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I’d waited too long for answers to be handed to me. Today I planned to demand them.

I stepped into the stillness of the Sanctum. Growing up, I’d been taught the hushed silence was yet another sign of the sacredness of the place. I walked through the atrium toward the nave, where rows of white stone benches were split by two wide aisles. At the far end of the sanctuary stood an altar. A huge, white marble statue of the Bloodmaiden stood behind it, the goddess’s hands stretched out and cupped together. Was she offering blood or demanding it? The nave was empty at this time of day. There were no lines of blightborn standing before the altar, waiting to make an offering. No rituals in progress. No priestess standing in front of the altar leading a service.

I walked slowly up one of the main aisles. The air smelled faintly of incense. Above, the ceiling arched high, ribbed with pale stone that curved inwards to form a dome. Light filtered down from narrow windows far overhead. Along the sides of the nave, a few votaries in white robes moved quietly, wiping down surfaces and replacing candles. I approached the altar and stared down at the solid slab of marble. At its base sat a silver basin. I’d seen that basin full to the brim with blightborn blood before. I’d swallowed the small red offering tablets more times than I could count. Today the thought of doing so turned my stomach.

I looked up into the Bloodmaiden’s carved stone face, wondering what kind of a woman she’d really been. Girls were killed in this place. I’d seen the Adoration Rite, where their blood was used to give highbloods greater power. When I was young no one had told me that. I hadn’t known the rite existed back then. But my mother and father must have known. Had they condoned it? What else could you call it when my mother had entered the Sanctum? She’d given herself to this place. If that wasn’t condoning what went on here, what was it?

“May I help you, my lord?”

I turned around to see a priestess standing there, clad in a long white robe trimmed in gold. One of the votaries must have noticed me and fetched her.

“You can. I’m here to see the high priestess.”

She looked at me carefully. I knew she must know who I was. Blake Drakharrow, the Black Prince. The Peacebringer’s son. Viktor Drakharrow’s nephew.

“What do you wish to see her about?” she asked finally.

“That’s between her and me.”

“I can relay a message. However, I’m afraid the high priestess is not receiving visitors.”

Whether she was receiving visitors or not, I knew she was there: She hadn’t simply stepped out to do some errands in Veilmar. Every child in Sangratha knew that once the high priestess took her vows, she could never leave the Sanctum.

I felt like a child again, standing there in the nave. But then, I was a child. For years, I’d chosen to be one. I’d opted to be gullible and naïve.

My mother had left Aenia and me that day. I’d accepted everything Viktor had told me about her since. That she’d left willingly. That she’d chosen to devote her life to service to the Bloodmaiden. I’d chosen to believe the biggest lie my uncle had ever told me: that my mother cared so little about her own children that she was choosing not to see us. For years, Viktor had delivered messages to us that were supposedly from her. Infrequent and cool. Mother had sent her love. She couldn’t see us. She was happy where she was. She needed us to respect her choice. In the wake of my father’s death, it had somehow been easier to believe Viktor’s lies. To believe that my mother’s grief had been so great, so profound, and so sudden that … well, that she’d chosen absence. That she’d abandoned us to make sacred vows.

But now, standing there, I let myself feel the truth I’d always known. My mother loved us. She would never have left us willingly. Which meant she was somewhere in the Sanctum, being kept all this time against her will. Or she was long dead. Either way, I was a fool. I’d fallen for the lies and hadn’t even tried to fight for the truth.

“In that case,” I said slowly, “I believe I’ll sit here for a while and pray.”

Relief filled the priestess’s eyes. I could see she’d thought she’d have to argue with me. “That’s a wonderful idea. The Bloodmaiden hears all prayers.”

“She’s certainly more available than the high priestess.” I tried not to laugh when the woman’s face flushed. “I take it you know who I am?”

She nodded stiffly.

“Good.” I gestured around the nave. “I’d like privacy while I pray.”

She glanced over at the votaries. “I’ll have the nave cleared out for you.” She hesitated. “How long do you expect to be here?”

I smiled serenely. “I suppose that all depends on what the Blood-maiden says in response to my prayers.”

The priestess inclined her head. I sat down and watched as she approached the young women working. One by one they moved out of the nave. I listened as the nave doors were pulled closed. I waited for a moment, then let my shoulders drop and looked down at my feet where the fluffin sat.

I’d noticed Neville while I was speaking with the priestess. He’d trotted down the aisle, then darted into one of the pews. He must have followed me into the Sanctum when I entered. “The temple, Nev? You certainly like to live dangerously.” I leaned forward and scratched the fluffin gently between the ears. His large owlish eyes were fixed on me with an expectant expression. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see you,” I murmured. “Trouble is your middle name.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “So do you know where she is? Because I’m done playing games.”

The fluffin gave a single, decisive wag of his tail, as if to say I shouldn’t be so dismissive of games. Then he rose to his feet, took two quick steps down the pew, and looked back over his shoulder.

“Right.” I stood up and followed. “I’m coming.”

He trotted into the aisle and turned, not back to the main doors but to the altar itself. My pulse sped up as he hopped up onto the platform. I followed him, stepping past the altar. The statue of the Bloodmaiden’s eyes felt heavy upon me as I passed, following Neville as he slipped between the statue’s base and the wall and vanished out of sight. I followed and found a narrow door set flush into the stone, almost invisible unless you knew where to look. Behind the door was a stairwell. The white stone steps spiraled up, tight and steep. Neville skipped up them quickly, and I followed, heart-beat loud in my ears.

We reached a landing. I trailed the fluffin out onto a balcony corridor. The space was flooded with light. Down below lay a garden courtyard. Priestesses walked through the garden, white robes bright against the greenery. I flattened myself against the wall, but the fluffin didn’t slow his pace and padded ahead with his usual confidence. I followed more quickly, hoping no one would glance up at the wrong moment.

Finally, the little creature stopped in front of a pale wooden door banded with silver. Nothing else marked it as important. The fluffin didn’t bark. He simply sat back and looked at me.