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A scribe with the ear piercings that denoted their permanent vows to the pantheon guided us to the bench just in front of the altar—the position of honor of those attending the invocation—with a soft smile. I helped Amethyst settle herself before taking a seat myself.

“Happy equinox, Your Highness,” the scribe murmured as she gave a small bow. Then she turned to Amethyst and offered a similar bow. “Happy equinox, my lady.”

Amethyst gave a small smile and tilt of her chin.

As the scribe turned to welcome more of the attendees, Vincent slid into the spot to my left. His hair was pulled back in the more formal twists rather than his typical single braid, silver leaves woven through them like mine. Like me, he also wore the black ribbon denoting the loss of an immediate family member within the hairstyle, the ends of it brushing his shoulders. It was something Amethyst had not mentioned while we rode from the estate into the city, though her gaze had lingered in the difference between our hairstyles.

Behind us, Shelby and Amaria sat with Phillip and Heath, both wearing their full regalia rather than just the chest plate armor they wore most days. A murmur rose as more of the attendees were seated, small conversations that were low enough I couldn’t pick out any meaning. Even the quiet murmurs of Amaria and Phillip were indistinguishable to me.

The earth below me moved slowly, lazily, reaching for me the same as it had the morning before the Grand Rite. Vincent grunted as he must have noticed it, but beside me, Amethyst didn’t say anything. Instead, she was still as a statue, her chin held high and her hands cradled in her lap, the opal stone in the center of her own circlet shimmering in the candlelight. Her gaze, though, traveled over the foyer, taking in the candles and altar and the slowly lightening sky behind the stained glass windows.

The conversations filling the foyer cut off all at once with the heavy thud of the doors closing. A weighty expectation rose, a lifeblood brimming with growing excitement. The scribes slowly walked the aisles, their heads lowered as they murmured prayers. No one said a word as all ten stepped onto the dais and took their seats behind the altar. From our vantage, each disappeared from view entirely.

The growing anticipation grew even heavier as a stillness settled over the grand room. I adjusted the hem of the formal tunic, tracing a bit of the silver embroidery. The circlet felt heavy today, like it was a beacon in truth that everyone around me was hyper aware of. The ache for the cream tunics and pants the scribes wore was worse than it had been in a long, long time. The restlessness of the earth beneath was not helping. The tendrils grew longer, more insistent, as the minutes passed.

Just as the light behind the windows was truly lightening with the first hints of the sunrise, the door that led to Freia’s sanctum opened and two Votarists stepped into the main hall. Their hoods were raised, their faces hidden in the dark shadows. They held their hands clasped in front of them, unmarred acora feathers in their grip. Amethyst’s breath caught with the sight, and the earth’s tendrils trembled around me, sinking low before gathering higher again, nearly to my knees. I wanted to touch her, hold her hand and lace my fingers with hers. Instead, I clenched my hand and traced the Mark nestled between my thumb and forefinger.

A reverence rose in the assembly as the Votarists stepped onto the dais, offering small bows to the scribes before setting the feathers on the altar. They spoke together, their voices ringing through the space, nearly as powerful as when I’d been entered into the record for the Grand Rite. Familiarity washed over me, soothing the part of me that chafed at the circlet and the clothing and the central position within the basilica that denoted my heritage.

For the first time in decades, though, I found myself unable to focus on the Votarist.

As the invocation continued, the Votarists lifting the various herbs from the altar and offering them as part of the tradition, Amethyst grew more restless. She fidgeted with her dress, picking at some of the embroidery framing the panels that would be removed upon our Freia rites being completed. Then she fiddled with the lapis lazuli pendant she still wore as a necklace, the gem visible above the v-neck of the dress. Below and around me, the earth mirrored her disquiet, the tendrils nearly vibrating. Then, one lashed out, reaching nearly to my waist, sliding around me like a vine. Vincent’s breath caught as he must have felt it, too.

I eased a hairsbreadth closer to Amethyst, letting my leg barely brush hers. My scent wrapped around her, too, the pine and wisteria equally prominent. She took a long, slow breath, and her growing nerves seemed to settle.

I forced my attention back to the Votarists. They turned to the scribes, offering them benediction for the coming season. As one, the ten of them rose, baskets full of dried versions of what was on the altar in their arms. They stepped off the dais and started down the aisles, spreading the fragrant herbs and flowers along the floor and among the rows of benches. They were methodical as ever, ensuring each person in attendance had a smattering of the mixture land on and around them. Amethyst carefully picked up a snowdrop petal, twisting it in her hand the way she had her pendant.

