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One of the rebels sits down in the grass and concentrates.

About three minutes later, a flash of movement in the grass catches my eye, and a small, brown rabbit hops right into the woman’s waiting hands.

She stares into its black eyes for a moment, then releases it, and we watch the rabbit bound around the corner in the direction of Bastion’s gates.

“Well, that’s the cutest lookout I’ve ever seen,” I whisper, and Alastor chuckles quietly.

We wait, and every minute we stand exposed against the stone, I picture the clerics on the other side, preparing to attack us.

An excruciating amount of time later, we hear the chiming of a bell from inside the walls and the rumbling of hundreds of feet heading in the same direction.

“Prayer time,” Mal mouths to us.

A few minutes more, and the noise of acolytes piling into the sanctuary has died down enough for me to make out some raised voices. The rabbit comes bounding back into view, its nose twitching excitedly.

“Time to go,” the woman says, and the rebels gather around me, Leon, Alastor, and Eryx.

We’ve practiced this at the base, but I still look to Leon for reassurance as thick vines start to wind their way up the wall thanks to a geostri rebel. Another, an aesteri, crouches by my feet, producing hazy patches in the air to serve as steps.

Eryx and Leon take the vines, climbing them with so much grace and ease I feel like a stumbling toddler trying to navigate my route up the wall.

“Don’t overthink,” Alastor reminds me as I step onto the first hazy spot, letting it take my weight, then hauling my foot up to the next.

That’s this aesteri’s gift: she can pressurize the air so that it’s almost a solid surface, but only for a few seconds.

I move from point to point until I can hook my arms onto the top of the wall and pull myself up onto it.

The roof of a laundry house sits just below the wall, and I quickly roll down onto it before anyone can spot me. That’s why we had to come over at this point—it has the best cover.

Leon’s already waiting on the ground with Eryx. I scooch down to the edge of the roof and allow him to lift me down the rest of the way. Alastor follows close behind me.

“Right,” Eryx gives me a rare grin. “Let’s go cleric hunting.”

We’re counting on at least one of the senior clerics considering themselves exempt from the ritual of the daily prayers. I keep my eyes peeled as we move through the buildings for the telltale glimpse of red robes other than ours.

I can hear the chanting from the sanctuary, a low drone that echoes through the complex.

Mal’s right, it is extremely creepy. A door closes nearby, and Leon sprints around the corner toward the noise.

There’s a muffled cry, and we hurry around to find him with his hand over a senior cleric’s mouth, a blade against the man’s throat.

“There’s a codex Caledon’s been using here in Bastion,” he growls into the cleric’s ear. “And you’re going to tell us where to find it.”

“Or I could just ask him,” Alastor suggests. “Might be quicker.”

Leon frowns at him. “I thought you said you weren’t at full strength.”

Alastor shrugs. “I think I can manage this.”

He steps up to the wide-eyed cleric, letting his magic fizz around him.

“Where will we find The Codex of Atolus ?” Alastor asks.

Leon removes his hand from the cleric’s mouth, allowing him to answer.

“It’s in the proctor’s study,” he says, looking at Alastor like the blond fae is his best friend.

“And where is that?” Alastor asks.

“In the sanctuary, on the left off the main hall.”

“Shit,” I say. Most of Bastion is crowded into the one place we need to go.

“Thank you,” Alastor says to the cleric. The man smiles, glad to have pleased his friend. Then Leon slides his blade across the cleric’s throat.

I look away as they hide the body in a gap between the buildings.

It’s not like I’m surprised at what Leon did.

It was the simplest, safest way to ensure this cleric wouldn’t be a problem for us.

I still wish the death wasn’t necessary, even the death of a child-stealing, brainwashing cleric like him.

We get as close as we dare to the sanctuary for now, staring at its thick wooden doors. Now that we’re closer, I can make out some of the words of the chant:

“ …to serve and obey the messenger of Ethira on earth.

As the gods will it.

To give all we are to him and be guided by his wisdom.

As the gods will it… ”

The idea of trying to sneak in there with all those brainwashed acolytes makes me shiver.

“What are we going to do?” I ask.

“I say we go in,” Alastor says.

