The next day, every female student attends a mandatory session with Priest Illian that occurs bimonthly. The head of the black robed acolytes instructs us in self defense. Some of the girls whisper about the older man's defined biceps when he sheds his priestly white robes, revealing a toned torso clothed in a form fitted sleeveless shirt. The man moves with trained accuracy, demonstrating an arm lock on one of the black robes who, conveniently, does not wear his robe either. I roll my eyes at the gawking stares coming from the younger girls, even as Jiera jokes with Rumi about Illian's physique to my left.

            I try to pay extra attention this time, attempting to burn the lesson into my memory. Flashes of images flood my mind, making me nauseous to remember the dead Lord Hersch lying broken in the alley. I sit up straighter, tracking Priest Illian's demonstrations with a renewed interest. The black robed acolyte grabs Priest Illian from behind, locking his arms around Illian's neck. Illian moves slowly so we can see, planting his heel on the instep of the aggressor's foot, then using that distraction to pivot, and drive the heel of his hand into the aggressor's nose. He comes up short so as not to wound the black robed acolyte, then demonstrates once again in real time.

            "Unlike Jacob, a real world aggressor will not be courteous. He or she will make an effort to restrain you or harm you with all of their strength." Priest Illian's gruff voice carries throughout the courtyard, bouncing off the columns. "He or she can do real damage. They often carry weapons." Illian paces, arms folded behind his back. He nods to Jacob, the black robe, who steps forward.

            "I am going to demonstrate a disarming technique. One of you will help me do so. Any volunteers?" His eyes scan the suddenly silent group of girls. None of us speak up. "Alright, I'll choose for you."

            "I'll do it," Jiera stands to her feet, a confident smile on her face. I raise an eyebrow at her, wondering how this will turn out. Jiera winks at me, pulling her long hair back, tying it at the nape of her neck. Priest Illian nods in approval, wiping sweat off his brow with a white cloth. Jiera's father and Illian served in the military together decades ago, before the Fire Order and the Naidrin Court deemed it unnecessary. Illian certainly recognizes Jiera as Mr. Hinsun's daughter.

            "Good," Jacob says, holding a blade in the air. "She will be armed with this blade. I want you to attack me, and try to touch this knife to my skin. I will be unarmed." He holds the knife out to Jiera, handle first, which she takes, determination gleaming in her dark eyes. They back apart a few paces, waiting for Illian to let them know when to begin.

            "Go," The priest says after a beat, and Jiera lunges forward, her white cotton trousers sitting low on her hips. She darts to the side, ducking to avoid Jacob's swipe. I watch the fight, transfixed. Jiera is not as skilled as the more practiced Jacob, but she has definitely had a few lessons from her father, and she knows how to wield a blade. Jiera swipes with the knife, narrowly missing Jacob's arm. He takes the opportunity to knock his forearm against Jiera's, using his other hand to press on a pressure point in her wrist. The knife falls from her grip, landing with a thump on the grass. Jacob has a firm hold on Jiera's arm now and manages to twist her arm behind her back, effectively rendering her helpless. Jacob releases Jiera, who beams despite being bested.

            "I wasn't expecting her to put up so much of a fight," Jacob laughs, slightly short of breath. He clasps hands with Jiera, whose chest heaves as she makes her way back to sit beside me. "It was likely more difficult to catch the move I used to disarm Jiera, so I'll have to demonstrate one more time, then you will all pair up and practice the three moves we went over today. Then, we will run through a normal workout."

—

            By the end of the session, I'm drenched in sweat. Not only did I drill the exercises into my body, but my arms, core, and legs ache from the whole body workout Priest Illian pushed us to do. Generally, we exercise twice a week, taking a hike through the forest, or swimming at the lake, but only when Priest Illian oversees the session are we pushed to our limits. While the others complain, Jiera and I are silent, and I think we both enjoyed it. I feel alive, despite my fatigue. I could do with a good meal, and luckily I will have just that once I've washed and changed. My blood continues to pump through my veins even as my heart rate slows to a steady thump-thump.

            I come up alongside Jiera, the hallway packed with bodies of perspiring girls eager to get to the baths.

            "Hey," I say, wincing when a drop of salty sweat drips into a cut on my arm. I'd been paired up against Rumi, who managed a shallow slice on my forearm.

