The devotional turned out to be a large, beautiful building situated in a city called Rathnacarrick, four uncomfortable days ride away from wherever it was Kite and Saryth had been questioned. Kite spent that time in an enclosed cart, let out only for rest breaks. While she didn’t see Saryth, the times she managed to eavesdrop on the guards suggested he was present in the same caravan, which gave her hope of a sort.

When they reached Rathnacarrick, the guards’ demeanour noticeably improved. Kite could hear when her cart separated from the caravan at the outskirts of the city, but she didn’t see any of it until they arrived at the devotional, which proved to be a large, sprawling building with a well-built wall around its grounds. She didn’t get much of a chance to look at its outside. The guard who opened the cart and beckoned her out lost no time in pushing her through the small side door, so that she got no more than a fleeting glimpse of the clean, paved streets and neat buildings surrounding the devotional.

Inside, a stern-looking woman confronted her guards. She wore what looked like a uniform, an overall over long skirts, with something like a wimple covering her hair entirely. “Yes?”

“A guest of the General, Matriarch.”

“What, another one? Really.” She sounded disapproving, and the brief glance she gave Kite suggested she was resigned to disappointment. “Well, come here, girl. What is your name?”

“Kite.”

“Just Kite? Very well. Come this way.” She walked away briskly, without checking to see if Kite was following. Kite cast a glance back at the gate, then hurried after. The Matriarch led her around a corner to a small stone courtyard, with covered walkways at each side and a circle of grass in the middle, then through an arch to a larger space. “Wait here please, while I fetch a novice.”

She disappeared around a corner. Left alone, Kite ventured out from the arch. The courtyard she had come through had been planned, but this space, for all its size, seemed to be what was left after five different architects had tried to cram their separate visions into the same space. Buttresses projected here and there, rising to support towers and arches which alone would have been elegant but mixed together just confused the eye. Grand doorways beckoned her into what had to be tiny corridors, and the largest single building had no doors at all, at least, not from this vantage. Rising defiantly from a circle of dirt in the middle of the space, one gnarled tree had survived the building plans. Kite reached out to its rough bark, wondering if was supposed to have any merits of its own, or whether the architects had just disagreed about what to do with it.

One of the doors opened, and three women emerged, chattering amongst themselves then falling silent when they noticed Kite. They were all dressed like the Matriarch, although their overalls were much plainer and only one of them wore a wimple. That girl hurried over, a broad smile on her face.

“Hello! Are you new?”

“Yes,” Kite said, reluctant to say too much when she had so little understanding of her situation. “I’m Kite.”

“I’m Caitrin - I’m an initiate healer,” said the friendly girl. “Are you to be a novice?” So a devotional has novices. Right.

“No,” Kite said slowly, fishing for the words, “I’m a... guest... of Vorannen’s.”

“Oh, so you’re a hostage too?” said one of the other girls, her voice considerably less friendly than Caitrin’s. Clearly the situation wasn’t unusual. “What’s your title?”

Kite eyed the new speaker, who had long dark hair swept back in an intricate braid and a snooty expression. “Peasant.”

“Oh, a mage, then,” and the girl’s tone suggested that was only one step above cockroach. “There’s a prohibition all across these grounds, you know.”

Kite had never been able to rely on her limited magic, but that was still unwelcome news. Before she could ask about it, Caitrin interrupted with innocent enthusiasm. “You say you’re a mage?”

“Um, I -” Not really?

“That’s wonderful!” Caitrin gushed, “I always wanted to ask about the medical spells - oh!” She looked round with a smile. “The Matriarch’s coming.”

The Matriarch swept up to the little group, another girl in tow.

“Kite, this is Fiona,” she said. “She will show you round, sort out your schedule and be your guide.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Fiona. She didn’t look particularly pleased. She was wearing a head covering but not a full wimple, and her long pale hair was tied back in a simple ponytail. Not a novice? Or some other class of... novice? Or something else entirely?