Swallowing the sudden nerves that crowded my throat, I took one of the sprigs of rosemary and carefully added it to the silver trinkets in her hair, nestling it just behind her ear in one of the twists Shelby had done. Her cheeks flushed as her gaze slid to me. She lowered her focus to the various herbs in my own lap and on the bench. Her hand trembled as she took the snowdrop petal in her hold and added it to my own hair adornments. She was dextrous, not a single strand pulling even as I felt the black ribbon of mourning catch for a moment as she arranged it around the additional petal.

I hadn’t exchanged ephemera at an equinox since my sister married and moved to Briosia nearly three years ago.

My smile was soft. Amethyst’s flush grew deeper before her lips curved into a gentle smile, too. Goddess, I wanted to kiss her. Others around us were, their whispered affections murmurs in the air. But my vow to her rang through my mind. She hadn’t requested any touch, and the last place I would break my word would be the Collective Basilica under the attention of the gods. I had already shirked one of their edicts in not sending Amethyst home. I would not cast aside yet another vow in their presence.

The scribes returned to the dais, sinking back behind the altar, and I brought my attention forcefully to the ending of the invocation.

“May the next season be full of growth and gratitude. May we walk forward, leaving none in the dormancy of winter as we set our intentions with the Goddess to be beacons of prosperity and selfless giving.”

As the Votarist finished the final invocation, the sunrise broke through the stained glass, the bright light spilling into the room and falling across the altar. Even so many years after I witnessed it the first time, my breath caught in unadulterated awe. Amethyst’s gasp blended with others that cut through the quiet hall. In the next second, her hair moved in a created wind, pulling off her shoulders and revealing the translation mark just behind her ear. The earth around me responded, too, reaching for her, twisting up and around the bench. The bits of ephemera still in our laps and on the ground near our feet lifted, spinning in the air like leaves caught in a fall wind.

What about the invocation had made her so anxious?

Amaria and Shelby both gasped behind us, and Phillip murmured a low curse. Without thinking, I laced my fingers with hers, the same as I had in the Zimerus Forest. At once, her magic settled around her. The herbs and petals settled back into our laps. I grabbed one of the rosemary sprigs and held it loosely in my other hand. I could feel the attention of most of the room, but I kept my gaze forward, focusing on where the Votarists had taken the acora feathers back into their hold and had stepped off the dais. They walked down the aisles, murmuring the final prayer in the ancient language of the gods. As they passed, the fire jars extinguished, symbolizing the leaving of winter behind.

When they had left through doors that flanked the back of the hall, the scribes rose. Each touched the altar as they passed it, murmuring their own final prayer. Most were in Alwesh, but two used the language of the gods. As the last of the scribes passed, I eased Amethyst to her feet and guided her into the aisle behind Vincent, keeping my hand in hers as we joined the procession that would lead us out the main doors, ready to welcome the new season with the rest of the city.

I kept far enough behind her I wouldn’t accidentally step on the small train of the dress she wore. As we passed those who had not yet joined the procession, each person dropped into small bows or curtsies, their eyes dropping in supplication. Amethyst’s hair whipped around her, and I squeezed her hand, offering comfort for her unease at the attention.

The main doors opened with a motion from one of the scribes, filling the hall with even more of the morning light. The scribes turned as they walked through the entrance, flanking the doors, their hands clasped in front of them and small smiles tilting their lips. Vincent passed them without pause, descending the stairs and stopping a few feet into the square immediately in front of the basilica. We joined him a moment later, and I dropped my hold on Amethyst. Amaria and Shelby surrounded her as they finished their own procession. Phillip and Heath stood a few feet away, their hands on the short swords sheathed on their hips. The white half-capes of their full regalia stirred in the morning breeze flowing toward the lake.

Murmurs became true conversations as the last of those who had attended the invocation decanted into the street. Shelby whispered something to Vincent, and he gave her a small smile as he nodded. Amaria had a few sprigs of rosemary tucked into the large silver clasp she had in her hair. Vaguely, I wondered if it had been Shelby who had offered it or one of the guardsmen. Shelby had no ephemera added to her coronet braid. I glanced toward the men. Sure enough, Heath had two basil leaves now pinned to his half-cape with the silver brooch on his left shoulder.

“What does this mean?” Amethyst asked quietly enough no one but me had a hope of hearing. She gestured to the rosemary I’d added to her hair decorations.

Before answering, I added the other sprig of rosemary to her hair, above her other ear, so that they were symmetrical.

“They’re offers of affection to those who mean the most to us.” My voice was soft like hers but a bit hoarse with emotion I didn’t have the self-control to name. “An unspoken statement that you are one of the people I will not allow to stay in the time of dormancy, alone and isolated. It’s a symbol of intention.”

The implication was clear enough in the heavy silence between us.