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A sob burst from Ismene. “Please take me to the sanctuary. Please. I have nowhere else to go, and I am afraid.”

Portia raised a hand and slowly unwound her palla.

I couldn’t hold back a gasp.

Ismene was speechless.

A web of hideous red scars crisscrossed the woman’s beautiful face along her cheeks and jaw.

“Who did this to you?” Ismene whispered.

“I did it to myself.”

“To yourself? But why?” I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the brutal sight.

“So I wouldn’t be useful to the pleasure house anymore. So that when I ran, they would let me go. There was no nobleman or Imperator coming for me, and had I stayed, I would have been working for years, one man after the next, until I was cast out for being too old.”

“And you did this to your own face,” Ismene whispered.

Portia ran her thumb over the scars on her disfigured cheek. “I’m not the only one. You must understand that allowing our refuge to be discovered is unacceptable after all that has been sacrificed to keep it hidden.”

A shout from outside reminded me that we weren’t alone in the small village square. “How has it been kept hidden from the people who live right here?”

Portia glanced out the window again and then back to us. “As I told you, they think we’re witches. We haven’t discouraged the idea. They’re afraid of us, and so they leave us alone. Their fear protects us.”

“Yet they let you teach their children?”

“I started a rumor that I once taught the children of a wealthy family in Carrac. A few let their children come to my classroom. Most don’t.”

Ismene wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “Will you take us to the sanctuary? Please? You can trust us.”

Portia seemed to be deep in thought for a few seconds. Finally, she shook her head. “A woman from the Imperial Palace, and another who has been living with a nobleman in the capital? You’ve both already gotten out of Corlivo. You can make your own way. You don’t need us. I won’t risk the safety of my sisters for you.”

Ismene covered her face in despair and cried.

“Wait, please.” I rummaged in my bag and pulled out the tiny carved figurine. “You wanted to see this. Here it is. At the very least, can you tell me anything about it?” I ran my finger over its worn surface, feeling the carved lines that marked the Goddess’s eyes, mouth, and limbs.

Portia seemed to freeze at the sight of the little statue. She held out her hand.

Despite a strange, sudden reluctance to share this one fragile connection I had with my mother, I put it into her palm.

She examined it reverently. “This is a very old object, full of history and meaning. I have only ever seen one other, and that had been passed down from mother to daughter for generations beyond counting. An icon like this carries the blessing of the Goddess.”

She handed it back to me. “It seems I must set aside my doubts about you. This figurine alone is enough to guarantee you safe passage through the doors of our sanctuary—and, I suspect, into many other hidden places across the continent. It would have been a great sacrifice for your mother to give it up.”

I clutched the statue, unable to speak past the lump that had formed in my throat.

She sighed. “Don’t make me regret my choice.”

“Oh, thank you.” Ismene shuddered with relief.

We waited while Portia opened the door and called to the children now gathered outside, telling them there would be no lessons that day.

As their joyful shouts erupted, we followed her out the back door of the schoolhouse and along an overgrown footpath that led through the woods. It wound through the trees and slowly faded until it was just a thinning of the underbrush that we would have quickly lost on our own.

We walked single file through the dense, chilly woods. We could see our breath in the cold air. I tried to contain my excitement about what we might find when we reached our destination.

Portia called back over her shoulder, “Tell me everything you know about your mother.”