“Delilah, you’re with Miriam this morning.” Grace grabs me from the line of Maidens headed to training.

Eve shoots me a concerned look, but continues walking as Grace pulls me past the training room and toward the wing of the Cloister where the Spinners live. I’ve rarely been over this way, the most memorable time being when Grace took me to her office and broke my finger.

“Best behavior.” Venom infuses her words. “I don’t want some stupid bitch like you making me look bad to Miriam.”

“You don’t need my help to do that.” It was supposed to be just a thought. It wasn’t.

She halts and shoves me against the wall. “Maybe you think you’ve got Adam fooled so you’re untouchable. Is that it? I guarantee you that’s not the case. The Cloister is mine. I will do whatever I have to do to keep all you cunts in line.”

I don’t push back. I’ve already done enough.

“One more word from you, and I’ll break all your fingers and scar your face.”

I swallow, my mouth going dry.

“Don’t think I’ll do it? Just ask that dyke Chastity.” She backs off and shoves me down the hall.

I walk ahead of her, my thoughts roiling. I’d often wondered about the scar on Chastity’s forehead but assumed it was from some accident. Did Grace put it there out of spite?

“Stop.” She points to a closed door. “Here.”

I open it to find Miriam seated at a long conference table with cushy leather chairs. A white binder sits in front of her, and an uncharacteristically sour look mars her face. “You’re late.”

“Apologies. We were just—”

“I don’t need your excuses. You—” She points at me. “Sit down. You—” She flicks her wrist at Grace. “Get out.”

Grace bristles, but doesn’t bite. She closes the door as I take a chair across from Miriam. Wearing a high-necked forest-green dress, she appears to be following the Prophet’s strict new edict on women’s appearance.

I fold my hands in my lap and drop my gaze, doing my best to look like the obedient Maiden she expects.

“Cut that shit out. You’re giving me the creeps.” She flips open her binder, and I look up as she pages through several sheets of paper. “We’re here to discuss your placement with Senator Roberts. You’ll skip training for the rest of the week. The Prophet asked the senator to tell us if he has any preferences for you—as in if he wants you silent, or trained in the whip, or delivered with a butt plug, or what—but he didn’t specify anything. Just wants you as you are.” She gives me an appraising glance. “Though I don’t know why. Anyway, that’s not an entirely bad thing, since it’ll give us more time to talk through what’s expected of you as a senator’s wife, but first and foremost, as one of the Prophet’s chosen.”

I shift in my seat. The way she speaks makes the idea of being Evan’s wife a little too real. Queasy, I take a deep breath and try to calm myself.

She looks at her French tips, far more interested in them than me. “The Prophet asked me here as a special favor. I don’t like being away from Montgomery too long—and this is something you need to learn too—because when I’m away from the governor for more than a day or two, his interest in me can wane. That’s unacceptable. Your training is intended to make sure you’re always what your husband wants, always open to try what he suggests. By making yourself invaluable in the bedroom, you solidify your place next to your husband. Understand?”

“I think so but—”

“Good.” She ignores me and flips a page in the binder. “Your guy is thirty-five, handsome, and from what we’ve gleaned at the Chapel—really into power play. Never married, a big up-and-comer in D.C., and known to visit certain sex clubs under an alias. Now, tell me how you intend to use this information to better the Prophet.” She looks up at me expectantly.

I’m a kid in school, naked, and without my homework done. “I, um… I would—”

She rolls her eyes. “Why’d he have to pick a dumb one?” Utterly gone is the beauty queen façade. Here, she’s all business and fully invested in the Prophet and his message—and particularly shrewd about it. “Let me ask that in a way someone like you can understand.” She laces her fingers together on top of the binder. “From what I’ve just told you, what tools do you have in your arsenal to please your husband?”

I grab the low-hanging fruit. “Perfect obedience?”

“Jesus.” She shakes her head at me like I’m an utter idiot. “Perfect obedience is for all the stupid sheep, not for us.”

I don’t point out that she’s wearing granny clothes solely based on the Prophet’s teaching of “perfect obedience.”

“Look, your guy is into power play. That means he wants to feel challenged, but in the end, he wants to be in control.”

“So you want me to challenge him?” At least that comes naturally, though this entire prep session is just a hypothetical. I’ll never belong to Evan Roberts.

“Obviously.” She sighs. “Fight him a little. Give him something he feels he has to overcome. That sort of thing excites him. Then let him be alpha and do whatever he wants with you.”

“Okay.” So not okay.

“But that’s not what’s important.”

“It’s important to me.”

“Listen, Mary or Sharon or whatever your name is—there is no ‘you’.” Her eyes harden, and she reminds me of a predatory bird, some sort of hawk. “Not anymore. Everything you are belongs to the Prophet. You exist only to further his goals. You owe everything you have to him. It doesn’t matter what Evan Roberts does to your body. He can fuck you, cut you, hurt you, do whatever his little depraved heart desires. And you will let him do it because it pleases him. Pleasing him is your job, because by pleasing him, you can please the Prophet.”

I cross my arms over my chest and return her icy glare. “What else?”

“You’re finally getting it.” She drums her nails on the table. “Once you get him where you want by being the perfect sex toy, he’ll feel comfortable to share things with you. Pillow talk. About what he’s doing in D.C., dirty secrets, desires, plans. All of that information is what you will send back to the Prophet. Understand?”

