The garden really was massive, especially considering that not much of the priestesses' time was spent outside. Most of the women preferred staying inside, in the bath houses or libraries or training courts. Iliya liked it in the garden, though she didn't get to visit it often. It was composed of man-made ponds, trees, flowers, pathways, statues, gazebos; all looked wild and old, but in reality they were carefully cleaned and tended to look that way. From above Iliya suspected that it would look somewhat like patchwork- short clipped grass here, tall oaks there, tangled flowers that way.

Her favorite spot, discovered only recently, was a wide silver pool surrounded by a thick shroud of willow trees. There was a small wooden bench tucked beneath one of the older trees, its branches thick enough to block out the shafts of sunlight, which bothered Iliya not one bit, despite the cold of December; sunlight meant the spark that set her hair aflame, drawing so much unwanted attention. And the willows were in a corner of the garden not many people visited, giving Iliya a nice, quiet place to think.

And after spending most of the last weeks with Analai, she had a lot to think about.

It had soon become apparent to her that Analai's problem was not only in the classroom; the older girl had an opinion about everything. Worse, she had questions about all of her opinions. "Why doesn't the goddess like music?" "Why are men more unholy than women?" "Is our goddess the only goddess?"

"Yes," Lidea had replied to the latter.

Iliya had actually lost her mind for a moment and spoken then. "Then why is there no writing of her making the world?"

Both Iliya and Analai had received nice beatings as punishment for questioning the goddess' teachings. That had been a day earlier.

Analai had touched Iliya's puffy, bruised cheek that morning, smiling despite her split lip. "Lidea was in an awful mood," Analai had said. "You chose a bad day to start picking up my habits."

Iliya leaned back on the bench, touching a finger gently to her sore cheek. She hadn't been beaten by the priestesses in a long while. Why was she picking up Analai's habits at all? She was content, and certainly had no reason to question what she'd been raised from birth to believe. Why should she care what was true and what was not? It didn't affect her. Why should she even suspect that it wasn't true? She had believed it without fault up until then.

"I see someone else has found my hiding place."

Iliya's head snapped up out of it's dozing, thoughtful position at the sound of the unfamiliar voice; it was far too deep and pleasant to belong to one of the priestesses. Her eyes lit upon a man with muddy brown hair and pleasant brown eyes; he was clean-shaven, his skin smooth and youthful, though the lacing of gray in his hair told her what she already knew, that he was in his late thirties. He was fairly short, only a few inches taller than Iliya, though she really had no idea how tall men should be; men were not allowed in the temple, with the exception of this one. Even those with cases to present before the High Priestess had to send a female representative to Court. Seeing how broad this man was, though, with heavy muscling on his limbs and chest, she suspected that he should have been taller.

"What are you doing here?" She had meant it to sound firm, full of authority; it came out as a startled squeak.

The man looked at her strangely. "Don't you know who I am?"

"You're the Consort," she replied slowly. This man lived a life of luxury, the only exalted man in the City, taken care of by those in the temple; fed, clothed, and otherwise allowed to do as he pleased, within reason. No one ever came out into the garden unless they wanted something, though. So why was he there?

"Haracio," he introduced himself, offering her his hand.

"Iliya," she replied, shaking his hand hesitantly.

"I know you," he told her. "You're the promising young one, with the fire hair."

Iliya flushed, resisting the urge to pull the hood of her cloak up to cover her curls, which were, at the moment, a smoky brown.

"You don't like people noticing you," he observed. "You prefer to blend in, no?"

Iliya did her best to shrug carelessly. "I'm nothing special," she told him quietly. "People shouldn't make me out to be more than I am."

He nodded wisely. "And it does not help that people tend to assume the wrong things," he said. Then he leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. "You're not really the daughter of a demon, are you?"

"I doubt that the goddess would have let me serve her for so long if I were," she answered softly, irritation momentarily overpowering her timidity.

The man laughed, a deep, throaty sound. "I fear you are right."

"Talking to the trees again, Haracio?" Flyra, a priestess, stepped into the clearing, stopping when she saw Iliya was sitting there.

Iliya tried a smile; she had always been fond of Flyra. Flyra had been her main caretaker when she was small, teaching her about her duty, telling her what she must not do, comforting her when Priestess Callie hollered at hr for using her face powders. "For the goddess' sake," Flyra had chided Callie, making the younger woman sulk like a chastened animal. "She's only six. And it's makeup. Quit your bellowing."

Now Flyra looked at Haracio oddly. "Haracio, what have I told you?" She asked, tucking her graying hair behind her ear.

