The following day, Shale emerged from Silverwood Forest onto the foothills just east of town. She was sweaty from the morning's practice as she cast an eye toward the docks. The new ship floated there, obnoxiously squeezed between fishing boats.

Once those sails were probably white, but the years of sea spray had worn them to grey rags. The hull had suffered a similar fate, faded from its original colour, likely red, into a patchy caramel.

It was clearly just a trading vessel. Shale had been a fool to think it could be anything else. Turning, she made her way back to the monastery.

When she opened the storage room door, her chest seized at the sight of a figure standing on the other side. SanMother Zeera had her arms folded and her lips sucked into a thin line.

"SanMother, I was just looking for-"

She held up a liver-spotted hand. "Spare me your lies, just this once, girl. And forget about the broom today. I have another need of you."

Suddenly, Shale wished she'd obeyed the old rule of only sneaking out once a week. But she'd gotten away with sneaking out so much over the years that it lulled her into overconfidence, emboldening her to the point of going out every morning. Now she'd finally been caught and it was time to pay for her carelessness.

What horrible punishment was in store for her? Ridding the cellar of rats and wood spiders? Emptying chamber pots? Scrubbing the privies? Becoming Zeera's personal handmaid for the day, cutting up her food, preparing her tea, and helping her wash with soap and sponge? That last one gave her chills. Honestly, she'd rather try her luck with the rats and spiders.

Zeera made a face, as if tasting sour milk. "You've been requested to take an out-of-monastery confession at The Blackbird Inn."

Had she really just heard that right? She'd never even been allowed to take confession in the monastery and was now entrusted to take one across town? What sort of evil jest was the SanMother playing?

"They requested me... by name?"

"No," she snapped. "He came in and asked if I'd send the most useless girl among our ranks."

"He?"

"Yes, damn it, girl. Communicating with you is like talking to a fencepost at times. He asked for you by name."

Shale grimaced, still unsure if this was a jape.

"Strange man he was, most peculiar," Zeera muttered, more to herself than to Shale. "I tried to offer him another junior, but he insisted on you. Still, he is not a senior of this monastery."

Shale opened her mouth to object.

"I will be sending you, so you can wipe that petulant look off your face. However, you will not be going alone, as was requested. SanMother Alora will accompany you, so we'll at least have one competent representative present to pick up the pieces when you inevitably botch it."

A smile lingered behind Shale's face, threatening to burst to the surface. But she held it back, because the SanMother was just petty enough to change her mind over such an infraction. "I will do my duty to the Hekkari, SanMother."

"You may begin those duties by attending the bathing chamber. You're positively filthy. And be quick about it. You've kept him waiting long enough as it is."

Shale scurried past the SanMother and practically pranced up the stairway. When in the bathing chamber, she scrubbed herself clean with the scented soaps, until her skin was raw. The whole time, she wondered who her mystery confessor could be.

It could be no coincidence that a new ship arrived in the middle of the night and the very next morning, she was requested to an inn, by name.

Only a handful of people in the realm knew her by name, and the majority of those currently lived in the monastery. The only others were the lightboys, who'd left for Starstone. That meant it had to be one of them. And if it was one of them, it had to be him. It had to be her friend, returning to her, just like he'd promised. Who else could it be?

Then again, Zeera spoke about the man like she hadn't known him. Was it possible that he'd simply changed appearance so much in five years that she just failed to recognise him? Or had he used his new wealth to send a servant in his place?

Yes, that would ensure Zeera would be more likely to send her out. The more Shale thought about it, the more it made sense.

Grinning, trembling with excitement, she dried herself, then donned her SanMother robes. He was really here. He was in Silverwood. Alashar was waiting for her at The Blackbird Inn.

Together, Alora and Shale marched through the vestibule doors, out into town. What an odd feeling that was, to legitimately leave the monastery grounds after years of sneaking and rule breaking. As they strode through the main thoroughfare, the very townsfolk who'd usually scowl and dismiss her as a wayward child, now bowed, smiled, and bid her a good morning.

"Good morning, SanMothers," said a merchant, offering them pears.

Alora waved them away but Shale took one and stashed it in her robe. "May Bragan shine his light upon you, kind trader."

Soon, they drew to the south side of town, where the air was thick with the smells of fish and salt. Dockworkers, merchants, and fishermen flitted busily around them. The SanMothers navigated their way through and located the tallest of the eight Silverwood inns. It was painted black and had a swinging sign that read, The Blackbird Inn.