“I hope your stay here is quiet,” said the Matriarch, and left without further comment or instruction. Kite watched her go. If they are used to hostages, they must be used to keeping an eye on them. Is that what Fiona’s task is? She turned back to her guide.

“Please, lead the way.”

Fiona led her through a maze of corridors, up a spiral staircase and into a dormitory. The wooden floor was polished and clean, and the beds narrow but well-supplied with pillows and blankets, and separated by curtains which afforded some privacy. Fiona stopped by one of the beds and waved at it.

“You can sleep here.” She went to the far end of the room, where a tall wardobe stood between two narrow windows, and pulled out a set of robes, a plain overall and a pair of soft shoes, which she held out to Kite. “Put these on while I sort out your schedule.”

Kite didn’t take them. “I have clothes.”

“You no longer need them,” Fiona said. Her face was almost entirely expressionless. “They will be washed and given to the poor. Please get changed.” She placed the clothes on the end of the bed and went out the way they had come. Kite looked around, but that was the only door. Slowly, she undressed and donned the robes she had been given, piling her bright tunic and trousers on the bed she had been assigned and tucking her boots underneath. It felt somehow worse than the four days locked in the cart.

Fiona reappeared while she was working out how to fasten the ties of the overall. She was bearing a piece of paper, but didn’t give Kite a chance to look at it. “Here is your schedule. Mornings in the garden. Afternoons with the children. Initiate Caitrin requested you in the infirmary, so every third and sixth day you’ll be there in the afternoon. Your mornings will change in two weeks, but you will always have the same afternoon duties. Now, it’s past noon, so shall we go?”

The narrow bed was surprisingly comfortable, but Kite was so exhausted by the end of that first day that it wouldn’t have mattered if it had been hard as a board. She fell asleep within minutes to the sound of the other girls snoring, mumbling and turning over in their own beds. It was only later, when everything was dark and quiet, that her sleep was disturbed. Kite dreamed, and in her dreams she heard brisk, unfamiliar voices talking.

“He should know what to do by now.”

“Well, if you think so...”

“I do. Ready? Ready, over there?”

“Merge!”

After that came a weird warm shivery feeling, then a shout, not quite of pain, more surprise and affront, and that was a voice she knew.

“Saryth!” Kite sat bolt upright in bed, and the disturbing feeling of being part of someone else’s memories vanished. The dormitory was quiet around her, with only the occasional snore and shift breaking the silence. Was that real?

The curtain to the right of her bed rattled as Fiona pulled it aside. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Kite said, and then by way of an excuse, “I need the toilet.”

Fiona made an annoyed noise in her throat, but got out of bed. “This way.”

The privies were down the hall, and Fiona made it very clear she would wait outside for Kite to finish. There would be no chance to do any sneaking around in the middle of the night. Kite sat down, leaned her head against the wall, and tried not to worry about Saryth. Had that been his memory? His dream? Was something happening now? What had been happening? Were they hurting him? What can I do about it?

When she’d run the questions around her mind until they were too tired to go any further, she got up and went back to her grumpy escort, who led the way back to the dormitory. Kite lay down again and shut her eyes, and Fiona went back to her own bed. Kite heard the shift and rustle as the other girl lay down. If she’s going to watch me to the toilet and back, I might as well make this a habit. It might be useful. If nothing else, it will annoy her.

Less than an hour later, she woke from a light doze to more shifting and creaking from Fiona’s side. She kept her eyes closed as Fiona’s footsteps paused at the end of her bed, then passed down the room to the door, which creaked slightly as it opened and then closed. Going to report to Vorannen, maybe?

That could also be useful.

