since..."

"It's hard to eat." My stomach churns at the memory of the Unblessed swarming my aunt.

"Maybe tomorrow? I promised your father I would have it ready in time. I'm still working on the veil. It's a little more intricate work than I'm used to but it's coming along."

I'm saved by a knock on the door. It opens to reveal my father. "Ilyse, Schoolmistress Simmons is here to see you. Please come to the parlor."

I'm relieved to have company but nervous about the possible topic of conversation. The last thing I want to discuss is the final exam I need to take and the Bridal Auction.

My father stares past me at the wedding dress. Sorrow fills his eyes, but he says nothing. Instead, he steps aside to let me pass.

Hands clasped before me, I walk to the parlor with my father in my wake. He no longer tries to engage me in conversation when we're alone. I am certain it's out of guilt. I suspect he knows I blame him for my mother's death after I refused to speak to him after returning home from the test. He's been very careful not to broach any topic that might lead to a discussion about my mother or Angelina. He hasn't even spoken with Carrie and me about what we went through during the test. When Carrie cries out in her sleep, I'm the one who comforts her. Whenever either one of us shows the slightest bit of our trauma, he diverts the conversation or leaves the room. Maybe ignoring what happened is how he copes, but I hate that we're forced to follow his lead.

When we reach the doorway to the parlor, he rests his hand on my shoulder before I enter. "I asked Schoolmistress Simmons to speak with you since your mother is no longer with us."

The careful wording fans the flames of my fury but I keep my expression blank.

"There are things women should speak to women about. Alone. I'll be in my study should you need me."

I realize that my father doesn't know that my aunt took the time to speak to me about physical intimacy before Prudence explained it in much more explicit detail. I duck my head, pretending to be embarrassed.

"Thank you, Father."

He gently squeezes my shoulder, obviously relieved to have foisted this task off on someone else, and disappears into his study. I enter the parlor, and shut the door behind me.

"Thank you for coming, Schoolmistress--"

"Call me Jane," she says, cutting me off while hurrying to greet me. She grips my hands tightly and scrutinizes my face. "You're so pale. And thinner."

"It's been difficult," I hesitate, "Jane."

"The Necromancer Trial is barbaric! I've written a formal letter of complaint to the Elders."

"I doubt that will make any difference," I answer.

Shoulders sagging, Jane sighs. "Probably not, but I have to use what little influence I have as the schoolmistress to defend the rights of women in this town."

"Rights of women?" I lift my eyebrows. I've never heard this phrase before.

"Yes. The right to be equal to men."

"But we're not. That's why we have to be sheltered and protected from outside forces. We don't have the fortitude of men," I answer, but even as I say the words I feel doubt stirring in my mind.

With a small smirk, Jane says, "You don't really believe that, do you?"

A year ago I would have defended the beliefs instilled in me since I was a little girl, but not anymore. I once thought of myself as weak, and that my highest calling was to be a helpmate to my future husband. He would be strong, wise, and protect me while I had children and supported his endeavors. As everything in my life is burned away, I'm discovering I am not so weak after all. I have survived the Necromancer Trial twice. This time I don't feel broken. Instead, I feel resolved.

"No, I don't. Not anymore," I reply truthfully. "Not after all of this. I'm much stronger than I thought."

Jane smiles with satisfaction. "I'm glad you're realizing that you're much more than the Lost Texts dictates."

I ask a question that I never would have asked before. "Are they true?"

Her smile fades and I fear I have offended her in some way.

"I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's not that you asked. I'm uncertain how to answer." Taking a deep breath, she visibly ponders how to reply.

"The truth, please. I'm so tired of people not telling me the truth."

I watch my schoolmistress struggle with how to answer me. I dread that again the truth has been withheld from me. "Very well. The truth. The Lost Texts were discovered long ago in the remains of a church in the Irradiated Lands. There were just bits and pieces of the book left."

"I know this story. Vanessa and Thomas Redgrave found them beneath statues of the mother, father, and child in the church. They pieced the fragments together to form the Lost Texts. The gods were pleased and spoke to them. The Redgraves were afraid at first, but then realized the gods had chosen them to be prophets. So they stayed in the church and listened. The voices of the gods guided them in filling in the gaps in the text."

"There are some," Jane starts carefully, "that believe the Lost Texts were actually a book of fiction. Bits and pieces of a book that belonged to someone who took refuge in that church, not an actual holy relic of the church itself. They believe that the Redgraves were inspired by the fragmented statues and faded paintings they found, and they melded icons from an old religion with the book they discovered. Some have gone as far as to suggest they hallucinated the voices of the gods."

I stare at her in shock. It feels as though the floor beneath me is about to give way, but she continues.

"When they took their religion to the settlements in the Irradiated Lands, it gave people hope. The Lost Texts spread rapidly to the Outland Territory. Later, long after the Redgraves had died, people began to add their own interpretations to the Lost Texts and the stricter adherents became the dominate voice. The Atonement Settlement is a perfect example of the more rigid interpretation."

"You don't believe in the gods, do you?" I feel sick to my stomach and a piece of me recoils from her words.

"I believe in a higher power. A god, you may say. One with many faces, but with one truth: to be good and kind to one another. I truly believe that those who worship the gods of the Lost Texts are heard by the one god. Or perhaps the Three Gods are just three faces of the one god." Jane smiles at me gently. "Faith that brings comfort in terrible times is to be treasured. But when faith is used to subjugate and hurt its followers, it must be questioned."

"My entire life is a lie," I whisper. The Lost Texts have been a central focus of my life, and I'm staggered by the thought of even doubting. But that's what I've been doing bit by bit. It's hard to tear away from the teachings that have been so central to my life.

"No, it's not, Ilyse. The truth of your life is that you are a kind, smart, strong young woman unjustly accused by people who live in fear of what they don't understand, and have skewed their faith to make them feel safer. I am here to help you escape from persecution."

