The sun crests and wedding guests start to arrive, a charged undertone to their conversation. They will have heard of the overseer, of course, and Gaxna getting arrested for it. Has there been any mention of me? Or of the overseer the theracant guards killed yesterday? I’m too high to make out any words, but I find a place on the edge of the roof where I can observe the crowd below. It would be better to stay totally hidden, but I need all the information I can get. Where the guests are sitting, who the loyalists are, if I can make them out. Where my safety will be when things go wrong.

  I ice the anxiety inside and correct myself. If things go wrong.

  The first thing I see chills me to the bone: overseers, eight or ten of them, lining the wall to both sides of the hall. Where did they come from? Did the theracants fail? Or did Regiana sell me out in some further political game of her own? I trust the woman, but a lot is at stake here.

  Then two more overseers march to the front, something held between them. No, someone—Gaxna.

  It takes everything I have not to cry out. Not to leap down from the roof and attack the men holding her. Gaxna is beaten and bruised, her hair matted with blood, her eye swollen to nearly double. Anger and guilt swell in my chest—this is my fault, but they also didn’t have to do this to her. They herd her to the left of the ceremony platform, hands tied, and one of the guards tries to adjust her position. She bites at him and I grin. They haven’t broken her, at least.

  But why is she here? Why have a prisoner at a wedding? Unless they are planning to drown her as part of the ceremony, to show Nerimes’ justice or something.

  Or they expect me to be here and need her for whatever they’re planning.

  Either way, I know the truth about my father. Have damning proof that the traditionalists sold out the temple, even if I don’t know exactly how Arayim or the theracants fit. When the temple reads my memories, there will be no denying Nerimes’ guilt. Still, I would feel better if Gaxna wasn’t here, in case it comes down to a fight.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  I spot Urte and Dashan in the crowd, Urte with the trainers and Dashan with our class, back in the student section. I try to see any kind of signs on them, any indication they are standing with other loyalists, but I can’t. I don’t see anything new in the ranks of seers either, anything to indicate whether they are traditionalists or loyalists. Was Melden right, that the traditionalists outnumber the loyalists? What will happen if it comes to a fight? I’d like to think my evidence will be proof enough to convert the whole temple, but...

  Music starts, the overlapping flute textures of an Ujeian hymn, and everyone quiets, looking to the back. Nerimes enters, flanked by senior theocrats, his narrow body accentuated by the flowing robes of state. He looks calm, in control, black eyes glancing at the hundreds of people arrayed to either side.

  A crier at the front announces him and his full, undeserved title, then the crowd quiets again. The flutes change to a lower, more mournful song, and the door at the back opens. A Seilam Deul woman steps out, tall and elegant, with a dark scar standing out on one cheek. Shejon Ieolat. She is another piece I haven’t quite fit into this, though I know she’s involved.

  Uje but I want to jump down and end this. To spit in the Chosen's face and turn his temple against him. But there is one more thing I need.

  It comes as the theocrats intone the Cleansing of the Waters, the ritual beginning to any important event in the temple. Yelin has been outside all morning, doing chores in the hot sun, her feelings a familiar knot inside mine, loneliness and fear and a touch of hope now. Those emotions shift as the theocrats finish and the Ujela Chronicler, second only to Nerimes, steps up to the dais to begin. Yelin feels surprise, then confusion and mistrust, then her whole body is suddenly cold, like she’s been tossed into a fountain.

  She has been tossed into a fountain, actually. This is the sign from Regiana, the signal that they’ve summoned bloodborn in the streets to control the overseers, and that it’s working. The temple’s police force won’t be able to interrupt me. This is it, then.

  I stand up, loosen the staff on my back, and jump off the edge.