            "Hi," Jiera replies, taking note of my wince, "Are you okay?"

            "Yeah I'm fine. Pretty sure she did this on purpose, though." Jiera looks at me with raised eyebrows. We say nothing more as the group of us make our way to the baths. The tunnel is as extensive as always. The air turns thick with humidity the further we go. I wish we were on our way to bathe in a lake or river, where the cold water would soothe my already warm and fatigued body. Reaching the baths, I pace over to the edge of the pool, sliding off my sandals and shrugging off my garments. I enter the water slowly, allowing my body to adjust to the high temperature. Once fully submerged, my hair fans out around my head in a brown cloud, and I open my eyes. Jiera is a few feet away, holding a bar of lavender soap which she uses to wash her hair and body. The other temple girls stick to different sides of the pool, speaking words that echo unintelligibly throughout the cavern.

            Jiera's black hair is plastered to her head, the long tendrils floating on the water's surface. I grab a jar of soap I'd left in a small alcove nearby from previous washes. Using my index and middle finger to scoop a dollop into my palm, I begin working it into a lather over my hair, washing the sweat and oils from my scalp. Jiera and I finish up, drying off and putting on clothing. I grab a pair of loose cotton pants and a fitted shirt– in the latest style, but without the beads and embroidered adornments the ladies in the city sport on their tops. It barely reaches my navel in length. Dressed, I walk to the entrance, meeting my friend at the opening of the tunnel.

            "Ready?" Jiera inquires, a contented smile on her full lips. I voice an affirmation and we walk to lunch together.

            The dining table is packed with students male and female returning from their lessons, and the baths. Jeira and I exit the vaulted chamber in favor of a more peaceful spot on the grass of the courtyard. I unwrap my food, laying  the cloth across my lap to catch crumbs. The sun is blocked behind thick tree branches and their foliage, offering a blessed reprieve from the indomitable rays. Jiera sits beside me, legs folded beneath her to prevent grass stains on her white chiffon skirt. I do not offer the same care with my clothing, instead, I dig into my meal. I wolf down toasted bread with grilled chicken and slices of avocado sandwiched within. Jiera pops bits of a banana and sliced mango into her mouth. My hunger is quickly subdued by the hearty meal, and I find myself longing for a drink.

            "So, about the Filleck twins," Jiera says between bites of mango.

            "Hmm?" I reply, interest piqued.

            "Well," Jiera says, the tips of her ears tinged red as she tucks a strand of silky black hair behind an ear, "Jacob says he's friends with Ezra and would be willing to escort us to their home tonight."

            My eyes bore into hers, blood draining from my face leaving me stricken with worry, wondering what exactly she shared to convince Jacob to escort us.

            "What?" I ask, completely frozen, "What did you tell him? What does he know?"

            "Don't freak out, oh my God, Malia. You're so dramatic. I just explained that I was worried about our safety, and I wanted to learn more because the Priests keep everything from us! It really isn't a big deal I just bat my lashes at him and he offered on his own!"

            "You can't just flirt with every guy to get what you want, you know. How would he even know to suggest taking you to the Filleck's estate?" I narrow my eyes at her, mentally palming myself in the face.

             "I only vaguely suggested it and he seemed to think it was his own idea. It doesn't take much, Malia. Just a bit of finesse." Jiera rolls her eyes and I relax slightly, relieved we now have a feasible plan coming together. I'm actually baffled by how easily Jiera manipulated a man to do her bidding, without her victim so much as realizing it. All it takes is a certain attitude, I suppose. I've noticed, at least in Rumi's case, she really isn't all that attractive but boys don't particularly care. Jiera is downright beautiful, and after surprising Jacob with a bit of skill in our session today, looking back, it was smart on her part to take advantage of his obvious attraction to her.

            "Alright," I say with a begrudging smile, "Maybe you know, that wasn't such a bad idea." Jiera laughs at that, bumping me with her shoulder.

            "Really, Malia, you're so uptight sometimes. You just need to loosen up! We're going tonight. Lord Filleck should be at a late meeting in Jinville— Jacob said something about budgeting and the water supply. The twins are having a party. I'll do your hair and cosmetics." She speaks with a flippancy that makes me wonder as to the source of this unwavering confidence. I don't have to wonder long, connecting her wealthy family and her privileged  upbringing as contributors to the woman she is today. Jiera is naturally kind in a way I had to learn to be. She regards the world as a puzzle to be solved whereas I see it as a snake poised to strike. Her attitude is comforting, even if disarming at times.