"How?" I ask helplessly. "How can anyone help me? Can't you hear them out there screaming that I'm a murderer? How many people have they convinced?"

"Bale was not a pious man. We both know that."

I don't dare answer her out of fear that I'll incriminate myself.

"Ilyse, I know Prudence tried very hard to convince you to meet with her brother. Another young girl overheard her and told me."

"Oh." Aspects of my life have not been as secret as I thought. I am very vulnerable in the face of that revelation. "I see."

Jane takes a seat on the couch and pats the space next to her. I join her, feeling numb and detached from the world.

"Ilyse, I know all the young women in this settlement. Every young woman up to the age of twenty-eight has been my student. Many of them have confided to me about their troubles when no one else would listen or perhaps understand. I know about Bale, Ilyse. I have wanted for years to bring him to justice but couldn't."

"Why not?"

"His victims would not speak out against him out of fear of losing their standing."

"Victims?" I stare at her with dread building in my chest.

"About five years ago, a young student came to me because she was pregnant. She was desperate. Her family didn't know yet and she was four years away from her Bridal Auction."

Anger boils inside me. The girl would have been around Carrie's age. "Was it Bale's child?"

"It was. She was terrified. I was able to help her through my connections with The Republic."

I stare at her in confusion. "I don't understand. How could you help her?"

Jane hesitates. "I'm telling you these things because I believe I can help you, Ilyse, but you must not repeat what I say."

I nod. "I won't. I promise."

"I got her medication to stop her pregnancy."

My eyes widen in horror.

"She was several weeks along. If she had waited any longer, I wouldn't have been able to help her and she would have been discovered. She would have been Unclaimed, had her child taken from her, and possibly exiled to the Deadlands."

A part of me judges the girl harshly, while another piece of me wonders what I would've done if faced with such a future. It's too awful to even consider.

"What would've happened to Bale?" I ask.

"Since the Atonement Settlement eschews technology, there would have been no way to prove he was the father. Worse yet, she refused to accuse him. He threatened to tell everyone she was sleeping with many men and seduced him. That he was the true victim."

"Would the Elders believe that?" Even as I ask the question, I know the answer. Women are seen as weak and prone to evil deeds. "They would have believed Bale and punished her."

"Exactly."

"What happened to her?"

"She married four years later and is happy with her husband and their five children. She was the first student to tell me about Bale pursuing them."

"But not the only one." The memory of his fervent kisses, demanding hands, and demented confidence sends a shiver through my body.

"Some gave into his seductions, others he coerced. Most came to me to determine if they were pregnant or not. Most weren't. And those that were..." She lowers her eyes. "The choice they made was not easy. I helped them out of compassion. You do see that, right?"

"I don't know what I would have done," I answer truthfully. "His family is telling everyone he was a devout young man and I'm a murderous whore! I can see why no one dared speak out."

"That's why I'm here, Ilyse. A few of the young women are considering speaking out but they're afraid."

"I understand. It would be too dangerous. If they're married, they'll be considered tainted. Their husbands will have grounds to divorce them and marry a new wife."

"Sadly, that is true for the ones who are married." Jane faces me directly. "But the women considering speaking out are Unclaimed, Ilyse. Before they do, they want to know if you're really his victim or not. The official story says Prudence accused you of killing Bale, but you have an alibi with your sister and claim you never met with him."

"I didn't. I never went to meet with him," I reply, and it's the truth. Bale had found me when I'd gone to visit Quade.

"So he never accosted you?"

I lower my eyes, unsure how to answer.

"What you tell me I will not tell anyone else unless you give me permission."

"Why won't they just come forward?"

"With Bale dead, they feel safer and their inclination is to remain silent. At the same time, a few are worried that you were one of his victims and they don't want to see you unjustly punished."

I nervously tuck my hair back from my face. "Do they think I killed him?"

Jane shrugs one shoulder. "I honestly don't think they care."

"Why do you believe the Elders will give any credence to what they say? They're Unclaimed."

"They won't go to the Elders. They'll go to the Wescotts. The family's reputation is precarious in this settlement. A generation ago they were almost exiled due to an infraction against Lost Texts. They were smuggling liquor and other illegal contraband into the settlement. They paid recompense and have worked very hard to repair their standing. If half a dozen young women show up on their doorstep telling the same story about their son, they'll have reason to reconsider their accusations."

"So the Unclaimed would blackmail the family to stop them from accusing me." It makes sense. If their standing is tenuous because of their past, the Wescotts have to preserve what's left of their name to protect their younger children. Their oldest daughter is now Unclaimed, a mark against the family. If their son is an accused rapist, too, it will definitely sink their standing and sully their remaining children's future.

Jane solemnly nods. "An appeal to the Elders may not work, but gossip would do wonders to bring down the Wescotts."

"I didn't have relations with Bale but he did try to speak to me during the attack of the Unblessed. When he spoke to me, he said I would eventually give in to him. That all Pious Standing girls do," I say truthfully.

Jane's lips tighten into a straight line.

"What is it?"

"He said that to more than one of the girls."

Bale's arrogance the night he died makes awful sense. More and more, I don't regret killing him. "I didn't meet with him, but he was convinced I would."

"Of course. He'd successfully had his way, with or without their permission, with other girls. With the young women in our settlement desperate to keep their standing, he was protected. He was certain he wouldn't get caught." Jane sighs and grips both of my hands. "I don't know who killed him but I am glad he's gone."

"It sounds like many families would have a reason to want him dead," I reply. "Husbands, fathers, brothers..."

How easily I cover the truth. I'm not sure when I became such a good liar, but I'm glad I discovered the skill. It may keep me alive.

"Very true indeed. Which is why this will work. I will speak with the girls when I leave here. Your life will soon return to normal. I promise."

I know it won't, but I bob my chin anyway. "Thank you."

