“A respite,” Kostas said, nodding. “I understand this. But why are they helping us?”

“They care for those in need, particularly the injured or mentally distressed. Evren, one of Orsala’s peers, spoke to his son’s watcher, explaining about your women—do not be afraid he will break confidence, he gave me his word.”

Kostas tossed Malachi a grim smile. “I suppose the word of a silent monk is about as secure as it gets, eh?”

“I’d agree,” Malachi said. “But they’re not monks. Rafaene scribes take vows for seven years only. Then they are required to reenter the world. That is the maximum amount of time the council allows for meditation.”

“But while they practice their vows,” Damien said, “they live in compounds not unlike monasteries. Quiet, safe places where troubled minds might heal.”

Kostas stood before them, naked to his skin. Malachi couldn’t help but notice that despite the man’s inhuman beauty, his body was scarred beneath his clothes. He’d either been damaged by angelic blades or been injured too profoundly to heal without marks. The heavy scars were a jarring counterpart to his otherwise perfect form.

“You’re thinking of the kareshta,” Kostas said, standing naked and yet still defiant. “You think they might find refuge in these places.”

Malachi said, “There are Rafaene compounds spread around the world. It is an option.”

Kostas looked doubtful as he watched the quiet man who had covered his head with a ceremonial wrap.

“Rafaenes protect those who shelter with them as part of their vows,” Malachi said. “These are no soft scholars, but some of the fiercest warriors our race possesses. It is because of their skill and prowess in battle that they are most in need of retreat. They will defend those under their care to the death.”

Kostas nodded. “I will speak to my sister. I need to be wrapped? Like him?” He pointed toward the silent scribe, who approached with a basket of linen.

The man nodded.

“They will not stop you at the ritual baths,” Damien said. “Rafaenes are not common in the Library, but they do occasionally make an appearance. Because they live silently and in peace, they are not required to ritually bathe unless they have recently experienced battle. If you are dressed as a Rafaene, no one will stop you or question your lack of talesm.”

Malachi smiled. “It’s brilliant. As long as we can vouch for you and you have a letter from this house, no one will think twice. You won’t have to speak. Rafaenes are even urged to refrain from eye contact.”

Kostas looked at the silent scribe who held up a roll of linen, wordlessly asking to begin wrapping him. The Grigori nodded.

“Thank you, brother,” Damien said.

The scribe said nothing, crouching to wrap Kostas, starting with his feet and working his way up the man’s legs, covering every inch of skin in linen.

“I feel like I’m being prepared for the grave,” Kostas grumbled. “How do they live like this?”

Malachi saw the silent one’s shoulders shake, and he guessed he was laughing.

“It’s not easy,” Damien said. “Or healthy for us. At least not in the long term. That is another reason only seven years is allowed. Before the Rending, we were an affectionate people. Irin need touch to remain healthy.”

“We are the same,” Kostas said quietly. “At least that is what we have learned. My soldiers who care for their sisters—especially the children—are stronger. More stable.”

“It is the way it was meant to be,” Damien said quietly. “I begin to see that now. How could any race survive with no balance?”

Malachi said, “Far more is at stake today than the fate of the Irin Council.”

THEY took a taxi to the Hofburg. Luckily, their heavy winter clothes covered the ritual wrappings, which were already making Kostas squirm.

“So this is what those uncomfortable underthings the women wear feel like,” he grumbled. “I think I’d prefer to be naked beneath my clothes.”

Malachi stifled a smile. “That’s a little more information than we wanted, Kostas.”

“Then you wear this next time.”

“No need.” He puffed out his chest a bit. “My talesm are complete.”

The spiraling vows that Ava had spoken now decorated his left chest. It was a basic tattoo right now, only the words were finished. Malachi would embellish it at his leisure, but the core of the written spell was complete.

“Gabriel’s blood, you’re going to be obnoxious about that now, aren’t you?” Rhys said.

Damien laughed. “Newly mated male.”

“I did not congratulate you or Ava,” Kostas said. “My apologies and belated good wishes. I’m sure this is cause for celebration.”

“It is.”

Rhys asked, “Your kind take no mates, do they?”

Kostas’s face closed down. “No.”

They arrived at the Library past the morning rush, but many scribes were still in the process of bathing when they entered. Damien had been correct. No one gave Kostas a second glance after he handed over the letter signed by the Rafaene watcher. While Malachi, Rhys, and Damien did their ablutions, Kostas quietly changed into the hooded robe Damien gave him.

As they left the baths, the watcher said, “Try to remain silent in company.”

“Do I need to guess what the pockets in this robe are for?”

“You’ll see,” Damien said. “Follow us and do not speak.”

The Irina Council was taking their desks today, and the news had spread. The scribes’ gallery was packed. They could barely find room along the edges, and some scribes were forced to stand on the stairs.

“Do you see Ava and Sari?” Malachi asked, craning his neck to see across the room. Unlike their last visit, the singers’ gallery was also crowded. Not packed, but Malachi could see many Irina watching as the seven chosen elders assembled at the top of the stairs.

The elder scribes waited below, some with sour expressions and others wearing wide smiles. Gabriel’s employer, Konrad, was beaming.

“Do you see Gabriel?” Damien asked.

Malachi scanned the crowd nearest to the top of the stairwell where Gabriel would have his position as Konrad’s secretary.

“There,” Rhys said. “I see him.”

Malachi bent closer. “Is he involved in this?”

“No,” Damien said. “I simply hoped he would not miss the ceremony. Tala, his mate, was slated to take a council seat when she was killed. This would be… important to her.”

Malachi was still searching for Ava.

“It is important to us all,” Rhys said. “Damien, are you sure—?”

“I want you here,” the watcher said. “Keep in contact with Malachi.”

“Fine, just make sure the Luddite checks his phone.”

“I’m not a Luddite.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “A higher score in Angry Birds does not make you technologically literate. Just keep your phone on. I’m going to stand with Gabriel.”

Malachi glanced at Kostas, whom he could tell was bursting with questions he couldn’t ask.

He was about to make Rhys’s excuses when he saw a flash of dark curls along the stairwell.

Ava.

Malachi smiled. She was radiant in her robes, her hair not tied back as was traditional, but falling in soft waves down her back.

“There she is,” Malachi said.

He saw her pull a thick shank of hair over her shoulder just as she drew something small and black from a fold of her robe. She crossed her arms casually as her hand twisted in the fall of hair. Her fingers…

She was holding something.

As her shoulders slowly angled toward the stairs, he saw it.

A tiny camera, no bigger than her thumb. If he wasn’t looking for it, it would have totally escaped his notice.

Malachi sighed. “Damn it. The woman is incorrigible.”

Damien turned. “What?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Maybe.

“They’re almost ready.”

He could see the seven women walking down the stairs. The rustles and murmurs of the crowd had stilled. There was only the sound of shuffling feet and excited breaths as, one by one, the seven elder singers took the desks that Sari had pulled to the center of the room.