"Jane?"

She looked up, panicked.

"Sorry," she said.

"Are you all right? You look like you saw a ghost. Erm. On second thought, that remark may be in poor taste, considering where we are right now—"

Jane's eyes darted back to the tombstone. She reread the words engraved on its front, certain she must have been mistaken. But it was unmistakable. The grave marker was new, and its words were carved in crisp, precise print.

Tsarina Eloise Bauer of Somita, also of Earth, died on 22 Eeyoon 874.

"What's wrong?" said Kir.

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing. You're shaking."

Jane's hands clenched the fabric of her dress. "I think... your mom might've had ties with my adopted family."

Her mind worked frantically, trying to remember. She thought her mom had once told her Uncle Bauer lost a child, a few years before Jane was adopted. She had made it sound like a car accident, and it had been quickly forgotten. Jane racked her brain, but she couldn't remember seeing photos of a young woman around Uncle Bauer's house, not even in his study. And Uncle Bauer had never spoken of his dead daughter to them, not once—

How had she never before thought to ask Kir's mother's name?

"It would explain the similar mannerisms," Kir said thoughtfully. His voice grew excited. "Does this mean you met my mother?"

"No," said Jane. "No, I never met her, she must've come here before I was adopted, probably before I was born since you're older—"

She felt like the stone walls of the cemetery were closing in around her. Perhaps it was the aftereffects from the Dragonsleep potion she'd inhaled the day before, but it almost felt hard to breathe.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I have to get out of this corset. It's too tight."

"Here," said Kir, springing up. "I'll help you get back to your rooms.

"You don't have to worry, you know," Kir babbled, as they made their way back. "I mean, I'm just guessing you're worried because she was someone you knew, and she didn't pass her godstests, but you're going to be a marvelous avtorka. Priest Androv was right, you're smart and brave and kind and honest! If anyone can do it, it's you."

"I – I think I can walk back from here. Thanks..."

As soon as she was back in her rooms, she began to pace, stripping herself of the confining dress and corset. She flung on a looser dress and hugged her arms to her chest.

Uncle Bauer's daughter had died here – in Mir – in this very castle. She'd failed her godstests, and then she'd gotten trapped in this world. She hadn't gotten to see Uncle Bauer again before she died; she hadn't gotten to say goodbye; her life had just ended, far too young.

Jane felt like the walls were closing in around her. The air was stifling; it was getting hard to breathe again –

She pushed the door open and hurried into the hallway.

Why hadn't Uncle Bauer ever told her about his daughter? Why hadn't she put the pieces together and assumed this might not be the first time a portal had opened in her Uncle Bauer's study? What had caused Eloise Bauer to fail? And if Uncle Bauer's own daughter had failed, what was stopping her, Jane, from meeting the same fate?

The temple of Sengilach, so packed with people earlier, was now deserted. Offerings were still piled high at the bases of the three effigies.

"I would like some answers, please," Jane told the godly statues.

There was no answer, but she tried again, because they had brought her here, dammit, and she needed answers—

"What are the godstests? Why are you testing us? How do I pass them? What do I have to do, to—"

Leave this place. Go home.

Not be eaten by a dragon.

Not die alone here.

Casimir found her an hour later, crouched on the stone floor, hugging her knees.

"Kir asked me to check on you," he said. "He said something you'd learned had disturbed you, and you weren't yourself when he left. Are you all right, Jane?"

Was she? She didn't know. She felt like a monster of panic was trying to claw its way out of her throat, like if she opened her mouth she would give voice to it.

But it came rushing out anyway.

"I'm not," she whispered. "The priest, Kir, everyone seems to think I'm brave and honest and all these other things, but I'm really not, and I don't think everyone should be giving me gifts or – or pinning their hopes on me."