"Oh, one last thing." Jane reaches into her purse and pulls out a tablet. Activating the screen, she lays it on my lap. "For you."

I stare at it in confusion for a second, then realize it's a message from Quade. I look up at her sharply.

"Mr. Reed was your witness at the test, so I spoke to him. I wanted to know what happened. I was very concerned for you and Carrie. During our talk, I discovered he's an intriguing young man. Like me, he sees your potential. He said you stood up for yourself before the Elders and he was impressed. He asked me about the Bridal Auction, so I told him about the tradition. He wants to help you, Ilyse."

I return my gaze to the screen. I read the words over and over again. One simple sentence: Will you accept my marriage offer?

"This isn't the same as going to the Academy but he believes you deserve a chance to find a life beyond the settlement." Jane watches my response closely. "He can participate in the Bridal Auction since he's a landowner even if he is a little young, but he wants your permission."

How different Quade is from Bale. I appreciate him making the effort to contact me before acting. I'm especially pleased that we both came to the same conclusion about how to save me. "Tell him yes."

"Excellent."

"But can I go to the Bridal Auction? I never took my final exam."

Jane smiles and pats my hand. "I passed you on merit. Don't worry about your future. I'm making sure you have a clear path to your full potential."

"Thank you so much."

As I return the tablet, I'm surprised to see my hand isn't shaking. My insides quiver with anticipation and fear. I'm uneasy at the alliances taking shape around me even though I'm not present. Of course, I should be happy that Jane is so staunchly on my side. Angelina was one of her best students. Jane had been devastated when she'd gone over the wall. I wonder if maybe that's why she's so determined to help me.

"Now, about the topic your father wished for us to discuss."

"My aunt spoke to me," I assure her. "She must not have told my father."

With a sigh of relief, Jane tucks the tablet away. "Well, I won't need to show you this information then."

I'm surprised to see her blushing and I smile at her awkwardly. "Is it different for women out there? Are they embarrassed to talk about... relations?"

"It depends. In some places, people are very open about everything. Surprisingly so. I remember when we first went to The Republic, I saw women wearing skirts above their knees, blouses with no sleeves or that showed cleavage, shoes with high heels, and any color they liked. It felt so scandalous but after a while it just seemed normal. When we returned here, I missed that freedom." With a weary sigh, she says, "I still do but I'm needed here."

"I appreciate what you're doing for me," I say as we both stand.

"I'd rather see you fight back than die."

I freeze where I stand. Her words are eerily similar to that of the necromancer. I stare at her with growing alarm as she picks up her purse and settles her bonnet over her hair.

"It's terrible that someone so young has not only endured the test once but twice," she says while tying her bonnet. "And now you face an accusation of murder."

Cautiously, I say, "I feel as though the Elders still doubt me even though I passed the test and are looking for an excuse to prosecute me. All because my mother was a necromancer."

Jane gives me a sorrowful look, her bonnet shadowing her face. I'm reminded of the necromancer watching me. "We live in a cruel world with death walking outside our walls. People fear what they don't understand."

"You mean the necromancers?"

"The _power_ of the necromancers." Jane sets a hand against my cheek and stares into my eyes. "What the people of this settlement don't understand is that their fears will eventually destroy them."

I'm uncertain how to reply. My hands have gone numb and icy.

"I'll see you soon, Ilyse. Don't be afraid. You have many people on your side." Dropping her hand, she moves to open the door. I watch her depart the parlor with a sinking heart.

I find it difficult to move after her. I force my feet forward. I was taught to be courteous to guests, so I trail after her for a final goodbye at the front door. I watch her walk, her long cloak swinging around her. Is Jane the necromancer? Have I been naïve? Is that why she's trying to make certain I'm not judged a murderer? Is that why she sought out Quade? These questions and more buzz around in my head like insects, blotting out even her voice as she bids me farewell at the doorway.

With one last reassuring smile, she leaves while the protestors scream at me before I shut the door. I slump against it, completely shaken. I'm tempted to turn and fling it open and call her back to demand answers but fright keeps me rooted inside the house.

If Jane is the necromancer, it might be dangerous to confront her. And if she is the necromancer, what does she want from me? What if she is working together with Quade? What if all of this is some sort of trap?

I don't know who I can truly trust anymore. Have I made a terrible mistake in agreeing to let Quade bid at the Bridal Auction?

When my father finds me leaning against the door looking pale and worried, he pats my shoulder gently. "All women are nervous about their weddings, Ilyse. Do not fret. I am certain you will be won by a good man who will be kind to you."

I stare at him, and for a crazy moment, I want to tell him everything. I want him to protect me like he always had in the past. But then I remember that he stood by and let my mother be executed.

With a curt nod, I brush past him.

"Ilyse?"

I reluctantly turn to face him.

"Is something else wrong?"

There is suspicion and fear in his eyes. I realize he suspects me of hiding secrets from him but is trying to protect me anyway.

I shake my head. "No, of course not. I'm going to try on my wedding gown now."

With a satisfied smile, he says, "You will be a beautiful bride. You have such a wonderful future in front of you."

I force myself to return his smile. "Yes, I know."

Another lie to add to the web of lies wrapping ever tighter about me. The only question is who is the spider about to consume me? Jane? Or someone unknown?

I fear I will soon find out.
18

# Warnings

Sitting on my bed, I lean my back against the wall and watch the early morning light seep through the curtains, turning the world gray. The muted light matches my malaise. I'm so lonely despite being trapped in the house with my family.

I have no one to speak to about my worries and fears. Though I've been tempted to tell my sister that I might be exonerated by Bale's other victims, I can't bring myself to do it. I don't want to give her false hope only for it to be ripped away. If Jane fails, Carrie will be even more devastated. She's convinced that at any moment I will be dragged out of the house and condemned to die.