            "Tonight, then."

—

            Jacob meets Jiera and I in the west wing a few hours after dinner. I worry the priests and priestesses will discover us, but Jiera and Jacob hush me. The black robed acolytes are supposed to be dutifully guarding the temple in shifts throughout the night. Turns out, Jacob had made sure his friends were assigned the night shift today so they could all take off and go to the party.

            Jiera takes Jacob by the arm, her slender hand is small on his bicep. I observe how quickly she takes on a different persona, laughing at something he says. Jacob's friend Zion eyes me up and down, a roguish grin dominating his chiseled features and creasing his otherwise flawless charcoal skin. I narrow my kohl lined eyes against his scrutiny, suddenly feeling naked under his gaze despite the crimson sash cinched at my waist. I long for the flowing garments I'm accustomed to wearing that do well to shield my figure against vanity and lustful gazes. Jiera chose my clothing, dressing me in a deep red silken dress that drapes down my body, and accentuates my curves. The slit down the side exposes my left thigh. Jiera left my brown waves hanging loose down my back, a comfort considering the backless dress. I had no inkling Jiera possessed such garments, at least not at the temple. It makes me wonder how often in the past she's snuck out in a similar fashion.

            "You look positively sinful, priestess," Zion states, unaware of the discomfort I carefully shield behind defiant eyes.

            "I'm not a priestess," I reply. Yet.

            "And yet here you stand, a vision of holy flame." His words are so ridiculous I laugh aloud, and Jiera rolls her eyes, her pale blue skirts swishing at her ankles as we make our way down the hall.

            "God, Zion. You really are a flirt," Jacob says, shaking his head while chuckling. It's no secret Zion gets around. I take nothing he says seriously, his dark, handsome face does nothing for the hormonal boy beneath. Zion's been with nearly every female student that has had the displeasure of his company. Even so, when he offers me his arm, I take it.

            Jacob and Zion are joined by several other black robes. They escort Jiera and I out into the night. Exhilaration fills me, thrumming deep in my bones as our entourage leads us down the back roads into the city. We travel well lit paths, lanterns glowing with orange flame flickering their light across the gravel beneath our feet.

            Jiera and Jacob engage in easy banter amongst  themselves. Zion makes a noble attempt to engage me in conversation which I respond to in clipped words and phrases. I focus my eyes on the slant of our shadows, even as my thoughts are a whirlwind in my mind. I run through millions of possible ways the night can go, traveling each scenario in my head to the end, trying to figure the best course of action, the best words to use to glean the information I seek.

            "Malia, right? So tell me, why do the other girls hate your guts?" Zion voices a question that seems to have plagued others in our company, because they all quiet down  to hear my reply. Even Jiera watches me, her dark eyes shining in the pale lamplight.

            "Well, I suppose it has something to do with my outstanding personality," I deadpan.

            Zion clears his throat, "Yeah, must be that." He fidgets with his hands awkwardly, and the others turn their attention back to each other, disinterested with my reply. I'd assumed everyone knew why Jiera resented me all these years, but I guess I was wrong. She'd kept the details to herself. Zion gazes at me sidelong, as if wanting to ask another question but decides against it. He takes my hand off his arm, placing it tenderly at my side instead before quickening his stride to catch up to Jacob and Jiera where they walk ahead of the entourage.

            I'm left feeling empty in a way I hadn't felt before. Something about being rejected by a man who jumped at any female who crossed his path really dampened my spirits. I decide I'm overthinking, and resolve to enjoy walking the last few streets in silence.

            Upon turning a corner, the Filleck estate looms out of the darkness, glowing from the windows outward. Loud music can be heard playing indoors, stringed instruments thrumming a rambunctious tune that carries out into the street. Stately marble columns support a broad semicircle portico extending upward to the second floor. I lift my eyes to find Ezra Filleck standing on the balcony, holding a crystalline glass of red wine. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, top buttons of his white shirt unbuttoned to welcome the coolness of the night– presumably to soothe his feverish skin. By the looks of his pink cheeks, Ezra Filleck appears drunk.