And suddenly she was rambling, the words tumbling unchecked out of her mouth. "I'm not a good person, not really. I'm not brave, not even that honest. I've done a lot of questionable things—not horrible things—I mean I never stole or killed anyone, but back home I was soso selfish. I only cared about being perfect—getting ahead, not being a failure, doing well in school. I didn't make an effort to help other people hardly at all. I cheated in college sometimes. I mean, I always studied to the point where I'd memorized most things, but even then, I'd try to get ahead. People would leak answers on the internet, old exams from past years, questions they'd heard would be on the exam, and I would use them."

Casimir hugged her. She pressed her face into his shoulder, feeling small.

"I wish I was more like my brother," she whispered. "We were both adopted – we were poster children for the adoption process basically—but Phillip was brilliant, and he always did things because he believed in them. I just did things to—"

Be like Phillip.

Make them like me.

"You're not your brother, Jane," Casimir said, and there was a devastating gentleness to his voice that made Jane want to cry. "You never will be."

She sniffled.

"But... that's not actually such a bad thing. The brother who you remember is an ideal, Jane. No one, not even a genius, could ever live up to that. I'm sure your brother was flawed, in ways you didn't see. You lost him when you were young, right?"

She nodded.

"As for cheating—well. Everyone's made mistakes, Jane. I certainly made my share of them, back in the day. Does that make us immoral? We all carry something of our past with us, but all you can do from now on is choose to live honestly. I've met bad people, and you are not a bad person. It's not inherently wrong to look out for yourself."

"I want to do better," Jane mumbled. She swiped at the corners of her eyes and met Casimir's kind gaze. "I have to do better."

I have to succeed.

Casimir smiled. "Then I am quite sure you will," he said. "You are the kind of person who gets a thing done when she puts her mind to it."

Jane let out a watery laugh. She still felt uneasy, but the panic that had overwhelmed her earlier was dissipating. "Thanks," she said, and she meant it. "Do you really think I have a chance of passing the godstests?"

"More than just a chance," Casimir said. "And even if you were to fail, know that you would always have a home here."

Until I got eaten by a dragon, Jane thought, feeling queasy again.

Casimir hesitated. He seemed to carefully weigh his next words. When at last he spoke, his voice held a note of caution that Jane had not heard before. "There is something you could do right now, if you wanted to... practice being brave. However, I'll understand if you just want to go to dinner—"

"No," said Jane. "I want to help. What's going on?"

"There is... a boy who came with you to the palace. Perhaps you remember. He was young, Kanachskiy. He was captured when his raiding party attacked you on your way to Sengilach."

"The prisoner Nikolay took," Jane said. "I remember him."

"I would like to check in on him. I... suspect he has not been well treated. However, if I went alone, it might cause a stir. Transportation spells into the pit cells are traceable, and the Riders would want to know why I had gone there. If you accompanied me, your status would provide some protection."

"You mean the tsar will turn a blind eye to pretty much anything I do, as long as I Write what he wants in the Book of Truths." Jane nodded. "All right. Let's go."

Casimir's transportation spell was considerably gentler than Nikolay's, but the horrible feeling of compression still lingered. "I apologize for the mode of transportation," Casimir said in a low voice. "For the safety of the castle residents, there are some cells in the palace that can only be reached by teleportation."

Jane looked around. They were in a dim, circular enclosure. The cell was only five feet in diameter, but its walls seemed to stretch infinitely skyward. High overhead, Jane thought she saw blue sky, but the shafts of sunlight didn't come close to the base of the cell.

In one corner of the enclosure crouched a thin figure with cropped, tawny hair. His head was on his knees, and his hands hugged his thin frame; on his wrists were giant manacles emblazoned with a large silver seal. His entire body trembled, though the prison was warm. As Jane watched, his head snapped toward them. Jane stifled a gasp.

The boy's eyes went wide. He whimpered, scrabbling backward. "No," he moaned. "No, no, no, no more, in Velos' name, no! You won't take me—I won't break—you won't—"

Casimir's held his hands up in a placating gesture. The terror on the boy's face did not abate. If anything, it grew more pronounced. As Casimir reached for his wrist, he lashed out, shrieking. Casimir seized his wrists in a firm grip. "We've come to heal you," he said, but he might have been talking to the wall for all the boy seemed to hear him. The boy was spitting; he looked half-mad. Casimir's eyes narrowed grimly, and the next second the boy's head was lolling, his eyes had slid closed.