My sister sleeps fitfully on her bed across from me. Her blond hair is matted with sweat and fearful moans slip from her lips. I made the mistake of waking her once during a nightmare, startling her. She'd knocked me on the floor and started screaming that the Unblessed were in the house. Rennon had burst into the room in his wheelchair to save us, brandishing a knife from the kitchen. My father had entered long enough to drag Rennon out, leaving me to console Carrie alone. It had taken hours for her anxiety attack to subside. It feels as though the Necromancer Trial has broken her spirit. Since then, I've been wary about sharing too much with my younger sister.

Not being able to speak about all my suspicions, hopes, and worries has made dealing with my circumstances harder. My sister is my only true ally in the world, and without being able to speak to her I'm stuck in my own doom and gloom scenarios. My constant internal arguments with myself have worn me down. Competing theories ricochet in my head. I can't decide who is my friend or foe.

It's been two long days since Jane walked out the front door. A knot of anxiety has been growing in the pit of my stomach while waiting for her to return with news. At times I fear that she lied to me and is secretly a necromancer with a nefarious plan to expose me. Then I remember how kind she and her deceased husband had been after the death of my mother. Of course, it's only a matter of minutes before my faith in her friendship is shaken. I'm bothered that her comments echo the ones whispered into my mind by the necromancer.

I'm certain Carrie was right all along about a necromancer trying to expose me. The necromancer is out there, watching and waiting. She wants something from me, but what could it be? Does Quade have something to do with her? He is from the Chantry. Or is it coincidence that he arrived just as the necromancer started wreaking havoc on my life? He seems genuinely concerned with what I'm going through. But is that a ploy? It can't be if he's willing to marry me, right?

The cycle is endless.

I'm still bothered by the things Jane revealed about Bale's victims. Our talk shed light on a lot of the restrictions placed on women, especially the Unclaimed, that I hadn't fully grasped before. Bale had nearly destroyed the lives of several young women. At least one was Carrie's age when he impregnated her. I can't imagine how scared the girls must have been afterward. I've come to the awful realization he would have never paid for his crimes. He would have claimed his accuser seduced him and the Elders would have believed him.

Throughout my life I've been told: "A virtuous woman uplifts men. A wicked woman destroys him." It's a commonly-quoted phrase to encourage girls to attain and preserve a Pious Standing. No wonder Bale was so confident in his attempts to seduce young girls and, when his seduction failed, assaulting them. Their fear of having their standing ripped away and becoming Unclaimed or exiled kept them silent.

Carrie mumbles in her sleep, interrupting my dark thoughts.

I sigh, feeling helpless.

Dogs in the neighborhood start their morning barking ritual compelling a few roosters to attempt to drown them out. I slip from the bed and move to the window to peek out at the dawn. The sun lingers behind thick clouds that promise rain in the coming hours. I sweep my gaze over the garden and my heart flutters in surprise. The wardens that usually are posted near the back gate are gone.

Grabbing my robe and shrugging it on, I rush out of my bedroom and through the house to the front windows. I peek past the curtains and see the wardens posted at the front gate are gone, too. Panic starts to fill my chest. Their absence is worrying since the early morning protesters will be arriving soon. What if someone tries to come into the house and drag me out? So far there isn't a sign of the women from the Wescott family and their allies that usually gather at sunrise and take shifts throughout the day hurling insults at me. Men and boys take over in the evening, their voices louder and angrier. There have been a few times I was afraid they'd overcome the wardens and drag me into the street to be punished.

"They're not coming," my father says, entering the parlor. He's already dressed for the day, but looks as though he hasn't slept. His eyes are weary and red. "It's over."

Spinning about, I make sure my robe is tied properly. Modesty has been ingrained in me since I was a baby. For the first time I realize how differently my sisters and I are treated in comparison to our brother. Rennon is never forced to cover up as long as he's wearing underwear.

"Over? How, Father?" Though I'm certain I already know, I want to hear it aloud.

"Sit down, Ilyse. What I'm about to say to you will be troubling to your innocent sensibilities."

I obey, perching on the edge of the couch. He sits down in one of the wingback chairs and sets his hands on the armrests.

After a slow exhalation to gather his thoughts, he says, "Yesterday several young women confronted Master Wescott outside our gates after you'd gone to bed. I was asked to join the conversation. Annah was among the women."

I stare at him in shock. "Annah?"

"Yes. She's one of several women who came forward to accuse Bale of attempted seduction and-" he drags in a deep breath "-forcing himself on them in an intimate way when they spurned him. If only one woman had come forward with such an accusation, her story would have been suspect. But in this case, there were six Unclaimed and two married women of Good Standing accompanied by their husbands. They threatened to take their accusations to the Elders and the Wescotts were horrified. The conversation was quite heated, so we convened at the nearby Meeting Hall."

I stare at my father with wide eyes, unsure of how I should respond.

"I know it's shocking. It's evident that Bale was a man of ill-repute. He was a serpent hidden in our garden."

"How does this absolve me?" I dare to ask.

"It became evident to the Wescotts that Bale's disgrace would reflect badly on their entire family if the women spoke to the Elders. The family does not have the best standing in the community and their son's actions would only sink it further. The Wescotts have withdrawn their complaint against you. That is why the wardens are no longer guarding us."

"You don't think Elder Alvus will be suspicious about them abandoning their allegations?" I know the man hates me and my family. He'll be skeptical of the Westcotts' change of heart.

"He might be, but the Westcotts formally changed their statements to the Elders asserting new information had come to light. They're claiming Bale boasted to his brothers and male cousins that he'd scaled the wall of the Perdition Sanctuary. When he dared to do it again, he fell in and the younger boys were afraid to admit they'd trespassed."

I never expected the Wescotts to create a false scenario to defend their family name. They'd rather lie and let their son's killer go free than admit to his crimes. I remember I'm not supposed to know what happened to him, so I ask, "Is that the truth?"

