The secret door swung open again to reveal Eovin, looking distraught. He gestured to indicate that they should come out. "They found your clothes, Sister Mhera. I covered it with a lie, but we need to move quickly. They are going to the royal wing next."

Matei and Eovin exchanged a glance. Mhera could read their thoughts. She had missed breakfast, which was not unusual, but were she nowhere to be found as the day progressed, hell would break loose.

"Quickly. Your clothes are in there on the bed, Mhera. Dry your face. Matei, we have allies in the kitchens. If you can make it that far, they can get you out. They know you are here and that you need their help."

Mhera was shaken by this knowledge. Allies? In the kitchens? How could there be more folk loyal to Matei's cause here in the peaceful heart of the capitol? But there was Eovin, after all. Perhaps the rebellion was everywhere, unseen.

"Go, Mhera!" Matei urged her, waving his hand. "Please, go."

Mhera was still on her knees in the closet. She held the book she'd recovered out in front of her. The cover was black leather, embossed in gold with a tracery of leaves and vines framing a large four-pointed star. There was no title. She turned it over in her hand, feeling the worn spine. It was warm now with the heat of her hands. There were a few dark spots on the edges of the pages where her tears had fallen.

Slowly, she slid the book back onto the shelf. For the first time, she wondered why Master Eovin had all these books hidden away in this little room.

Mhera forced her feet to move, although they felt like lead. She went into Master Eovin's bedchamber, a room she had never seen except in brief glimpses. She shut the door behind her. The room was small and immaculately ordered, with no clutter and few personal effects. In the corner was a bathing tub, empty now, and on his small dresser stood a pitcher and basin. On the floor, a painted vase lay shattered. Carelessly tossed over a chair was a bundle of cloth.

She looked toward the window and, in her numb state of mind, she considered opening it and climbing out. Or flinging herself out—there would be nowhere to climb to, not this high up in the tower.

She pushed the thought aside with some force and went to sort out the garments: a long red skirt, a tunic not unlike the one Matei wore, and a red headscarf. She fingered the clever embroidery around the hem and thought of Madam Gella. She would never have time now to meet with her governess, to talk about how much their lives had changed. She would never have time to properly say goodbye.

Do not think. Just do it. Mhera closed her eyes and stripped off the long gray habit with its impractical, trailing sleeves. She peeled off her plain chemise and stood shivering in her stockings and shoes. Quickly, she slipped into the borrowed smallclothes, the skirt, the tunic. The new clothes settled around her body, fresh and clean after her ordeal, but she felt anything but relieved. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, remembering Matei's hand over her mouth, his grip on her arm, his words: You cannot run from me.

She reached back to pull her long braid out of her tunic and picked up the headscarf. Mhera had very long hair; most of the Daughters of Zanara did. Her braid fell past her hips. There would be no concealing it in this square of cloth.

She went back out into the main room of the Archmage's Tower, carrying the headscarf in one hand and her old clothes in the other arm. Eovin and Matei stood near the dining table in quiet consultation. They looked up as she moved closer. Eovin took her old clothes from her and quickly crossed the room to stow them in the hidden library.

"My hair," Mhera said weakly, watching as Eovin closed the painting over the secret door again.

"Come here." Matei beckoned her forward. "Eovin, I do not suppose your secret servant lover has any hair pins lying about?"

Eovin cleared his throat, blushing. "No. One moment. I'll find something." He went over to his desk and began to rummage about in the drawers before finally producing a small folder of long book-binding needles. "Here we are. They aren't hair pins, but perhaps they'll do in a pinch. Here, Matei. Maybe we can bend them."

Together, the men bent the needles in half, fashioning small pins out of them. Mhera wound her braid into a flat bun at the back of her head and began to insert the pins to hold it in place. She tried not to think about how violated she felt, dressed in borrowed clothes and pinning her hair under Matei's watchful eye.

When she was done pinning up her disheveled braid, she tied the headscarf over it. Eovin reached to straighten the scarf and adjust the tie. Mhera closed her eyes and willed herself not to pull away from him, but she shuddered at his touch.

Matei looked her over with a smile. "There. You look ... different."

Mhera glanced down at her bright clothes. She opened her mouth to reply, but she felt tears threatening again and closed it.

"It's very effective," Eovin said. "Here. Turn toward me, Sister."

Eovin had something in his hand: a quill, the tip black with ink. Mhera looked up at him, her eyes wide with shock. "No."

"If you wear it, you'll go unnoticed. Please, Mhera."

"Don't!" Mhera pushed his hand away. "Have you not done enough?"

"Sister Mhera, hold yourself still," Matei said. His tone was forbidding now. "We are running out of time. Don't worry. You will have the luxury of washing yours off."

The young woman clenched her jaw and turned her head slightly, permitting Eovin to approach with the quill. As she stood there, she felt the cold ink trace across her left cheek, forming a line and dots: a marke, stark and black against her skin. As she felt the cool air kiss the wet ink, she felt more sullied than she had until that moment. She felt the weight of what was happening to her settle around her, stifling. She was betraying her people, her realm, her family; she was betraying her uncle and the memory of her cousin.

She was marked. Like the Arcborn. Like the rebels.

"You'll smear it if you cry," Matei said.

Mhera wiped her nose ill-manneredly on the sleeve of her tunic. "I am not crying," she said in a voice that was taut with restrained tears.

"Mind you don't start up again. Let us go."

"Where, though? Where are we going? Where are you taking me?"

Eovin pointed toward his bedchamber. "Matei, go and get the water buckets. Mhera, you will take the empty breakfast tray. Carry them down to the kitchens. Walk a little space apart, so it does not seem you are together. Once you get there, you'll find friends."

Numbly, Mhera went to the table. She placed their empty tea cups and the scraps of their breakfast on the tray. Panic was rising in her chest. She glanced down into the dregs of tea inside her cup, but the surface rippled and sloshed as she picked up the tray, and in any case, there was not nearly enough time to seek wisdom in a vision.

How could she do this? How could she go with this stranger? She remembered Matei's explanation. If we separate ... we will weaken, and we will die ... And Eovin's voice, calm and rational in her memory: For your life, you must go with him.

Did she truly have no choice?

Matei was at the door, holding an empty bucket in either hand. He was looking at Eovin. "Come with us, my friend."

"You know I cannot. My place is here. Convey my regards to them." Eovin reached out to clasp Matei's shoulder. "Keep her safe, Matei. You must."

"I will. You know it."

"Just ... keep her safe." Eovin waved Mhera over to the door. "I will go down first. Count to two hundred. If I do not come back up, the way is clear. If there are guards, I will return and we will need to wait. Remember ... go quickly about your business. Look no one in the face. Do not walk together. Reach the kitchens and you'll be safe. Go by the servants' corridors. There is one on the right not far from the entrance to the tower. And if you come upon guards, pay them no heed. Do not quicken your pace. Do not act frightened."

Mhera's hands were trembling on the tray she carried. The teacups rattled in their saucers. Eovin laid his warm fingers over hers and bent to look her directly in the face. "May the Goddess go with you. Goodbye, Mhera."

Mhera stared up into Eovin's face, knowing that Zanara could not be further from her in those wretched moments of her life. She did not say goodbye.