The buildings lining the roads of the Sanyaran Kingdom—comprised primarily of stone, brick, and clay—were vast and seemingly endless, as though each one were its own miniature castle. Zara and Saren’s mouths dropped open before the carriage had even entered through the official stone arch, welcoming them into the richest capital in the world.

Many of the structures were like mountains with sharp pointed tops, decoratively carved. They were multiple stories, and for some, painted arched doorways and windows lined every floor. The people were just as ornamented as their property as they bustled by in fancy clothes, carriages, and wagons. The men wore aristocratic jeweled suits and turbans, and the women wore gowns and headpieces fit for queens. Palm trees and statues of religious figures filled in the spaces on the road. They passed temples that were on higher ground, with multiple steps leading up to them. A swarm of worshipers were on their way for afternoon prayer already.

Zara could smell the sea; she could even catch glimpses of it in the distance as the carriage continued its descent down the neat cobbled roads, past the multitude of high-end shopping districts and food stalls, and headed through a neighborhood, where the houses were stacked on hills on either side of the road. The homes ranged from multi-story to humble single flooring, and while they weren’t as grand to look at, they were still decent and clearly housed the better-bred portion of the population. Overlooking the ocean was a castle surrounded by cliffs, but Zara was too far from it to see it properly. The sunlight reflected on its magnificent golden tower.

Zara had been partly wrong. The entirety of the capital wasn’t a total sack of shit and she’d been a fool to believe that the soil the Royal Court was built upon wouldn’t be dignified. But the outer regions they had been forced to cross over an hour ago had been as messy as she had imagined it—similar to the border districts Zara and Revan had traveled through the previous year, yet somehow more disgusting. Saren had tried remaining optimistic, but even she had scooted closer to Zara with her hand blocking her nose, away from the carriage door.

As pretty as the Kingdom was compared to everywhere else, Zara would also be a fool to deem it completely safe. Nowhere was ever safe; Revan had made sure to drill that notion into her head. If only he could have drilled it into Saren’s too.

“This is wonderful!” Saren spoke with a breathy voice. “We should stop for prayer as well, don’t you think?”

“Why?” Zara asked.

“I’ve always enjoyed spirituality. It’s been a stressful day and we could use some peace. Besides, it may be good to experience some of the local lifestyle.”

Zara was apprehensive, and she looked to Revan in the seat across from them. Their carriage was plain black wood and modest, yet classy enough to pass through the arched gates without seeming out of place. Four horses, reined by an upper-class coachman, pulled them through their two-hour journey, and the cushioned space inside was big enough for the three of them, with some extra room left over for their overnight sacks. It had been a comfortable ride so far, minus the unpleasant bumps and smells.

Now Saren was asking to stop for prayer, of all things. Revan did not encourage religion, and Zara didn’t mind, as she rejected it as well. But as she gave him a pointed glare, he offered her no help in this regard whatsoever. In fact, his attention seemed diverted elsewhere. He was staring out the carriage window, his brows drawn together in concentration.

“Very well,” he muttered.

Zara stared at him in disbelief.

When they arrived closer to another temple, Revan gave the roof a hard tap. The old coachman brought it to a halt on the side of the road.

“Revan,” Zara started.

But he made no space for her to interject. “Go. We passed a theater not far from here, and they might put on a show later. See if it’s to your liking.”

“I saw it!” Saren said giddily. “The actors were already in costume, practicing! Thank you so much, Revan.”

Zara did not see any such theater or costumed actors, but that was likely because she’d been so focused trying to figure out why Revan wasn’t acting like his secure and assertive self. Something was off. He never revealed to her what this trip was really about.

He allowed a tiny smile at Saren before the coachman opened the door for the ladies to step out.

“We will meet again back here,” Revan said, “in the evening. If you cannot find your way back by then, remain at the theater. I will come find you. Zara.”

Zara turned to look at him. His expression was firm.