"A lie to save their reputation. It's better for the family if he's seen as a fool, not a rapist. Sadly, I am complicit in their deceit to protect your future. I believe he was murdered but he was too strong to be killed by a woman. I suspect that a father, brother, or perhaps even a husband, took his life as punishment for what he did to one of their kinswomen. If he had done such a thing to you, I know the temptation to do violence against him would have been strong." My father hesitates, his expression deeply concerned as he gazes at me. "Ilyse, tell me, did he-"

"No! I never went to him. I told you. When he spoke to me, I rebuffed him. I would never have gone to see him!" My anger sounds righteous. Perhaps it is because it's born out of my indignation at what Bale had attempted to do to me and successfully did to others.

With a sigh of relief, my father nods. "I don't doubt you, Ilyse. I just needed to hear the words from you again. It was difficult to listen to the stories of the women he'd attacked. I thought of you and Carrie. Your innocence and purity are treasures to be guarded."

I remain silent when his words unexpectedly sting. I realize that he's so consumed with his daughters being of Pious Standing that he's oblivious to our suffering. Carrie can't even sleep through the night. I wish I could confide in him, but his rigid belief in the Lost Texts would doom me. I'd be exposed as a necromancer and killed.

After a few seconds, my father continues: "The killer will go free, but perhaps it's for the best. A revelation about Bale's behavior and the women he violated would scandalize the settlement, and cause too much distress. Justice was served, and the settlement can continue on in peace."

"Do you think it was really justice?" Though I'm angry with my father, I need to hear him say the words. While I've told myself that killing Bale was an act of self-defense and I had no choice, I still feel guilty.

"Bale would have been exiled over the wall and died among the Unblessed. His fate is fitting. I thank the Three Gods that this terrible situation has been resolved before your Bridal Auction, Ilyse."

"But is it? Father, the Wescotts might have withdrawn the accusation against, but people will still suspect me. Do you really believe a man would marry me?" He's yet to talk to me about his plans with Crofter Beckett. I am tired of waiting, so I open the door to that conversation for him. I want him admit what he's planning so I can beg him not to do it. I don't want to betray Annah and reveal she overheard him.

"Of course! You're innocent in the eyes of the Elders and of Pious Standing! Any man would wed you. I admit that I hope Crofter Beckett will win your hand. He's a good man who will protect you from anyone who dares to disparage you."

He's twisting the truth. Lying makes him so uncomfortable he shifts his gaze away from me. We both know that the Wescotts have damaged me despite what the Elders might say.

"What if someone else wins?" I ask, wondering how he'll handle Quade vying for my hand.

"Somehow, I doubt it. Crofter Beckett has already told me he has his eye on you." He smiles warmly. "Why don't you prepare for the day? I will eat a quick breakfast on my own this morning. I need to return to the bakery after all this time away. It's time we resume our lives."

His words sting. My aunt is dead and our hearts broken, but this is the man he's always been. Pragmatic and not emotional.

I hurry to my room, eager to be away from the uncomfortable conversation. My father is making more compromises than he realizes in order to protect me. A part of me is touched that he's willing to sacrifice his business to secure a good future for me, but I can't forget that he stood by when my mother was killed. It's difficult to reconcile my father's contradictory choices when it comes to the women in his family. I don't doubt he loves us, but yet he is willing to sacrifice us for his beliefs.

I find Carrie sitting up in her bed staring toward the window with tears streaming down her cheeks. Her face is pale and her lips slightly quiver as I enter the bedroom.

"When you weren't in your bed, I thought they'd come for you," she whimpers, and starts to sob loudly.

I rush to her side, take her in my arms, and hold her close. "No, no! I'm here! Everything is fine now. Bale's family has withdrawn their murder allegation. They did it last night. It's over!"

"What?" Carrie's eyes widen in shock. "How do you know?"

I tell her everything that our father told me in the parlor. The only part I leave out is about Annah. I suspect Bale is the reason she's Unclaimed and it feels odd knowing her secret. I'm not sure she wanted Father to share that information with me, so I refrain from telling Carrie.

"So Bale's family is lying to hide what he did." Carrie lets out a strangled, nearly hysterical giggle. "I'm relieved that you're free from their accusations, but it's just so wrong that they'd hide what he did. It's not fair though! I want people to know that he's hurt a lot of girls, including you!"

"I feel the same way but there's no way to do that without exposing me."

"It's scary, isn't it? How they twist stuff around. He was after you, but all those protestors were calling you the whore. Acting like you seduced and killed him."

"I just did one of those things," I whisper, guilt weighing on me again.

Carrie hugs me, her head tucked against mine. "You had to."

We cling to each other for a few precious moments before I realize Carrie is crying again.

"Carrie, they're not taking me away." I stroke her back, rocking her gently.

"Not yet. But someone will. Your Bridal Auction is in a few days! Father is hoping Crofter Beckett marries you. If you get married to him, you'll leave. If you and Quade figure out how to escape, you're still leaving. It doesn't matter what happens. I'm losing you." Carrie sobs into my shoulder, her body trembling.

"I'm sorry," I say, feeling helpless. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," she replies. "I know it's not. It's this place. The settlement. It makes everything so hard for us."

"Women?"

"Yes. Necromancers, too. You do realize I'm going to be in your place in a few years. I'll probably get my powers right before my Bridal Auction." Pulling back, she wipes her eyes with her fingers. "I'm so scared."

It's hard to be strong for myself sometimes, but when I see Carrie scared and brokenhearted, I find the steel inside myself. As her older sister, I have to take care of her and let her know I'm there for her no matter what happens.

"Listen to me, Carrie. Quade got word to me through Jane that he's going to the Bridal Auction. He's going to bid on me. When he wins, we'll get married and we can leave together. Once we're away from here, I'm going to find a way to get you out of here."

"How? Father will never let me go."

"I don't know how to do it right now, but I will make a plan to get you out of the settlement before your powers manifest. I don't want you to suffer what I'm going through."