Upon pushing through the front doors, they submerged into a cloud of smoke as dense as morning mist. Dozens of men sat at booths and tables, smoking their pipes and herb flutes, and drinking from flagons and tankards. Their attention drew from their usual merriment to the unfamiliar sight of two SanMothers in their midst.

Shale and Alora sifted through the curious stares in search of a friendly face, as they walked table to table.

"Come sit with us, girls," said a drunk, red-nosed man.

"There ain't much room, but we'll fit you in somehow," said his friend, in between hiccoughs.

"I don't think he's here," Alora muttered, stepping away from the drunkards. "We could go back to the monastery. I'm sure he'll send for us again."

Shale was quite sure of that. Alashar would try again. Of course he would. He'd just come all the way across the Arinoa after all. But what if SanMother Zeera had a change of heart about sending her out?

Desperately, she whipped around, looking for anyone who stood out. There was a boy near their age standing behind the bar. "I think we should ask the barkeep first, to save the return trip."

"I suppose," Alora said.

They approached him.

Dirty yellow locks fell either side of the lad's face. His hair was brittle and thin, like straw. His eyes widened at their approach. "SanMothers?" His mouth quirked into a smile. "I ain't ever seen your sort in here, and looking a deal lovelier than the old crones I usually see in those robes."

Alora turned crimson.

"Er, thank you," Shale said, reckoning it was a compliment, of sorts. "We come here on request. One of your residents wants us to take their confession."

"Don't surprise me. There are many sinners come beneath this roof, I can tell you that. But I ain't heard a thing about anyone wanting no SanMothers to be honest. You'll be wanting to speak to Casodin. He's the innkeeper. He's at market right now, buying plucked pheasant, but he'll be back soon. Why don't you take a seat and I'll give you a nip of rum while you wait?"

Shale perched onto a stool. "Oh, that sounds wonderful."

"Shale." Alora gaped. "That's alcohol. We can't... Our vows."

"Oh, I didn't realise. I thought rum was just some sort of fruit juice that pirates drank."

The barkeep chuckled. "How about some fresh-squeezed orange juice instead? The oranges are fresh from Geor. No charge for your like. I'm sure Casodin won't notice a few gone missing."

Before she could protest, the barkeep turned and disappeared through the door into a backroom.

"Can we go now?" Alora asked.

That was when Shale noticed Alora, gazing over her shoulder, at a set of burly men a few tables away. They eyed the junior SanMothers up like hungry fishermen about to net a pair of juicy brightfish. Clearly, their attention was making Alora uncomfortable.

"Okay. Let's get back." She sighed. Alashar would just have to try again. Even if Zeera did deny the second request, Shale would just sneak out the back of the storage room. Tarshara and all his dark armies couldn't stop her from seeing her friend again.

They turned to depart.

"SanMothers?" a voice called. It was a rich accent, similar to the Kersaja, but with a touch more elegance, like the difference between regular wine and mulled wine spiced with cinnamon and uragsi petals.

When they turned around, they were confronted by a man in a roughspun cloak. The face beneath his hood was half-hidden, but Shale could make out tanned skin, a bald head, and amber eyes.

"SanMother Shale?" he enquired.

"Yes. That's me."

He twisted his head, regarding Alora curiously.

"I know you requested that I come alone," Shale said, "But our senior is quite cautious. She insisted we come together."

The man, who was clearly Eloronian, going by his accent, relaxed into an easy smile. "Most wise in this part of town, I'm sure. It shouldn't be an issue, providing the details of our meeting remain confidential."

"Of course," Alora said, "I would never relay details of a confession, not even to our seniors."

"Then allow me to introduce myself. I am Karlar." He proffered a hand and they both shook it in turn. His hands were soft and smooth, likely from some sort of lotion. "Come. I will lead you to our room."

He said our room. Interesting. As they followed him toward the stairway, the young barkeep reemerged with two glasses of orange juice. He frowned at the sight of the SanMothers following Karlar, then slunk back behind the bar, sullenly.

They ascended to the third floor, where at the end of the narrow hall, they were met by a green oak door with faded paint and rusted hinges. It looked as if it hadn't been opened since the unknown ages. Karlar proved this to be a falsehood. He fetched into his robe and retrieved a brass key, then, as he unlocked the door, it gave a loud click and heaved open with a sound of straining iron.