“How? We don’t have any idea of the layout; there might not even be another way in except for the front entrance.”

“Yes,” Alastor says slowly. “And that’s the one I think we should use.”

“You think they’re in so deep a trance they won’t notice us?” Eryx asks doubtfully.

“They won’t if I help keep them in that state,” Leon says.

My eyebrows shoot up, understanding dawning. “Dream magic can keep them from waking up from the trance?”

“Yes. You heard Esther—they drug these kids up to their eyeballs with that opios stuff,” Leon says. “I can’t send people who are fully awake to sleep, but I can control people who are mostly there already.”

We look the part in our cleric robes. As long as everyone is too far under to question why we’re not taking part in the ritual, I can see us passing by without issue. I look at the doors to the sanctuary. The codex is so close I can feel it—just beyond that entrance.

“Let’s do it,” I say.

We gather together outside the doors. The chanting is close now; the sound thrums in my chest. Leon reaches for the handle and closes his eyes.

“There’s hundreds of them,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’ll only be able to help a little. We need to be slow and quiet. No sudden movements or noises that could break the spell.”

We nod, and then he twists the handle and eases the door open, inch by inch.

A wave of voices washes over us, reminding me of the drone of an insect colony. There’s a strong smell too, the waft of something pungent and earthy. Leon notices me inhaling.

“We should be alright for a few minutes, but don’t breathe in too deeply,” he suggests.

One by one, we slip inside. I see them at last—rows and rows of yellow-clad acolytes, kneeling and staring straight ahead toward a tapestry of Ethira fixed at the other end of the hall. In each aisle, bowls of incense burn, the smoke drifting over the children.

And they are children. The oldest ones, maybe age sixteen, are at the back. But the acolytes’ heights get shorter and shorter further up. Right at the front, I spot some heartbreakingly small figures.

Leon signals to me to start moving, and we creep beyond the first row of acolytes. I risk peering into their faces. Their eyes are wide open, but unseeing, and their lips move in perfect unison.

“ …As the gods will it… ” they chant, over and over, interspersed with affirmations about the Temple and their sacred duty.

Blood rushes in my ears and my heart beats so fast I’m sure they must hear it, but as we move down the left-hand aisle, no one raises the alarm. No heads turn in our direction. Leon’s magic must be working.

I’m concentrating so hard on watching them that I miss the uneven flagstone by my feet. I trip, and for a single, terrifying moment think I’m going to fall. Then Leon grabs me, strong arms steadying my clumsy body.

Eryx beckons us toward where Alastor is already standing beside a door off the hall. I move as quickly as I dare, eager to escape the sedated acolytes.

But once we pass through the door, it’s clear to us this can’t be the study the senior cleric described.

It looks more like a healer’s room, with trolleys of glass bottles and metal instruments.

There’s a strange metallic smell in the air, and four marble slabs dominate the room, each big enough for a large dog to lie on.

Or a child.

The slab at the far end of the room is smeared with blood. I take a closer look at the instruments on the nearest trolley.

“Come on, let’s go, there must be another room,” I choke out, desperate to get away as soon as I realize where we’re standing.

“What is this place?” Alastor whispers.

“It’s a sterilizing room,” I say, feeling sick. “None of the clerics can have children. This is why. They must operate on the children when they first get here.”

Leon curses under his breath, and Eryx is pale with rage.

“May they rot in the Gloamlands for eternity,” he growls.

“Come on,” I say, new determination burning in my veins. “We’re wasting time.”

When we slip out of that cursed room, there’s no change in the chanting acolytes. When we get a few steps further and see another room off the left of the hall, I pray we’ve found the place we’re looking for.

Relief floods through me as we’re greeted by the smell of old books and ink.

That feeling ebbs when I see just how many books fill the shelves.

We’ll need some time here if we’re going to find the codex.

The prayer ritual only lasts for an hour, and we’ve already eaten a chunk of that up just getting into the complex.

“Spread out,” Leon orders. Alastor and I frantically start scanning the shelves as Leon and Eryx rifle through the desk.

We’ve only been searching for five minutes when all three fae freeze.

“Footsteps,” Leon says. “Hide.”