"Promise?" A tiny bit of hope springs into her eyes.

"I promise." I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile.

A rap on the door startles us, but it's just Annah.

"Your father told me to make certain you eat breakfast," she says.

I notice her eyes dart toward me questioningly. I do my very best to pretend I don't know her secret and plaster a fake smile on my face.

"Ilyse, I'm glad that you're finally free of those awful accusations. Your father told me that Bale fell into the Perdition Sanctuary when trying to climb up the side on a dare," she continues.

Carrie slides off her bed and shrugs. "Father always says young men are foolish and that's why they have to wait until their thirties to marry. Otherwise, they're the worst husbands. Maybe if they're that bad they shouldn't marry at all, huh?"

Annah lowers her chin, her eyes downcast.

"I didn't mean..." Carrie trails off, realizing she's stumbled onto a sensitive subject.

"After breakfast, you need to try on the wedding gown again, Ilyse," Annah says. "I'm still worried the waist isn't sitting right."

"Is the veil done?" Carrie asks.

"It is! I finished last night. We'll try that on, too!"

"Thank you, Annah. I can't wait to try it," I say.

It's as if we all three consciously decided to ignore the awkward moment. But that's what we're all good at: pretending. We're always pretending that everything is fine, that the rules don't strangle us, that we aren't afraid, and that the injustice of our situation doesn't enrage us. I now see clearly how every woman in my life is shackled to a society that judges them harshly and gives them very little freedom in the choices they make.

There is relief in our faces as we make the choice to ignore everything that has occurred. Maybe we all need a break from the constant stress that has kept us in a siege mentality.

The morning flies by. Annah and Carrie work together to make small adjustments in my dress while I work on tweaking the veil's length. We keep the conversation light and I manage to enjoy the company. Rennon even peeks in before slipping outside to wheel around the perimeter of our property to make sure the protestors are staying away. He only comes inside when the rain falls, but he takes his time so he can splash through puddles in his wheelchair and arrives in the sewing room drenched to the bone.

After the storm passes, the afternoon is beautiful. Sunlight streams through the trees, green leaves dripping with rain. The air is fresh and cool, a relief from the heat and humidity. Carrie and I spend time in the garden picking vegetables for dinner and tugging on determined weeds. We keep our herbs in pots lined on shelves on the back wall. I clip sprigs of the ones I'll need for the stew I will make for the Bridal Auction.

_How are you holding up?_

I start, panicking for a moment that it's the necromancer.

_Quade?_

_Yeah. On the other side of this wall._

I grin, recognizing his voice before remembering I'm not sure I can trust him.

_How'd you know I was outside?_

_I didn't. I'm on my way home after arguing with the Elders all day. They're giving me a lot of grief about being able to bid for a Bride. I'm too young according to their rules. I'm four years older than you! I had to make a hefty donation to get them to agree. I realized I was near your home, so thought I'd try reaching you._

_You had to bribe them?_

I shouldn't be surprised anymore. All the cracks appearing in the façade of the Atonement Settlement sadden me. I had once believed so wholeheartedly in the ways of my people and now I don't know what's true anymore.

_It was called a donation but it was definitely bribery. I guess the settlement won't be hurting for funds for a while._

_I'm sorry you have to spend money on me, Quade._

Perhaps I'm wrong to suspect him if he's having to pay to save me. Unless he needs me for nefarious means and I'm worth the investment. I'm too tangled up with conflicting emotions. If I could see his face, I'd be able to determine what his true motives are. Fear, dread, and suspicion keep drowning out the tiny embers of hope. I have to stop the endless loop of hoping and doubting those around me. I rub my temple, feeling frustrated by the wall between us. My fingers smell like mint, a fragrance I always found soothing before, but it doesn't work now.

_It doesn't matter, Ilyse. Thanks to my father, I have plenty of money._

_I'm just not used to having people stand up for me. That it's happened so much lately has been surprising. It feels strange._

There is a long moment of hesitation. I start to worry I said something wrong.

_Well, I'm on your side, Ilyse. I'll be at the Bridal Auction, though I wouldn't be surprised if they'd try to throw another wrench into me bidding. My heathen status upsets them but I made a point of telling them I'm reading the Lost Texts._

I step closer to the gate, wanting to talk to him directly. I want desperately to trust him, but the necromancer stalking me has made me doubt everyone outside my family. Looking about, I try to find an excuse to slip through the gate. A patch of mint poking through the stones near the door gives me an idea.

"Carrie, I think the mint is wandering again. I'm going to check in the passage!" I call out.

Looking up from where she's fussing over her tomatoes, she says, "Ugh! Again! I swear. How is the world not taken over by the damn plant? It's as bad as the Unblessed."

I open the gate and slip into the pathway behind our house, clutching the basket filled with herbs and vegetables in one hand. Startled, Quade steps back from the wall. He'd been leaning against it with his head bowed and his hands resting against the stones. He quickly sets his wide brimmed hat on his head and it shades his face.

Shutting the gate, I give him an awkward smile. We both stick close to the wall, lingering in the shade where we won't be easily seen. Quade returns my smile with a sheepish one, acting like a kid who got caught doing something wrong.

"I didn't expect you to come out," he whispers in a husky voice.

"I wanted to talk face to face. It doesn't feel quite real when we speak the other way. I start to worry I'm imagining your voice."

"I understand." His eyes clearly scrutinize my appearance, his gaze shifting up and down. "You're thinner."

Before I can defend myself, he speaks again. "I wish you weren't hurting so much, Ilyse. Not eating is going to weaken you."

I'm not sure why I feel a sting at his words. I feel a little insulted, remembering what Annah said about men preferring curves. That I should care what Quade thinks of my appearance bothers me because it means I want his approval. I'm not ready to explore why I want him to find me appealing. I feel fragile after everything that has happened.

"I'm trying. It's hard. I keep worrying about everything every second of the day."