Kite had planned to explore the devotional in the gaps in her timetable, but her explorations were curbed by the duties she had been assigned, and she was dismayed to find no free time in the schedule at all. Even her trips from one part of the devotional to another were accompanied by someone, usually Fiona, who seemed to turn up as if by magic every time Kite thought she might be allowed to walk somewhere without an escort. Her days gained a rhythm which was too easy to fall into. Mornings in the garden were hard work but quiet, and she preferred pulling up weeds and tending plants to the boisterous playing of the children she had been scheduled to watch for most of the afternoons. Neither the gardens nor the playground were anywhere near the walls, and in both places she was accompanied by an acolyte or overseer, less annoying than Fiona, but just as inescapable. The afternoons she spent with Caitrin in the infirmary were much less stressful, but still offered no obvious routes of escape, and anyway, she disliked the idea of getting the friendly acolyte into trouble. The other girls were mostly standoffish or at best neutral, and Caitrin was the only person who seemed genuinely pleased to see her, who ever asked her opinion or listened to what she had to say.

“Kite, what do you think of this rash?”

“Kite, how do you prepare woundwort?”

“Kite, do you know if there’s a better way to treat burns? I’ve been reading up on other approaches...”

Almost two weeks after she’d arrived, Caitrin gave her the opportunity she had been waiting for. “Kite? Could you take this to the gates? Mrs Maurice is expecting it.” She held out a small bag with a wooden box inside which rattled as Kite took it.

“Yes, of course,” she said, trying not to sound too excited.

“The instructions are inside. Thank you.”

Even then, as Kite made her way out of the infirmary, she expected to see Fiona come round the corner - but there was no sign of her. She felt a kind of giddy freedom, and choked back her glee in case someone heard. Down the spiral staircase and along the corridor, and there, the wide stairs leading to the front door, and beyond that the courtyard and the great gate. This wasn’t the way she’d come in, but she’d seen it plenty of times when walking to the nursery, accompanied by her ever-present shadow. The thought made her look around, but there was still no sign of Fiona as she stepped out into the big courtyard for the first time.

The great gate itself was guarded, of course. There would be no escape there. She walked sedately around the lush green circle of well-tended lawn, sticking to the cloisters as though seeking the shade, and there, in the far corner, a dark shape beckoned. She eyed it as her path took her closer. It was a large circular shaft, covered by a padlocked grille, and far below she could hear the faint sound of water rushing. An underground river? Maybe it had been a water source for the devotional before they had installed pumps inside the buildings. How far down did the shaft go? Beyond the prohibition?

She didn’t dare stop or take a closer look, but her heart was lighter than it had been since before that wedding she and Saryth had gatecrashed. She smiled at the guard on the gate, who nodded with bored indifference when she explained, “for Mrs Maurice, when she comes.” She walked the other way around the lawn on the way back, thinking hard. If she was going down that shaft, then she needed a lockpick. A lockpick, and some time when she was not being watched. The grille itself was out of sight of the front gates, being tucked right at the end of the cloisters, but she couldn’t take the risk of picking the lock in daylight. But at night... I can’t even leave my bed without Fiona waking up. She brooded over the difficulty. It would be too obvious if one of us was out cold when we came back from the loo at night... wouldn’t it?

Two days later marked the end of her time in the gardens. Fiona informed her that from the following day she’d spend mornings in the kitchen, a welcome change. She finished up in the garden for the last time and walked to the refectory, accompanied by the head gardener, who thanked her gruffly when they got there and turned to head back again. Not even pretending they’re not keeping an eye on me. But she couldn’t feel down, not with the exciting prospect of the kitchens the next morning. Kitchens had busy cooks who might not be watching people properly. Kitchens had exciting tools that might be “borrowed”. Kitchens had knives.

She picked up a bowl of soup and chunk of bread and went to join Caitrin, who greeted her cheerfully. “Oh Kite, have you been busy? I haven’t seen you for the past two days. How are you finding it?”

“Hard work,” Kite said, sitting down and reaching for the water jug. “I’m moving from garden to kitchen in the mornings next week. But the children are the hardest -”

“Aren’t they little angels?” Caitrin interrupted with a grin. “So playful!” Kite nearly dropped the jug. Not what I would call them!

“But I like working in the infirmary,” she went on, dipping her bread into the soup.

Caitrin smiled. “That’s good.”

“You have some amazing facilities,” Kite said, then, hopefully, “even running water.”

