Chapter one
Mirela
Everyday,Mirelarangthe cathedral’s bells, fulfilling her duty to a God she secretly despised.
From her high tower, she bore witness to His negligence. She watched the devout kneel until their knees bruised against the cold stone, their tears glimmering in the church’s candlelight, their prayers rising in trembling tongues. They begged for miracle cures, for fertile fields, for mercy upon their children and their dead. Some sought forgiveness for sins they whispered only to Him, crimes against others, against themselves.
And though they prayed, He never listened.
Butshedid.
From her perch among the bells, Mirela saw it all. She saw the doors open and close like a mouth swallowing sorrow. She saw trembling hands caress the marble saints she scrubbed clean by night. She saw faith crack beneath desperation.
They believed He was watching.
They were wrong.
It washer eyesthat followed them, her heart that tightened with every sob. The grief that climbed the walls of the cathedral settled inside her chest, choking her until she had to turn away.
Mirela buried the need to descend, to gather the mourners into her arms, to give them the solace they prayed for. Instead, she clung to the rafters in silence until the last cry faded, then crept back to her tower cell, barefoot against the cold stones.
The air was thick with incense and dust. Pigeons roosted in the beams, and their droppings stained her skirts no matter how often she scrubbed. She was used to the stink of devotion and the heaviness of the holy.
Her chamber was a narrow tomb of straw and candle stubs. The walls were littered with drawings of the perishers, the saints, the townsfolk she saw from the bell tower.
She waited there for him. Judge Claude Ferron… Her master, her keeper. She waited for the sound of his steps on the creak of the stairs.
When Master Ferron arrived, he brought food, water, candles, and clothes. He called herhis child,his little miracle. All he asked of her was that she stay in the bell tower.
Sometimes he came angry, his voice thick with the weight of sin and sleeplessness. He never struck her, but his hands were more rough than gentle when he spoke to her. Other times, he was tender, brushing a hand over her hair, pressing a kiss to her brow, speaking of God’s grace.
Mirela never knew which man would climb those steps each visit. Both terrified her.
Still, she told herself he was a good man. The only one she knew. When her father had thrown her into the night, Ferron had taken her in. He fed her, clothed her, gave her a home when no one else would. Even a creature as ruined as she had been given purpose.
What more could she ask for?
She tolled the bells. She cleaned the floors. She stayed hidden. That was all he required, and all she knew in her twenty years of life. She had tried to obey, but loneliness hurt her inside far worse than hunger.
Today, as the wood floor creaked, Mirela hoped that it was one of those good days.
As the steps got closer, Mirela’s entire body froze. The steps were subtle, but she knew them instantly as she had grown used to hearing their approach. Her spine straightened, breath catching in her throat as she turned toward the door. She wiped her hands on her pants, though theywere already clean and stood where she knew he preferred her to be.
The door opened without a warning and Judge Claude Ferron entered the chamber as if the entire cathedral belonged to him.
He was tall with broad shoulders. His dark robes were always immaculate. His hair was threaded with silver at the temples, giving him a false softness of old age and wisdom. His eyes were sharp and restless as they scanned the room, as if looking for flaws.
In the quietness of it all, his gaze landed on the walls. Taking in Mirela’s drawings, Ferron released a disapproving sigh.
“How many times have I told you not to waste your time like this,” Ferron said, his voice cold, yet not angered. Maybe today was a good day after all.
“I—“ She swallowed. “I finished my duties, Master. The bells rang on time. The floors are clean.”
He approached the wall, lifting the sheet of charcoal from its nail. He grabbed a specific one of a pigeon she had seen the other day. She had liked how that one drawing turned out. She was thinking of gifting it to him in the hopes he would accept it.
Just as she was about to stand up straight and take the drawing form the wall he turned once more to the sideand noticed another drawing, this one was of a couple dancing.
His entire demeanor changed. A growl surfaced from his chest and Mirela lowered herself back to the ground, making herself small.