"I figured as much. I wish I could find a way to fix this faster."

Studying his face, I don't see duplicity in it. He regards me with a direct gaze that makes me doubt he has a hidden agenda. He's only tried to help me since I first saw him. Maybe I'm foolish for trusting him, but facing him again, I realize I do. My misgivings drain away, relief filling me for once. I also realize just how lonely I'd been.

"You're doing what you can," I reply, starting to fully believe he's on my side. "I appreciate that."

Stroking his goatee, he studies my face in a way that makes me a little nervous. His gaze is piercing, and my stomach flutters. Again, the intangible connection between us sizzles to life and I feel my cheeks heating up. In the afternoon sunlight, there is gold in his goatee and hair and his eyes appear vividly green.

"Still," he drawls "I wish I could do more."

"I think marrying me is a pretty big deal," I say with a small smile.

With a low chuckle, he says, "I guess so."

"My father made a deal with Crofter Beckett so he'll marry me. He's giving up half his business to make sure I don't end up Unclaimed. You may have to bid a lot."

Quade ponders my comment, then shrugs. "Then I'll do it. And when I win, your father won't have to give up half of his business."

"What if you can't bid, or lose?" I rest my hand against the stone wall, plucking nervously at a crevice.

Settling his hand over mine, Quade leans toward me. "I'll find a way. Trust me."

I stare up at him mesmerized by the nearness of his face. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face and clearly see the flecks of gold in the greens and browns of his fascinating eyes. The intimacy of our closeness paralyzes me. I half expect him to kiss me and I'm not sure if I'll let him. If only Bale hadn't seen me that night and accosted me under the trees I wouldn't be so afraid of a man's touch. Maybe it's wrong to be so attracted to Quade. I shouldn't be depending on him so much.

Quade's fingers brush against my cheek. "Ilyse, if you're-"

The sound of stone striking stone breaks the moment, drawing both of our attention to a spot further down the pathway. A hooded figure stands there. The bulky long green coat hides whether the person beneath is male or female and the hood completely shadows the face.

_Don't depend on him. Save yourself,_ the voice of the necromancer says in my head.

I've never seen the necromancer so close before and it's terrifying.

"Did you hear that?" I whisper to Quade.

"No, and I don't like this." Quade pulls away from me, moving swiftly toward the necromancer. "Who are you? Reveal yourself!"

The gate to my home swings open and Carrie pokes her head out. "Ilyse?"

"Go inside," I order, watching Quade bearing down on the hooded form.

The necromancer doesn't move, standing very still.

I push my sister into the yard before she sees what is happening, and shove the gate shut. She pushes on it, trying to get out, but I lean all my weight on it. The smell of rot sifts through the air, the minty fragrance of the herbs in the basket slung over my arm barely holding it at bay.

"Quade, stop!" I call out.

He hesitates a few feet short of the necromancer, casting a startled look over his shoulder. I can feel, smell, and taste death in the wind. Terror building in my chest, I motion for him to return to my side.

_That's not the necromancer, Quade._

Still facing the hooded figure, Quade starts to warily retreat.

I can _feel_ the command of the necromancer.

_Run, Quade!_

Quade turns and races toward me as an ungodly cry erupts from the hooded creature. It races after him, the hood slipping free to reveal Bale's gray dead face. Their boots pound against the stone walkway as Quade flees with Bale close behind. The long coat of the Undertaker fans out at his side like dark wings.

Quade arrives at my side, draws a silver blade, and spins about to defend me. Bale's dead body rushes toward us, his jaw distended and his tongue flapping against his exposed teeth.

I fling up a hand in Bale's direction and scream a single word in my mind.

_Stop!_

Bale's legs buckle beneath him and he falls to the stone pathway in a jumble of limbs. Like before, the ground opens beneath him and he's dragged down into the earth. When he's gone, there isn't a sign he was ever there.

Quade grabs my arm and spins me around into his embrace. We fall against the stone wall breathing heavily with fright and relief. Sinking against his chest, I can feel his heart racing.

"That was a warning," he says breathlessly.

"I know."

"What did the necromancer tell you?"

"To save myself," I reply. "To not depend on you."

Quade doesn't reply for a few seconds. Worried, I lift my head to study his expression. He looks afraid, but determined.

"I'm running out of time," I say. "The necromancer has a plan for me."

"Yeah. That's clear. Stay inside your house until the Bridal Auction. I'm going to contact the Chantry and see if I can get any leads on who this bitch is."

"What if the necromancer sends Bale against me again?" I ask.

"It's not you that's the target right now. It's me. She wants me out of the way."

My heart skips a beat at the thought of him dying. "I hate that you're in danger because of me."

Quade gives me a grin. "It's what I do. I'm an Undertaker. I'm used to the danger. I just don't like the idea of someone playing around with you. We'll sort this out once we're together in a few days. Until then, you stay in your house and I'll watch every damn shadow."

"I'm glad you're my friend," I say, meaning it.

"Hell, I'm more than your friend," Quade says with a wink. "I'm your husband to be."

Dipping his head down, I know he's about to kiss me. Eyelashes fluttering, I wait for the touch of his mouth on mine. This time I'm certain I'll let him.

His lips settle against my forehead and he leaves a lingering kiss on my skin. I'm a little disappointed as I cling to him. Being so close to him is a little dizzying. My body is keenly aware of his, and I feel the strength of his muscles beneath his clothing.

"You better get inside," he whispers. "Before something else happens and we get in trouble.

I'm not certain what he means, but when he opens the gate – making sure to stay out of sight, I slip back inside the garden with my face heated from the kiss and my insides trembling.

"What happened?" Carrie seizes my arms, jostling me a bit as the gate clangs shut behind us.

I realize I dropped the basket at some point and didn't even notice. I tell her, leaving out the part where Quade held me and kissed my brow.

Carrie's eyes are nearly round with fright. "Ilyse, I'm so scared for you right now."