“Oh yes, that makes such a difference!” Caitrin enthused. “We’re lucky to have that underground river.”

“Kite, I didn’t know you had an interest in plumbing,” said Fiona from across the table, and Kite swallowed a rude word. No way to pump Caitrin now. She grinned broadly and insincerely at her unwanted shadow.

“Oh, it’s fascinating,” she said, and ate the rest of her lunch in silence.

At first, the kitchen did not live up to her expectations. The head cook was a small elderly woman with beady eyes and a sharp wit, and she had few enough helpers that there was no chance to steal a knife, nor any time in which to do so. Kite washed dishes (but not cutlery), swept, stirred soups, shredded cabbages, scrubbed vegetables, kneaded dough and wished for the relative peace of the gardens. But there was one notable advantage to the kitchen, which was the abundance of storerooms. The kitchen itself had plenty of storage for crockery, but foodstuffs were kept in various rooms down the corridor at the back of the main room. Not being allowed to handle anything sharp meant she was usually the one sent to fetch ingredients, and that meant a few precious moments alone for each errand. Standing in the herb room, confronted with countless jars of all shapes and sizes, the plan she had been mulling over since seeing the shaft near the great gate began to come into focus. She eyed the jars with new hope. But I still need a lockpick.

“Kite, dear? Are you all right in there?” The voice of the head cook startled her from her thoughts. The old lady had come to the doorway and was peering in at her. “Can you find the shelf?”

“Oh... um, no...” She hadn’t even been looking.

“Here, let me get it.” The old lady hobbled over to the shelves and selected a jar, opened it and shook a generous helping of dried something into the bowl Kite was holding. “There you are, and now we can add the onions. Come on!” She hurried off and Kite followed, still thinking about her last critical need. But even a kitchen wouldn’t have the right equipment to pick a lock. If only there was a way to get hold of - and she stopped two inches short of bumping into the head cook, who had turned to glare at her just before they entered the main kitchen.

“Your hair is loose, girl,” she said. “Use a hairpin.” And she held up a sturdy example. Not quite believing her luck, Kite took it from her, feeling as though she’d been given treasure.

“Thank you!”

The head cook nodded approvingly as she wedged it into her hair, pinning back her unruly bangs. Kite followed her into the kitchen, trying not to grin. Tomorrow! Tomorrow!

The next morning, she put her plan into practice. It wasn’t long before she was assigned her first errand. “Kite! We need sage and rosemary. Take the big bowl and add some from the stores. And then fetch some parsley from the garden.”

“Got it!” she said cheerfully, grabbing the bowl and heading for the herb room. She’d spent all night thinking over her plan, but as she stepped into the small room she felt a weird reluctance. Maybe not this time. Maybe the next - she shook her head. Stop it. She hadn’t had any more dreams of Saryth, but one was enough. I have to get out.

The sage jar was on a high shelf. That suited her. She hefted it in one hand, and paused for a moment. She had the feeling of being at the very top of a slope, about to set off an avalanche. Come on, there isn’t time for this! She took a deep breath and hurled the jar at the ground while at the same time sweeping the shelf around it so the nearby jars also fell in a clattering cascade. The sage jar had broken from the force of the impact; she knelt, grabbed the base and jammed the sharp edge through her skirt and into her leg, and her shout of pain was entirely real.

People came through the door almost before she’d dropped the base and clutched her leg. It hurt a lot more than she had expected it to.

“What’s wrong? Kite!”

She looked up at the faces around her, not having to feign distress. “I slipped,” she said, “I cut my leg...”

“Get Caitrin!” someone ordered, and Kite bent forwards, over her leg.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” she managed, through gritted teeth.

“Never you mind about that,” said the head cook. “Relax. Look, here’s Caitrin for you.” And Caitrin was there, her face full of worry.

“Oh no - come on, we’ll get you to the infirmary.”

“I’m sorry,” Kite said, feeling awful at her deception, at the mess she’d made, at the loss of the sage jar and the distress she was causing Caitrin and the cooks. I’m really sorry.