"Good to see you, too, sis," Haracio replied easily, smiling at her.

Iliya frowned. Why hadn't she known that Flyra was the Consort's sister?

Flyra's odd look turned into a scowl, and she pulled Haracio away, whispering vehemently to him. Iliya caught snips of her sentences. "You can't be seen… people are already suspicious… they don't need proof!"

Iliya considered fleeing, but feared that would only bring their attention back to her. Perhaps she'd get lucky and they'd just wander off, forgetting about her.

No such luck. Flyra finally marched away, but Haracio ambled back over to Iliya. "I've been ordered off," he told her dryly. "But would you be opposed to speaking with me again soon?"

She couldn't decide the safest answer, so Iliya just made a kind of shrugging gesture, which he apparently took as consent. He smiled and nodded to her before strolling away, leaving her alone with the willows once again. How peculiar, she thought.

She told Analai about the encounter in their room, before Twilight Closing. Analai didn't seem surprised. "You've never talked to Haracio before?" She asked Iliya. "I like him. He's odd."

"I didn't know we were supposed to speak with him," Iliya said thoughtfully.

"Well, I'm not certain that we're supposed to," Analai told her. "But there's no rule against it, either. As long as you're not in a room with him alone, so no one can question your purity."

Iliya blushed madly. "He's far too old," she said, appalled that the suspicion of such a thing would even arise.

Analai shrugged. "They're just being safe, I suppose," she replied. "I wonder if paranoia is an attribute of the goddess."

"Analai!" No matter how much time she spent with her, Iliya didn't think she could ever get used to Analai's small, flippant blasphemies.

Analai shrugged again and Iliya shook her head. What was she to do with her?

---------

From the journal of Iliya Jesperr, second-circle priestess of the Maiden

2nd of February, Month of the Moon, year 690 G.E.

It's a good thing that we were given these journals as memory exercises, else I might forget my name.

Nothing seems solid anymore. But you can't possibly know what I mean. Everything is so confusing; has so much changed? Or have I changed, in the months spent with Analai?

Not that I'm blaming her. Analai has been a good friend to me. I try to tutor her in her class work, but she only ends up asking me questions I can't answer. Even my magic seems to be confused, doing things I never asked it to do (today my crystal turned red. RED! None of the girls even a circle ahead of me can make their stone change colors!) The priestess Mage took my staff and examined it- for trickery, I suppose- then just gave it back to me with a sort of grunt. All day I have tried to change it back to silver, but it won't obey me.

It seems that the only thing that has remained constant is combat training. I seem to go into a trance when I hold a sword, and in that moment it all makes perfect sense. All I have to worry about is my sword and my opponent, nothing else. Those are good moments, even though the trainers can still beat me soundly and Analai can out-throw me any day. Even Dierdra can out-wrestle me. But when I have a sword in my hand…

Then, of course, the contest is over and I'm meek, confused Iliya again.

Analai and I visited Haracio yesterday, with Flyra as a chaperone (she seems to have gotten over not wanting Haracio and I to speak, though I still haven't the slightest clue why she didn't in the first place). Our talks with him are always interesting. I believe Analai described him as "odd" once. That is a rather large understatement. But I suspect that most people from the common would strike me as odd. Even Analai strikes me as odd, and she only lived in the common until she was ten. Haracio had been sixteen when they finally brought him to the temple!

Just yesterday he was telling us about a lovers' festival that would be taking place in the common in about two weeks. I couldn't imagine celebrating so openly something that the Maiden so clearly frowns upon, and I told him so. He and Flyra laughed. I still haven't decided whether it's embarrassing or pleasing, being able to make two such intelligent people laugh just by saying whatever happens to slip into my mind.

"You don't have to sleep together to be lovers," Haracio told me. "Love can be completely and utterly pure. This is just a celebration of love."

I told him that if love was as confusing as being friends with people like Analai, I wanted no part of it. He and Flyra laughed again. Analai looked thoughtful.

I think we're going to visit him again in a few days. I know I shouldn't. We're growing fond of one another, Haracio and I. But he is only a few weeks from becoming forty years old, the day he'll have to be replaced.

Being fond of him will only make it sadder (is that a word?) when he has to die.

I have to stop writing, because the Keeper is calling for Twilight Closing, and I can't write in the dark. Perhaps I'll write more tomorrow.

---------

"What do you think, Analai?"

Analai sighed, not looking up from the hem she was mending. "I think that if you ask me again I'll have to scream at you," she told Iliya wearily.

"That doesn't seem fair," Iliya muttered. "You have an opinion about everything else."