“Don’t get into any trouble. On stage or off it.”

The carriage door slammed closed, and with a sharp crack of a whip, it rolled off down the road, leaving the two women behind.

“What did he mean by that?” Saren asked.

“…He meant that I shouldn’t get myself into trouble. I tend to do that.”

“Hmm…on stage or off it…have you been on a stage before?”

Zara shrugged nonchalantly, and changed the subject. She wished Revan’s mouth had been smaller, as Saren was the type to yap questions until she got the answers she desired.

“Saren, shall we go in? The lines are long, and if I have to do this, I at least want to enjoy some sweets before the other worshipers eat them all. In a temple like this—” Zara stared up at the long, ancient building, just now taking in the full sight of it for the first time. “—I’m sure they serve the finest.”

The old, charcoal-hued temple was situated near the port, and Zara could get a better peek of the ocean’s deep blue horizon, along with some boats situated at the docks. The jagged structure towered high, engraved with arts and idols on its walls. The White Sun was carved and painted in careful detail over the arched entrance, and by each side stood two of Lilith’s angels. Palm trees shaded the temple’s edges, and while the low winds caused the long green leaves to flutter, it wasn’t very cold. The afternoon sun was bright, but unoppressive.

There were still quite a few different types of temples around these parts, despite Lilith’s reigning dominant across the Kingdom. Revan had dropped Zara and Saren off at a site that was at least familiar to them, as northerners.

Saren didn’t look as though she really wanted to drop the matter, but sighed and took a look around. She had matched the color of her earrings to her necklace, both of which glinted in the sunlight. They had both decided on comfortable but finer attire for today—long embroidered blouses, slim fit trousers, and light jewelry. Zara was pleased that while they were outsiders here, they had the decency to look fresh and made up.

“It really is a pretty place. I’m sure they have the finest sweets. And I would like to get myself cleaned up first. Hey, while we bathe, why not tell me about one of those troublesome times of yours?”

Zara began heading up the steps, and Saren followed, grinning.

“Maybe,” Zara mumbled, knowing she would have to think of some horseshit story that was only half a lie. Because Saren could always sense when she was being fully lied to. Then again, maybe Zara wouldn’t say anything at all. It was probably better to resist the matter entirely, even if Saren pushed it all day.

When they made the short ascent, nodding heads politely at other worshipers heading inside, Saren grabbed Zara’s hand.

Zara looked up at the woman’s dark, glimmering eyes.

Saren smiled. “Relax. Let us enjoy our day together. I see you do not wish to really be here. But I bet I can show you the beauty of this temple, and of this city.”

Zara exhaled. “Saren. First, this city is already pretty enough. I can see it. Also, you’re speaking like someone who has lived here for years. You’ve only seen the city for a few hours, and out of a carriage window through most of it.”

She shrugged loosely. “What about it? That does not mean I can’t seek out some fun. I can tell you’re reluctant anyway. You were the whole journey here. Now, come.”

Giving Zara’s hand a squeeze of encouragement, Saren led her into the temple.

Thankfully, they’d been running a little late, as the first part of the congregation was close to start. This meant that Saren hadn’t had time to interrogate Zara on private matters. Matters like how she’d catastrophically ruined an engagement party with her demonic dancing. Or how she almost really had been attacked by a mangled, junk-using thief the night Saren found her dagger, all because Zara had been too afraid to use the damn thing as intended.

At least Saren remained lucid. Not once did Zara feel any amount of heaviness in her head beside the occasional ache of having to be in a temple—a place she clearly did not belong. Saren kept to the present, and her expression was as clear as the day. Perhaps—and Zara was taking a guess—it was the necklace’s doing. Hopefully the effects wouldn’t wear out too quickly. Along with the rest of her jewelry, Saren had rid herself of the necklace before stepping into the communal pool. Zara would be defenseless against her should she try anything, unintentionally or otherwise.

