They were dead things, preserved in defiance of their nature. Like me, perhaps. Kept functional long past the point where they should have been allowed to rest.
I added nothing to the collection today. Instead, I sat on the edge of my bed, bandaged hand cradled in my lap, and stared at the dried flowers. They looked different in the pre-dawn dimness. The purple seemed darker, like old blood. The white had yellowed, like old bone. And the gold...
The gold looked exactly like the light that had consumed the Gate.
A knock at my door shattered the silence. Three measured raps, perfectly spaced. Only one person knocked like that.
TWO
Aria
"Enter," I called, already standing, already pulling my face into its proper mask of calm.
High Keeper Natalia stepped through the door like winter entering a room. She was tall, severe, with steel-grey hair pulled back so tightly it stretched the skin of her face. Her robes were black where mine were grey, and they moved around her like liquid shadow.
"You're late for morning meditations."
The words hit like physical blows. I'd lost track of time. The sun had risen while I'd been staring at dead flowers, and I'd missed the secondary rituals that followed the dawn bleeding.
"My apologies, High Keeper. The ritual took longer than?—"
"The ritual took exactly as long as it always takes." Her voice could have frozen flame. "Unless something unusual occurred?"
The question hung between us, sharp as the blade I'd used to open my palm. One wrong word, one hint of what I'd seen, and she would know. And if she knew...
Question nothing, feel nothing, or it will consume you.
But Mother had been talking about the Gate. She'd never warned me about the woman who'd raised me, trained me, shaped me into the perfect vessel for duty.
"Nothing unusual, High Keeper. I lost myself in contemplation afterward. It won't happen again."
Natalia studied me with eyes like chips of winter ice. She had a way of looking at people that made them feel like specimens, like problems to be solved or threats to be eliminated.
"See that it doesn't." She moved deeper into my room, and I had to resist the urge to step back. "The Gate's stability depends on precision, Aria. Every deviation, no matter how small, creates weakness. And weakness..."
"Weakness kills Keepers." I finished the lesson I'd heard a thousand times.
"Your mother understood that. Until she didn't."
The words landed exactly where she'd aimed them, sharp and cruel and designed to cut. My mother's death was still classified as natural causes, but we both knew better. The Gate had consumed her, just as she'd warned. But not because she'd questioned.
Because she'd felt.
"I understand, High Keeper."
"Do you?" Natalia circled me now, predator-slow. "Because I've noticed things, Aria. Small things. The way you linger in the courtyard. The extra time you spend in the archives. The questions you ask Master Theron when you think no one is listening."
Each accusation tightened the vice around my chest. She knew. Maybe not about the flowers, but about the cracks in my perfect facade.
"Curiosity is not weakness, High Keeper. Understanding our duty helps?—"
"Understanding is not required. Obedience is."
She stopped directly in front of me, close enough that I could smell the ritual oils she used, frankincense and myrrh, the scents of ancient tombs.
"Your mother's softness killed her," she said, each word deliberate as a dagger thrust. "The Gate sensed her doubt. You will not make the same mistake."
"No, High Keeper."