Analai set the last stitch, sighing in a long-suffering manner. "How should I know if there's such a magic?" She demanded, popping her back and straightening from her cramped position. She walked around the room once or twice, feeling the plush hangings on the walls as she passed, as was her habit.

"But think of it," Iliya said. "If it could make you see… things your eyes can't see... how magnificent would that be, Analai?"

Analai shrugged. "I'm confused enough by the things my eyes can see," she told the younger girl. Seeing Iliya's face fall, though, made Analai's expression soften. "It wouldn't be much of a stretch, though. Look at all the other things magic can do. But why are you so curious about it all-of-a-sudden?"

In truth Iliya had woken from a strange dream the night before. In the dream she'd opened her eyes by a stream, only the stream was solid, iced over. Iliya had seen ice before, though not very often; the temple had heated pipes running underneath it and vents that released warm air to dispel such things. Only that afternoon Haracio had told them about snow, a white, icy stuff that fell from the sky and settled on the ground in the common; the temple usually melted it by the time it touched the ground. In her dream, though, the land and the trees had been covered in what she suspected was the very same substance.

Only how could she have dreamt of it before she had even been told about it?

In her dream she had gathered it into her hands, letting it flake and fall to the ground before scooping more up and pressing her face into it, letting it melt against her warm cheeks and delighted smile. Then, after long minutes in the field of white, she had seen a flash of color amongst the trees, drawing her toward it. Before she could see just what it was, though, she had fallen through what could only be described as mist, and had woken in her bed.

"I had a strange dream, that's all," she told Analai.

Analai studied her for a moment. "Is it possible, Iliya, that you're trying to distract yourself?"

Iliya blinked, confused. "What would I be trying to distract myself from?" She asked.

Analai fought to keep her lip from trembling, which hurt, due to the face that it was swollen from that morning's round with the disciplinarians. "Iliya, it's only a week until Haracio's birthing day."

Iliya shrugged, not really letting herself think of what that meant.

Analai scowled suddenly. "I hate this place," she whispered, tears spilling out of her eyes. Iliya stared; tears were weakness, as they'd been taught often. She hadn't cried in years. Yet here Analai was, doing it shamelessly.

She hesitated, then sat beside her friend, patting Analai's shoulder awkwardly. "Don't cry, Analai," she said. "Why are you sad?"

"I'm not sad," Analai said vehemently, wiping at her eyes. "I'm angry. Did you know that, in the common, death isn't just ignored?" She didn't wait for Iliya to reply before she continued. "My mother died a month before I came here. And do you know, people were sad. But here, people, treat death as if it's a duty, one more thing to give to the goddess."

Iliya considered how to answer. "Is that a bad thing?" She asked at last. Really she just wanted Analai to feel better, and stop crying. "Not having to be sad?"

Analai looked at her. "Don't you want to know that, if you die, someone will miss you? That you meant something to someone, that they will cherish your memory?" She shook her head, setting her jaw in that stubborn way Iliya had come to recognize. "Crying for someone isn't being weak; it's honoring them. And I'm going to honor Haracio."

Iliya didn't know what to say at all. Analai had some of the strangest notions.

---------

Iliya stood rigidly, her breath hot behind the porcelain mask, the wind chill through the thin fabric of her dress. What a sight all the priestesses were! They all wore the same fitted tunic-dress, with flowing sleeves and a skirt that hung in hundreds of pleats around their ankles; the dresses were colored appropriately- white for the newest novices, green for the first circle, pale gray for the second, blue for the third, orange for the fourth, and black for fifth. Over the dresses all wore the same purple-black cloak, with its hood pulled up to cover their hair, the serenely-smiling porcelain faces worn beneath it. Iliya wondered, briefly, why they were wearing the warm, thick cloaks, but hadn't been permitted to wear shoes.

She could feel eyes on her, though she couldn't tell who was staring behind the narrow eye-slits of the masks. Many of the younger priestesses were angry with her, as if she had intentionally caused the crystal set in her staff to glow red, as red as those belonging to the fourth-circle priestesses. She sensed some of the commoners looking at her, as well, the red crystal setting her apart in the line of identical, silver-bearing priestesses.

They were not in the temple this afternoon, but in an open-air construction just off of the temple, so anyone from the common wishing to see the new Consort chosen could attend; also, so the boys themselves, could be there for the choosing, since no man other than the appointed Consort could step onto the temple grounds. Eleven of them stood, masked; all were young, around Iliya's age, and relatively similar. The only significant difference among them was hair color, and even then she could only discern a few different shades of blond and brown.