As Zara washed her body, taking care not to let her eyes linger on Saren’s more voluptuous figure, she wondered if a chance to put her powers into practical use would ever come. Unless she wanted to live in complete isolation, that time would arrive someday. She hoped it wouldn’t be today.

Cool water splashed down on Zara’s head.

When she turned around, stunned, Saren stood in front of her, holding a bathing bucket. The pool water only went up to her thighs, leaving the rest of her fully exposed.

Saren giggled when Zara growled a curse, averting her eyes from the jiggling woman. Her stomach was beginning to act up and she self-consciously covered the bloat that had started to show. Saren, despite being much broader than the usual woman, was healthy in all the desirable places. She probably never had to deal with a bloated gut in front of others. She probably never had to worry about people judging her creamy, even skin tone either. Not that Zara’s tan was terrible, but sometimes it looked dusky and unappealing. Perhaps she was also too thin.

She briefly wondered if Saren had ever exposed herself to another man. But with the way she behaved around Revan sometimes, it was a stupid thought to ponder. Of course she had, at some point in her early life. She seemed too confident and willing to be inexperienced. Zara shook her head, and wondered why she was thinking about any of this at all.

“You’re so cute,” Saren said.

“Shut up.”

“Hey. Watch that mouth. We are in a holy place, you know.”

Zara rolled her eyes.

Saren clucked her tongue. “Distasteful. You tell me nothing. You are like a wall.” Her voice was low and pleasant to the ear, especially in the quiet, airy space of the pool.

And that was another trait she had that Zara lacked: an accent that could make even nonsense sound good.

“You are too invasive,” Zara replied shortly, her arms still around her stomach. “Like a hound.”

Saren took a slow step closer, sloshing the water, her mouth a straight line. They were the only two left in the water. The sun’s rays shone through the open roof, illuminating the pool and the tall woman that stood directly in front of Zara.

She held out the bucket. “Cool me down.”

“Huh?” Zara’s mind was muddled.

“Cool me down, like I did you.”

With a short exhale, Zara filled the bucket as Saren knelt down. She at least had the decency to pour the water gently over Saren’s hair and face, rather than dumping it all so suddenly.

Saren stood up again, smoothing her jet black hair back, and letting the water run down her form. Her kohl had smudged a little. Zara, who always went heavier with it these days, imagined her own eyes looked worse.

This time, Zara did not tear her gaze away. They regarded each other, their faces at once drawn with uncertainty and interest. Saren had a point. This friendship would go nowhere if Zara didn’t attempt to open up.

It felt hopeless sometimes. Old friends or new, such matters would always be trouble for her.

“Ladies,” an old, henna-haired attendant dressed in plain white garb said. She stood by a pillar near the dressing area, catching their attention. “You must hurry. The offerings will begin soon.”

The women left the pool and dressed in the simple, soft temple attire—a white gown with silver trimming, paired with a matching headdress. The men wore a similar gown and a turban.

The service jogged Zara’s memory of much older times, back when she was a girl learning her first prayer. Her mother and Noina had taught her well, and she still remembered the motions. Noina had viciously hammered the ritual chants and all of its translations through her skull, and Zara could at least thank the Holy Mother now for getting her away from that cruel mess of a woman. They lit the candles and offered food, stone, and plants at the shrine, honoring the deities. They touched each angel’s statue and offered another prayer to protect humankind and curse all the devils—especially the scraps left of mages and the wicked—that possibly walked among them today. Zara hid a scowl before anyone else had noticed.

Only Saren had seen her, and she was naturally suspicious. But she said nothing as the priest slathered their foreheads with paint while the attendants placed garlands around their necks.

