She was never told why she had to be there, but afterward, she felt… drained. Bone-tired, the way one feels after weeping too long. And the tattoo itched like something was pulling at it from inside. The first time it happened, she thought it was nothing. The second, she thought she’d imagined it. But by the third…
It didn’t feel imagined anymore.
Thessa gathered the remaining napkins and walked toward the back of the building. She’d only meant to cut through. Less chance of bumping into robed men who looked at her too long. This wing of the House of Merit was quieter, lined in thick velvet and heavy incense. But here, behind these doors, things happened. She knew that much.
People came here to talk. Or to take.
She was halfway down the hall when a timbre—sharp, elegant, male—cut through the silence behind one half-open door.
“It’s not the symbol that worries me. It’s the instability. The last one collapsed during recitation.”
She froze. Through the narrow gap in the door, she could make out only fragments—a flicker of firelight, the corner of a velvet chaise. Nothing more. She didn’t dare lean in.
“We’re past the point of nuance,” came a second voice—lower, velvety. “The rite must hold through the full moon.”
“I’ve secured three new vessels,” said the first man, voice deep. “Lowborn, compliant, untouched by the old sigils.”
Thessa’s heart began to hammer.
“We need silence,” the second man snapped. “The Court has no appetite for failure.”
The first man gave a quiet chuckle. “They never do. But they’ll adore the results.”
A beat.
“Make sure your vessels are ready. I don’t care if the girl sings herself hoarse. We must hear it all. This one is important.”
Then, lighter. Almost amused.
“Nearly as important as the girl listening outside the door.”
Thessa staggered back, nearly dropping the tray. Her skin turned to ice, mouth dry and useless. She spun around just as footsteps echoed down the corridor.
The door behind her creaked open.
Lord Mera was approaching—brisk, preoccupied—until he saw her frozen by the threshold, tray tilted in her hands, the door gaping slightly open behind her.
“What are you doing?” he barked.
Thessa jolted. The tray slipped from her grip and hit the floor with a loud metallic clatter. She dropped to her knees instantly, scrabbling to gather the scattered cups, head down, hair falling like a curtain to shield her face.
Before he could say another word, the door opened farther.
Thessa didn’t look. She felt the presence there—calm, deliberate, watching.
Lord Mera straightened abruptly, confusion stiffening into unease. He turned and dipped into a low bow, one hand across his chest. “My apologies. She’s one of the newer girls. I’ll see to it.”
Thessa knelt motionless, fingers clenched around the rim of a goblet.
From within, the velvety voice spoke again.
“Be sure that you do. A mind that wanders at night wanders from obedience.”
She didn’t understand half of the words. But the ones she did were worse than anything she could imagine.
Vessels. Marks. The girl.The girl.
The door shut with a quiet click and only then she dared to look up.