"Quade and I have a plan," I answer. "It'll be okay."

I open the gate and peek out into the passageway. My basket with the vegetables and herbs in it are gone. So is Quade. I shut the gate and lock it.

"How can you say that?" Carrie asks me. "Someone is after you!"

I press my fingers over the spot where Quade kissed me. Despite the scare I just had, I feel hopeful. Perhaps I will escape with my life and finally find out who I was born to be with his help.

"Because I'm not alone," I finally answer my sister. "Even though the necromancer wants me to be, I've got people helping me. And that gives me so much hope."

"But why do they want you? I don't understand."

"I don't either, but I have a feeling I'm going to find out very, very soon."

# Epilogue

I stand in front of the mirror in our small bathroom in my nightgown. The night is dark outside the small window over the tub and the gas lamp barely pushes back the gloom. The shadows cast over my face give me an otherworldly appearance in the dull reflective surface.

In a matter of days I will face my fate at the Bridal Auction. It's a fate I have absolutely no influence over. It will be decided by men who claim to want what is best for me.

Can I trust any of them?

I remember Quade's touch and a sigh escapes my lips. I'm afraid of how he makes me feel, but I can't stop the need to trust him. The necromancer urged me to save myself, but Quade is my best chance to escape.

I tuck my auburn hair behind my ears and stare at my face. It's a little thinner but my cheeks are still round with youth. I'm supposed to be a married woman soon but all I see in the mirror is a scared teenage girl.

How can I ever be as strong as Angelina? She dared to climb the wall to escape into the Deadlands. I can barely muster the strength to face the Bridal Auction.

The vow of the Pious Woman comes to mind. The words had always given me peace before when I was afraid.

_I am humble_

_I am quiet._

_I am kind._

_I am faithful._

_I am hardworking._

_I am fruitful._

_I am plain._

_I am pious._

I might be humble and quiet but it's so I can survive.

I am kind because it's the right thing to be even when people are cruel to me.

I am faithful to the ones I love but not to the teachings of the Lost Texts anymore.

I am hardworking and fruitful because it keeps me from collapsing into despair.

I am plain but I hope Quade finds me pretty.

I'm not pious for I killed.

The words that gave me so much comfort are hollow now.

I'm not prepared to denounce my faith in the Three Gods just yet. Who else could have given me this power? Lifting my hands to my chest, I can see the greenish-black flames tracing my fingers. The vow of the Pious Woman fades as new words come to mind.

_I am afraid._

_I am trapped._

_I am angry._

_I am a necromancer._

_And I will survive._

* * *

THE STORY CONTINUES IN BOOK 2,

_THE ACCUSED DEAD_

* * *

Turn the page to find out more about the author and her books!

# Also by Rhiannon Frater

**Rhiannon Frater writes in many genres across many different series! Click or tap on the banners below to find out more about each of her books!**

The morning that the world ends, Katie is getting ready for court and housewife Jenni is taking care of her family. Less than two hours later, they are fleeing for their lives from a zombie horde. Thrown together by circumstance, Jenni and Katie become a powerful zombie-killing partnership, mowing down zombies until they find sanctuary in a tiny, roughly fortified Texas town.

Mackenzie must face her worse fears after stumbling through a hidden doorway into the dead spots, where dreams become reality, terror knows your name, and nightmares can kill you. As the true horrors of the dead spots are slowly revealed, Mackenzie realizes that time is running out. But exits from the dead spots are nearly impossible to find, and defended by things almost beyond imagination.

"The Handmaiden's Tale Meets The Walking Dead"

Ilyse hides her growing power from the religious leaders that condemned her mother. If she's discovered, she'll lose her life. The arrival of a mysterious young man only complicates matters when his mere presence further awakens her powers and the realization that to survive she must escape the high walls of the Atonement Settlement.

Vanora is torn between the man she loves and the man who would destroy the world to claim her. Can she escape the power of an ancient prophecy, or will she succumb?

At the end of the world, The Bastion is humanity's only hope. The massive city shelters the last survivors from the Inferi Scourge howling outside its towering walls. Explore the last city of the living from its inception in Escape to the Last Bastion to the desperate missions in the sequels to reclaim what was lost when the world was overtaken from the dead.

Can a 12 year-old boy lead his friends to safety when zombies invade his school? A gripping horror tale for zombie fans of ALL AGES!

It is silence, not screams of terror, which proclaims the end of the world...

Minji Nordin is vacationing in Las Vegas with her small family when she witnesses the beginning of a terrifying apocalypse. When humanity is transformed into mindless drones by a horrific supernatural event only Minji appears to be immune and it's up to her to save her family and the world.

For best friends Christy and Adam—a witch and a gay young man—life hasn't been easy. To remedy this, Christy casts a love spell to try and bring Adam's true love. But has she brought Adam's first boyfriend to Trinity Springs, or a monster?

Amaliya is not your conventional heroine. But when a bastard kills her and buries her in a forest grave, she wakes with a serious case of "I need to kick some ass" along with a brand new lust for blood.

"Violence, sensuality, tense conflict and intense drama roll at full speed against the backdrop of romantic Old Europe from the first page to the very end. Frater's novel has managed to be almost everything to every vampire fan, a feat not easily pulled off." – Dark Markets review, The Tale of the Vampire Bride

# About the Author

Rhiannon Frater is the award-winning author of the As the World Dies zombie trilogy (Tor) as well as independent works such as The Last Bastion of the Living (declared the #1 Zombie Release of 2012 by Explorations Fantasy Blog and the #1 Zombie Novel of the Decade by B&N Book Blog). She was born and raised in Texas where she currently resides with her husband and furry children (a.k.a pets). She loves scary movies, sci-fi and horror shows, playing video games, cooking, dyeing her hair weird colors, and shopping for Betsey Johnson purses and shoes.

You can visit her online at

www.rhiannonfrater.com

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