Jareen heard Noreen’s steps on the stairway at last. She was looking through the slot when the Arch Sister emerged on the landing, carrying a wrapped parcel. Noreen knew where to look and saw Jareen’s face.

  “I’m alone. Open the door and you can step out here. We can speak easier that way.”

  Noreen unlocked the outside lock and Jareen unlocked the inside. She swung the door ajar and stepped out for the first time in weeks. It was like leaving a weight behind.

  “I have spoken with the regency,” Noreen said, and sighed. “If I had any way to make this easier, I would, but we are not more powerful than the merchants and officials. Even our sacred ways come second to their decadence. They want to please the elves.”

  Noreen was an ardent follower of the old Noshian traditions.

  “But I am sworn by oath to the Sisters. We do not depart in life.”

  “So it is, but. . .”

  “But what?”

  Noreen’s perpetual show of self-confidence faded, and for a second she looked like the young girl Jareen had met in their earliest training. Underneath her wimple, her hair was grey, but she was younger than Jareen.

  “But what did you expect?” Noreen asked. “That you would simply be a Sister of the Order forever? It is one thing to swear an oath for the life of a human. . . but for your kind it is different.”

  When Jareen had first come to the Order, she had told the former Arch Sister about her condition—that her life span, while longer than a human’s, would end as surely as theirs. Since those earliest interviews, Jareen had spoken little of her own people or situation. Nevertheless, it did surprise her that Noreen was ignorant of the true situation. But the former Arch Sister had died suddenly.

  “That. . . is true for most of my people, but I am not like them. I am mortal.”

  Noreen held up a hand.

  “I’m sorry, Jareen. I am. But nothing we two can say will change this. The regent has commanded this. Though our Order is sacred, we do depend upon them.”

  “We have donors. We take alms.”

  “That is barely half of what we receive from the regency.”

  “I can’t renounce my oath.”

  “The elf ambassador claims that they never gave permission for you to become a Sister, and so your oath is void. The regent agrees. I tried to argue, I did. They said the guards would take you by force if it came to it.”

  “Do you know what they want with me?”

  “No,” Noreen said, shaking her head. “I think they might just not like an elf being among the Sisters.”

  Jareen didn’t know what to say. How could this be happening?

  Noreen glanced at the open door behind Jareen.

  “How is he?”

  Jareen was so distracted that for a moment she didn’t know what Noreen meant. Then she remembered Coir. Jareen’s world was spinning, and still she must think of the Departing. What could she say? A Voiceless Sister would report the truth of the situation to the Arch Sister. But then, the regency cared more for wealth than promises or justice. Jareen did not wish to lie, but what if Coir was actually in danger?

  “His fevers have come more frequently, and he has grown weaker,” she said. It was a lie, but only by omission. She knew that was a foolish distinction, but she did not want to hand him over, either. Maybe everything he’d said was foolishness, but still, she judged him a harmless fool.

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  “We will have to brick him, then,” Noreen said. “I’m sorry for that. I refuse to put one of the Sisters in there with the fever.” She glanced at Jareen. “I mean another Sister. . . You. . . You know what I mean.”

  Jareen didn’t answer.

  “They are waiting below,” Noreen said, recovering. “I made them let me come up alone.”

  Jareen felt a tightness in her throat.

  “Let me get my things,” she said.

  “Your things must be left behind,” Noreen answered.

  Yes of course, because of the risk of infection. She hadn’t thought of it because she knew there was no risk. Noreen set the parcel she carried on the floor, not even willing to hand it directly to Jareen. “I have brought you a change from your chamber. I would have brought you more, but. . . your garments.”

  Jareen’s garments were custom fit, as she was taller than most of the other Sisters and differently proportioned besides.

  “Please give me privacy,” Jareen said. “I will be down soon.”

  Noreen nodded and headed toward the stair. At the first step, she paused and looked back over her shoulder.

  “Don’t be long, and don’t do anything stupid like locking yourself inside.” The Arch Sister didn’t wait for a response, hurrying down and vanishing around the curve of the stair.

  And like that, after decades of service to the people of Nosh, Jareen was cast out.

  The other outfit was identical to the one she had on. Jareen washed her clothes with obsessive regularity. It was unlikely anyone would know the difference if she changed or not, but she would put on the fresh outfit. She looked around the hall. Noreen would expect her to strip in the vestibule of the quarantine chamber, step out naked, and dress in the new outfit in the hall. But Jareen would not change there, not when there was a perfectly suitable chamber within and no risk of infection.

  This was a mistake. She would speak with the Vien ambassadors. She would return to the Sisters. Had her mother done this?

  Stepping back into the quarantine rooms, she found Coir sitting on his couch, waiting.

  “I am leaving.”

  Coir did not reply. He sat on his couch, watching her.

  “The Vien embassy is forcing me to go with them,” Jareen said. “They are taking me from the Order.”

  Saying it out loud made it feel much more real, and her throat clenched. She raised her hand to cover her eyes so that he would not see her tears.

  “Why do you think that is?” Coir asked.

  “I don’t know. . . Maybe my mother. . . Maybe because they’re all assholes.” Swearing was distasteful to Jareen and she avoided it, so her outburst surprised even herself.

  “You are Vien, Insensitive or not. They won’t leave you behind. When they tell you they are leaving Drennos, remember me. Perhaps I will find Vah’tane on the other side of the veil.”

  She wiped the tears from her eyes. What was he talking about?

  “This isn’t about your Canaen letters.” She felt certain it was her mother’s doing. “And you have to go looking for Vah’tane in order to find it.”

  “I’ve been looking a long time.”

  She squinted at him, wiping the corners of her eyes.

  Coir smiled, and she knew it was for her sake.

  “I must thank you for your ministrations. I find it remarkable that any Vien would choose to do what you have done for so long.”

  She shrugged.

  “It was something worthy of a short life,” she said.

  Coir pursed his lips, pondering that answer as Jareen walked into the Sister’s chamber and closed the door behind her. When she returned in her change of Sister’s garb, she asked a question:

  “May I have one of Tirlav’s letters?”

  Coir looked startled.

  “One of his letters?”

  “Yes.”

  Had he not known? Did he think she had simply found the lenoth’ni and knew its effect on humans?

  “You’ve been reading my letters,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “That could be punishable by death for a Sister.”

  Jareen arced an eyebrow. He shook his head and pointed to the side.

  “They are there. . .” He sighed. “Take one as my thanks.”

  Walking to the wall and crouching down, she slid a stack of the portfolios aside until she saw the correct label. Opening it, she found the letter she sought. Besides the clothes she wore, it was now her only possession, for she must leave behind even her Sister’s tools—her tinctures, listening horn, and kit of bandage supplies. She rolled the paper and slid it up her sleeve.

  She stood and turned to look at the skinny man. No doubt, he had never been an example of physical vigor, but he looked especially frail after the compound effects of the lenoth’ni tea.

  “It would be the duty of a Sister of the Order to lock the quarantine doors behind me,” she said. “You are to be bricked.”

  “I understand,” Coir answered.

  “But they have taken my duty from me.”

  She walked out of the chamber without looking back. She couldn’t bear to look back.

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