            "Jacob, Zion," Ezra acknowledges once we come closer. Through the grand windows I can see many revelers dancing and drinking. The twins have taken full advantage of having the run of the place.

            "Hey, Ezra, how's it going?" Jacob calls upward.

      "I've no complaints," Ezra says, pushing blonde hair out of his eyes. His gaze roams over our faces, settling first on Jiera, then flicking to me. I catch him eyeing me and I force myself not to avert my gaze, shifting to stand squarely behind a black robe in our entourage. Jiera wears a pleasant smile, holding Jacob's arm. Zion stands beside them looking as though carved from the midnight sky.

            "Go on in, the doors unlocked," Ezra wears a smirk that never falters even as he takes another swig of his wine. I'm the last to enter through the doors into their house, but it's like we've entered an alternate dimension. The room is crowded with people dancing to the whims of the musicians' playing. Shining garlands hang from banisters, and twist around columns. I catch candlelight glinting on the tinsel garlands. Exotic dancers twist and turn, their stomachs exposed, their hips laden with shining gold tassels and beads. They dance on raised marble daises that have been relieved of the statues they once held. The party is male dominated, but several wealthy women about mine and Jiera's age laugh as they're led around the room by their male partners in a messy, drunken dance.

            Jiera and Jacob disappear into the crowd, and a twinge in my gut betrays a sense of hurt I feel at her abandonment. I shove those sour feelings down before I can fixate on Zion's earlier rejection. I force a pleasant smile to my face and accept the glass of red wine when the servant offers it. This was meant to be an informational excursion, and I will have my answers. I might as well blend in while I search the place.

            I manage to dodge several men who approach me looking for a dance, despite the constraints of my clothing. The slit in the fabric that trails up my thigh surprisingly aids me in such movements. I catch several pairs of eyes watching me from different areas of the room. I take comfort in the small butter knife I'd snagged from the kitchens and hidden against my thigh, and the pressure of the elastic band which secures it in place.

            I find my way down a hall into a more quiet part of the Filleck estate. I find an open antechamber at the end of the hallway, black leather upholstered chairs sitting on either side of a dark oak desk. I realize I'd found my way to the Lord's study, and eye the locked drawers beneath the desk, tracing the yellow keyhole with my thumb. I recognize the lock, made by the same locksmith in town that manufactured the locks on my chest at the temple.

            After using a brass hairpin to jimmy the lock, the drawer pops open with a small click. Inside, I find several ship manifests and drop ship inventory records within. He owns ships under a pseudonym to smuggle illegal goods, furs. Judging by the names on the manifest, he smuggles people of the Shaki tribes north of here too. Lord Filleck is a slaver.

            My initial surprise at the grandeur of the estate has worn off, replaced by a grim understanding that Lord Filleck is a corrupt man. I had thought him to be kindhearted. I wonder what the others are hiding, considering what I've found here. I move to replace the papers, folding them at their previously worn creases.

            The creak of a wooden floorboard sends my heart thundering. I whip around, papers still in hand, to find a pair of blue eyes on a face eerily identical to Ezra's. The only discernible difference between the twins' features are the longer blonde waves reaching Eris' shoulders in length. He eyes me coolly, his face barely illuminated by the light in the hallway.

            "What are you doing snooping in here?" He asks me, moving toward me like a Cavanese panther stalking its prey. I stand petrified for a moment, my mind racing with possible excuses. Eris is upon me before I can so much as mutter a syllable, plucking the incriminatory records from my hands. His green eyes glint like twin emeralds in the dim lighting, scanning the unfolded papers.

            "I was just looking for someone," I finally manage to mutter, my cheeks flaming as crimson as my gown when he appraises me with that same intense stare.

            "Hmm," He muses, folding the papers and stashing them in his coat pocket before replying, "If you're going to lie, then do so effectively. If you're going to snoop, know what you're looking for. If you're going to steal..." He paces, circling me like a vulture. The way he draws his words out is meant to be intimidating, I realize. He isn't intimidating in the usual fashion, but rather, it is his unpredictability I find unsettling.

            "Don't. Get. Caught." He says the last three words quietly, but they bite like the wind in my ear.