I’m still going.

An unexpected benefit of her plan was getting out of the day’s duties, especially the afternoon with the children. After Caitrin had washed and dressed her wound, and given her something that tasted vile but numbed the pain, she’d told Kite to rest for the day, and since the infirmary was quiet, Kite stayed there and kept Caitrin company while she prepared an ointment for one of the older women. Caitrin, as always, thoroughly enjoyed having her around to quiz about medical magic and healing spells. Kite held up her end of the conversation as best she could. It was the least she could do.

A second benefit was seeing Fiona’s annoyed face that evening. “You cut your leg? That was stupid.” She released her hair tie and sat down on her bed, scowling at Kite. “You’re going to insist on going to the toilet as usual, aren’t you?” She didn’t wait for an answer, and Kite didn’t offer one, but as the lights went out and the girls all around snored their way into sleep, Kite smirked at the curtain between their beds.

Oh yes. Yes, I am.

When the time came, Kite sat up and tugged the curtain open.

“Fiona?”

“Yes, yes,” Fiona grumbled, rubbing her eyes as she pushed her covers back. “You’re like clockwork, you know that? Here, lean on me.”

Kite leaned her full weight on Fiona’s shoulder as the two girls left the room, but Fiona was stronger than she looked and only grunted slightly with the strain. They hobbled down the corridor to the privies. Kite spent a few moments inside for verisimilitude, gathered her thoughts, then opened the door and punched Fiona with all her strength. The other girl collapsed without a sound. Heart racing, legs wobbling, Kite caught herself on the door frame and stared down. Fiona was breathing, but definitely out for the count. Kite’s knuckles throbbed from the force of her punch, and she nearly giggled out loud. But there wasn’t time to wait until she felt steadier. Nobody else had ever investigated her midnight privy visits, but now was not the time to push her luck. She knelt awkwardly and hauled Fiona up, arranging the other girl in a similar position to the one she’d adopted on the way out. Then she started back to the dormitory.

It was a lot more painful than she had expected, and she had to stop several times on the way to give her leg a rest. Caitrin’s horrible potion must have been wearing off. Worst of all was the short section from the dormitory door to their beds, when she had to walk normally or risk betraying the swap to any observers in the dark. But she made it in the end, tucking the unconscious Fiona into her own bed, then lying back on Fiona’s to wait the requisite hour before heading out again. She was far too excited to sleep, could barely credit that her racing heart wasn’t waking anyone else up, but the room remained dark and quiet and sleepy until finally she could get up again, walking as normally as possible, just as Fiona would on her way out to report, or whatever it was she did.

Once out of the door, she braced herself on the wall, which helped. She made her way down the stairs and out into the shadows of the cloisters. The great gate was closed, no guards visible; she waited for several heartbeats but nobody moved. Either they were patrolling, or they were on the other side of the wooden door. She edged along the cloisters until she was tucked into the shadows by the shaft. In the silence of the night, the dark maw was ominous and the rushing water sounded dangerous, but she knelt down and started on the padlock with her hairpin. I’ve come this far. I’m not stopping now.

The hairpin was not as good as her own lockpicks, lost when she and Saryth had been caught in the forest. It seemed to take an eternity before she clicked the tumblers over and the padlock yielded. She raised the grate, wincing at the slight noise it made. Nobody came.

Inside the shaft she was relieved to see rungs leading down. She managed to close the grille after her, briefly regretting not being able to relock the padlock. How long will it take them to notice? Would they even think I came this way? She started down the rungs, but they were slippery and her injured leg had had quite enough by this time; four steps down she missed a step, lost her grip and fell. There was barely time for terror before she hit the water, which was deep, with a rapid current. Kite curled up into a ball. Squashing her panic, she cupped her hands over her mouth and concentrated, relieved beyond measure at the small swell of magic which responded, forming a bubble over her nose and mouth. She exhaled, inhaled, felt the sweet reassurance of fresh air as the river bore her along.

So I am outside the prohibition. Now, where does this come out?