"Wh-what did you do to him?" said Jane.

"I sent him to sleep. It seemed kindest." Casimir was already assessing the prisoner, checking him over with magic. "He has only superficial wounds, perhaps self-inflicted."

"But then why is he—"

"There are worse ways to hurt people than physical torture." Casimir's voice was detached, almost clinical. "Tend his wounds, like I've taught you."

Jane swallowed down her nausea and nodded. There were red marks on the Kanachskiy's wrists, from where he seemed to have clawed at his shackles, bruises all down his arms and back. He had a hairline fracture in one of his ribs. She set to work on his more minor injuries, as Casimir set to work on the fracture.

When they were finished, Casimir led her to the back of the cell and transported them out. The Kanachskiy boy was still sleeping. "I've given him sweeter dreams than he'd normally find in this cell," said Casimir. "He'll sleep awhile longer. I don't want you to tell anyone else you were here, Jane. This stays between us."

Jane swallowed. All the insults she wanted to throw in Nikolay's face seemed to cram in her throat, making it hard to breathe. She was certain this was his fault. Had he been part of the torturing directly? Had he actually done the things to the boy that had broken his mind and his spirit? It didn't matter. He had known this would happen, when his mocking voice had asked Jane in the clearing if they should spare him. He'd known they'd be bringing this boy to torture and pain.

Perhaps it would have been kinder, after all, to let Nikolay kill him.

"The skylights provide false hope to the prisoners." Casimir's voice was tired. "All illusion, of course. It's impossible to climb out of the pits. Food is provided magically each day by the castle. There are many such pit cells. Few in the castle know all their locations. Sometimes, prisoners are forgotten and live out the rest of their days in isolation, abandoned by the rest of the world. The wrists are bound with seals that prevent prisoners from harnessing their own powers."

"That's inhumane." Jane swallowed. The thought of being trapped for eternity, forgotten, sent cold shivers down her spine.

"When my husband first saw the treatment of the Kanachskiy, he reacted much the same as you," said Casimir. "But healers are not here to battle injustice; our role is to heal."

"Can you really separate one from the other?"

"You must," said Casimir, his face bleak. "It is the only way to live."

Jane's dreams that night were tortured.

She was in a cell with the Kanachskiy boy again, except unlike the airy heights of the pit cell, this cell was cramped, with barely enough room to stand. It was mildew-dark and cold and smelled like impending pneumonia, and the cell didn't even have a bed or blankets, just a small pot for excrement in one of the corners, and a shallow dip in the ground where its occupants were intended to sleep.

The Kanachskiy boy was in the back of the room. He huddled in the shallow dip in the ground, his back red with blood. The bloody scraps of fabric did little to protect him, and he shivered and trembled, so hard his teeth clattered together. His hair was long, unkempt

Jane drew closer. Reached out a hand toward him, then drew back. There was blood everywhere; the floor of the cell was stained with it.

Slowly she reached out a hand to sweep back the brown hair that was obscuring his features. His hand grabbed her wrist.

"Help me," said Phillip hoarsely.

Jane jerked awake.

Every part of her was freezing. She was outdoors, and the stars were above her, and beneath her she felt cold jabs at her back, like shards of glass.

Jane clutched her thin gown close to herself and stared numbly at the forbidding landscape.

Her first Godstest had begun.

-v-

As always, thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, don't forget to hit that little star!

Special thanks to my husband for his immense help editing this chapter, and to Shewholovespineapple, Celticwhovian, and Likeforrealz for your continued support of this story! 😊 (And if you are not one of the above and haven't done so already, you should definitely go check out their awesome stories!)

This chapter was a hard one to write. I went through several iterations, and am still not entirely sure I'm satisfied with the result. Does the scene with Casimir flow okay? Any other feedback?