They entered a circular room. The high walls were covered in scripture and ancient paintings. The Sun symbol was carved intricately into the stone floor. In the middle of it stood a great statue of Lilith, a perfect image of royalty and grace. Her seven angels surrounded her, each guarded with their own symbols above their heads—Rain, Snow, Palm, Leaf, Jewel, Stone, Arrows. Lilith was depicted as a tall figure with waist-length hair, her crowning headdress made of pure white-gold. She wore a sheer, silvery jeweled dress, and her slender, bangle-encased arms were held up in prayer. Her face was narrow and symmetrical, a supposed mark of true beauty and gentleness. To Zara, it looked impassive. But she let her hands be held in the circle and bowed down to the idol with the rest of the worshipers because that was what she was supposed to do right now.

It was then Zara felt Saren’s hand squeeze hers. Hard.

Zara twitched at this sudden, uncomfortable reaction. She peeked at Saren while she chanted. Saren looked uneasy. Zara couldn’t fathom the reason. She was the one that had wanted to come here, but her brows were scrunched like she was getting ready to spit fire.

Her stomach clenched. Wetness pooled between her legs. She felt it trickle down her thigh underneath her dress. Zara looked down at herself in horror, just as Saren did the same.

The fabric was thin and as the priest demanded they all prostrate, Zara’s gown shifted, and the blood stain became apparent to everyone near.

“Shit,” Zara spat out, trying to cover herself up. She didn’t care that she was in front of the Holy Mother. She didn’t care that she was in such a “sacred” place. She said it again as more blood leaked out of her. “Shit!”

The man on Zara’s other side gave a shout, and yanked his hand out of hers. The prayer was halted as the worshipers expressed dismay and disgust.

The priest, an intimidating man in his high turban, blackened eyes, and Sun-painted forehead, was downright angered by such a crude interruption and demanded Zara leave the premises immediately before she was forcefully thrown out without a change of clothes.

“Do not leave anything behind! Take that gown with you and burn it!” he boomed as Zara skittered to the double doors, cheeks burning. “Filth! Only a devilish woman would enter holy grounds without a regard for her moon cycle. Get out! Away! This is why we all must pray for our safety, from the devils that walk among us…”

His voice fell further away as Zara ran. Tears pricked her eyes. Seriously? This makes me a devil? I can show you a real devil. I can show you something more worthy of a prayer!

It was precisely because she did not visit temples, did not participate in religious affairs, that she did not bother tracking her menstrual cycle on a regular basis. Now, it had occurred at the worst time. Now, she was considered evil for it. Her skin heated.

Revan had told her explicitly not to start trouble, and here she had done so already through no true fault of her own.

She wiped her eyes and began to change, ripping the headdress off and tousling her damp hair in the process. She violently tried rubbing the Sun off her forehead, but more than likely, she just made a pasty, crumbly mess out of it.

“Zara.”

Top half naked, Zara whirled around to see Saren standing at the doorway. The gown hung above her waist, uselessly. She had no cottons or rags to stop the flow, and there wouldn’t be any supply for this sort of thing at this stupid fucking temple to begin with. No attendant would dare help her either.

Shame coursed through her. Her face down to her fingertips felt hot, and a part of her was aware that her magic was becoming unstable. A lone pebble in the room flicked up, and Zara flinched. She was afraid of what she could accidentally do.

“Wh-What are you doing here? D-Don’t you need to finish the service first?” Zara quivered, hoping Saren would leave her alone.

Saren wordlessly removed her headdress. She then ripped a large piece of the cotton fabric off. Zara gasped.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

Saren handed it to her, placing a reassuring palm over her bare shoulder before letting her fingers caress her neck and jawline.

“They may believe they are right, but they’re not. You are no devil. And…I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Zara swallowed the lump in her throat. She leaned in to the touch, and the heat under her skin eventually passed.

Saren stepped back and allowed Zara to change out of her soiled gown. She began changing out of hers as well.

Before they exited the temple, Saren grabbed some fresh sweets from the table—reserved only for the worshipers. The old attendant gave a shout, but a glare from Saren had shut her up.

The women enjoyed their fine treats and welcomed the natural light. Saren adjusted her necklace. The gem shone brightly against her fair skin once again.