Haracio stood before the line of boys, though he (like the High Priestess) was not masked. He walked back and forth, seeming to focus on each boy, waiting for the goddess to show him his successor.

"This is such dung," Analai breathed, and Iliya was sure that she was the only one who heard her. "He knows which one he's going to pick."

"Shh," Iliya replied, thinking, How could he know that?

"I'd bet my crystal that he's going to pick the fourth from the left," Analai said.

Iliya was about to ask what she was talking about when Haracio moved forward, laying his hands on one boy's head before lifting the youth's mask. People cheered, the priestesses tapping their staffs, as Haracio led the boy forward and the rest were led off of the platform. The new Consort beamed, then bowed gracefully before being taken away for the sanctification rite.

He had been the fourth from the left in line.

Haracio looked in Iliya and Analai's direction, beckoning to them before turning and walking back into the temple grounds. The two girls followed the walkway with the other priestesses, breaking off from the group once inside and walking to Haracio's rooms, where he and Flyra waited. Flyra looked sad, but resigned. Haracio looked almost cheerful.

Iliya pulled her mask off, throwing her hood back, her face etched with confusion. "How did you know which it would be?" She demanded of Analai, who was removing her mask more slowly.

Analai shrugged, setting her mask on a small table. "He's my brother," she replied.

"So?" Iliya asked. "That didn't mean he'd be chosen."

Analai sighed. "Haracio was a friend of my parents before he was brought here," she told Iliya. "He chose the son of someone he knew; that's how it always works."

Iliya gaped. "But- but the goddess!"

Analai snorted. "When have you ever known her to whisper the right choice in your ear?"

Flyra made a cautionary sound; she didn't always get along with the other priestesses, but she believed in the goddess whole-heartedly. She was, however, realistic, and she explained. "It was easy enough to smuggle him a note, telling him where to stand in the line," the priestess said.

Iliya stared at the three of them, aghast. "This- this is treason!" She exclaimed.

"Nonsense," Haracio replied, pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table beside him. "It's how I was chosen, and the Consort before me, and I'm sure the Consort before him. It doesn't belittle the goddess, it just makes her job easier."

Iliya was dumbfounded as she looked at Analai. "How is it that I've lived here longer, but you know how things work?"

Haracio chuckled; for some reason Iliya didn't find it funny. "You believe what you want to believe," he told her. "Your mother was the same way."

Iliya was sure that her eyes must have been bulging out of her head as she squeaked, "What?" Analai perked to attention, instantly curious, and Flyra smacked Haracio on the back of the head.

"Ow- what?" He demanded, glaring at his sister like a child. "What harm can there be in her knowing? You were her friend- she deserved for her daughter to know her." Flyra was still scowling, but Haracio turned back to Iliya anyway. "Your mother was High Priestess, before she died."

Iliya swayed, plopping into a chair. He said it as if it didn't turn her world sideways. "But-" her voice came out as a rasp, so she took a drink of the water Analai offered her. "How did she die?"

"They executed her," Flyra told her, as gently as such things could be told.

Iliya's head swam. "Why?" They all looked at her oddly, as if she should know, and she felt like she was missing some important piece of a puzzle.

"Priestesses aren't allowed to have children…" Analai began, then looked to the adults for approval. They nodded.

"And she had me," Iliya whispered, horrified. How was she supposed to take that, being told that she had been the reason for her mother's death? "Why? Why would she do that?"

"She said," Flyra began slowly, then cleared her throat. "She said that the goddess possessed her, so that the Maiden would have an heir in the world."

Iliya blinked a few times, as if to clear her vision. "So my mother was insane," she concluded.

"Perhaps." Haracio gave an uncomfortable shrug. "No one's really sure. But she believed what she claimed."

"So she was fanatically insane," Iliya replied. She was trying to absorb it.

Analai laid a hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?" She asked.

"Of course I'm alright." Iliya tried to sound calm and brave; it worked, to some extent. "This doesn't change anything, really." She looked at Haracio curiously. "Why did you tell me?"

Haracio shrugged, looking almost guilty. "I thought you deserved to know," he replied.

Iliya nodded. "Thank you."

He smiled, then stood. "If you ladies will excuse me," he said. "I'm to give myself to the goddess in the morning. I need to rest."

Iliya and Analai left silently, leaving Haracio and Flyra to their farewells. Thankfully Analai didn't look close to tears. If he can be so bold accepting death, Iliya thought sternly. I can certainly be braver about knowing my mother. It's only fair. Right?