            "I'm looking for a boy," I say, using the truth as my only recourse, even as I inwardly cringe. The young man is a fox, I think. He's cunning and intelligent, sticking to his brother's shadow when it suits him. His viridian gaze fixates on me, boring into my eyes. I wonder what he sees in them, I wonder if he can read the words etched by Agni onto my heart, or glean the contents of my soul. I feel as though he's siphoning the life from my body, when mercifully, Eris finally breaks his stare to peer at the figure standing in the doorway to his left. Eagerly, I turn toward my savior, and realize I haven't been saved at all.

            Ezra enters the room, holding Jiera by her wrist. My eyes widen, heart racing with unanswered questions.

            "Why do you have her?" I inquire earnestly, starting toward her. Eris steps in my path. He regards his brother coolly.

            "I found her in the east wing, without her black robed companions." Ezra gives off an air of impassiveness, as if terribly bored by our alleged infiltration. He doesn't appear quite as drunk as I believed when we first entered, either.

            "I lost my favorite earring!" Jiera wails, exaggerating the act further when she proclaims, "Jacob told me that we could have some privacy in that dark bedroom chamber, then he left me, and I couldn't find my earring by the time I got my dress back on!" She's sniveling, her eyeliner smudged beneath one eye. Eris only rolls his eyes.

            "When Jacob asked to bring them, he didn't bother to indicate they'd be this much trouble," Ezra mutters, rubbing his bleary eyes.

            "Take the Hinsun brat to sober up in the washroom. Call Jacob and have him escort her back. I still have some more questions for her." Eris turns to me as Ezra takes his leave, whistling a merry tune that mimics one of the songs the musicians played earlier.

            "You say you're searching for a boy?" He asks me finally, untucking his hands from within the pockets of his trousers. He shrugs off his coat, setting it on the desk, and takes a seat in the leather chair. Eris arches an elegant brow when I nod, waiting for me to say more.

            "I heard about the boy in a coma. I came here tonight to find out where he was being held. I was under the impression you and your brother could shed some light." I begrudgingly finish speaking, laying my true intentions bare. I'm careful not to betray my presence at the council meeting, though Eris seems to come to that conclusion on his own when a sly grin slides across his lips. I watch his thoughts flicker behind his eyes, likely gauging the veracity of my words, as well as estimating the danger I pose at having discovered his father's illegal practices. Not that I have proof to act on any accusations I could possibly make.

            "I've decided to believe you're telling the truth. But why should I help you?"

            "Out of the kindness of your heart, perhaps? Or maybe I can tell the priestesses I saw you and your brother drug the water at Lord Hersch's funeral." It may not have been the best idea to threaten Eris, but I'm sick of this dress, sick of the rogue on my lips and the liner on my eyes, and I'm even more fed up with the turn of events. I stoop down to Eris' level, resting a hand on the arm rest.

            "Or, better yet," I whisper, mimicking the threatening manner with which he whispered earlier, "I can expose your father as a corrupt man, smuggling opium among other illegal merchandise to sell in Zalase. I wonder how he'd react if his ships were seized, hmm?" I'm not sure how I expected Eris to react, but when a wide grin spreads across his face, a malicious glint in his eyes, shivers run down my spine.

            "I'll see what I can do for you, Miss Sinduril." His eyes search mine when he uses my last name, betraying his knowledge of exactly who I am, and likely any other details on record. I'm careful to retain a neutral expression as I straighten, smoothing my hands over the bodice of my gown. The twins did their research before granting Jiera and I access to his family's estate. I would expect nothing less, now that I know just what type of people the Fillecks are. I wouldn't be surprised if their supposed apprenticeship in their grandfather's smithery were a farce too.

            Eris stands, grabbing his coat, sweeping a stack of papers across the desk in its wake.

            "Shall we?" He motions me toward the door. I acquiesce to his wishes, my eyes falling to the strewn papers on my way around the table. Several letters have shifted position, and clear as day, each and every one is addressed to Eris Filleck. This isn't his father's study at all. It's his own. My legs carry me absentmindedly to the doorway and into the hall. Eris appears at ease. If he knows I saw anything, he gives no indication. We say our goodbyes, and I meet a drunken Zion and his other companions, who await me at the door. Zion is standing, rather more like swaying, beside Ezra. Eris, suddenly the perfect gentleman, bids me goodnight, assuring me he will be in touch. We embark on our post-midnight walk back to the temple.