“So, I’m a spy.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Her tone grows more conspiratorial. “First you have to get his trust by fucking him the way he likes. Men are easy like that. If they want you, they trust you. So you have to keep the bedroom hot at all times. That’s how you’ll get him to share information with you. And after that—once you’ve proven your worth—the Prophet will give you instructions.”

“Like what?”

“You’ll see. But, usually, it involves nudging your husband in the right direction.”

“You mean nudging him to do something to benefit the Prophet?”

“Oh, look who’s not as dumb as she seems.” She smirks.

“This is how you live as the governor’s wife? Perfect fuck toy, obedient wife, but a spy for the Prophet?”

She looks away, finally, staring at an empty corner of the room. “I do what I have to do to serve the Prophet.” The snark is gone from her tone, replaced by a bone-aching sort of tired that seems too heavy for her to bear.

“Don’t you ever want anything for yourself?”

She whips her head back around, her brief moment of honesty fading behind a thin smile. “I don’t need anything except the Prophet’s love and approval. He gives me plenty of both, and I’m guaranteed a spot at his right hand in our heavenly home.”

“He tells you you’re his favorite, doesn’t he? He told me the same thing. That I’m chosen, that I’m special. He tells all of us the—”

She leans forward, her eyes narrowing. “But with me, he means it. Don’t mistake your place. I don’t care if you marry the president, you aren’t above me. You’ll see. I am truly chosen.”

Some delusions are far too strong to be broken.

* * *

Eve sits next to me at lunch, her knee knocking against mine beneath the table. I glance up, scanning the room for any Spinners who might be looking our way.

“Sarah.” That one word in Eve’s broken whisper haunts me, and I have to take a deep breath to fight off the tears.

“I know.” I squeeze her hand.

She leans even closer. “What is the Father of Fire? Does he mean the devil? Did he send Sarah to hell?” Her urgent whispers cut me.

I glance up to make sure the Spinners aren’t watching before responding. “I think he believes he speaks to the devil, yeah. But that’s just crazy talk, like everything else here.”

“The fire. Did you see it?”

“Fire does stuff like that.” I’ve been telling myself the same thing ever since I witnessed the vortex of flames behind the Prophet. It was nothing. “Doesn’t mean anything. Sarah’s not in hell.” I don’t even believe in hell, but that’s beside the point.

“I can’t stay here.” She forks a limp piece of broccoli, but doesn’t eat it.

“Don’t do anything that could—” I halt my words as a Spinner turns toward us. Taking a big bite of my greens, I chew the unseasoned mush until the Spinner looks away again. I swallow the lump and continue, “Don’t try anything.”

“Why not?” Her grip hardens on my hand. “They’ll kill me or make me a whore or send me to hell with Sarah. I’d rather try to get away than—” She yelps.

“Separate!” Grace grabs Eve by the collar and drags her to another, empty table. “There is no talking, and no one is above the rules.” She hits Eve on the upper arm. “Understood?”

“Yes.” Eve cowers as Grace storms back over to me. “From now on, you eat alone. You speak to no one. I will not allow you to poison these Maidens against me!” Her mouth twists in fury as she raises her baton.

I cover my head and wait for the blow.

“No marks.” Abigail calls from the kitchen window. “Not on that one. You going to disobey the Prophet?”

Everyone in the room stills, even Grace. She glares at the old Spinner, but lowers her baton, then sheaths it in her belt. “Eat! And you—” She points at Abigail. “See me in my office once your lunch duty is done.”

“Of course, Grace.” Abigail returns to scrubbing the pass-through window, ignoring whatever daggers Grace still throws at her as she storms from the dining room.

I sit up, shame coloring my cheeks at the way I cowered.

Once Grace is gone, Susannah reaches toward me, grasping for Eve’s tray. I push it toward her, and she snags it and transfers it to Eve’s table. Eve clutches her arm, silent tears streaming down her face.

Chastity emerges from the kitchen, a tray of rolls in her hands. My mouth waters at the sight. Bread! How long has it been since we’ve had anything even resembling the simple deliciousness of bread? The Prophet wants to keep us lean, which Grace says is the form “most pleasing to the Lord,” so carbs are quite a rebellion.

“I baked them last night, so they’re a bit old.” She hands them out around the room, the Maidens taking greedy bites.

When I get mine, I do the same, and I almost moan at how good it is. Cold, a little stale, and absolutely perfect. I want to scoop more off the tray, to hoard the dwindling supply for myself.

Chastity visits Eve last, surreptitiously sneaking her two rolls instead of one. She leans over and whispers something in her ear, but I can’t hear it, before disappearing back into the kitchen. Abigail hasn’t looked up at all since Grace left, intentionally ignorant of the contraband bread.

Eve takes a roll in her palm, sniffs it, then bites. Her eyes close, and she’s in bread nirvana with the rest of us.

My roll is long gone, and I peer at the kitchen window. I want to warn Chastity that Tuesday night is important, that we have a real chance of escape. But I can’t get to her. And a shadow creeps across my mind—can I trust her? Would she turn us in? I don’t think so, but that doesn’t mean I should take the risk of alerting her something’s coming. She’ll know when it happens. If it happens.

Then again, I know she has more information on Georgia. This may be my last chance to find out what happened to her. I want to leave here, to destroy the Prophet and all he’s working for, but I can’t let go of the thread that brought me here in the first place. So many times, I’ve wanted to ask Adam about her. Even though I feel in my heart that he wasn’t the one who killed her, what if I’m wrong? I don’t know if I could bear it. A flash of him with the knife at Sarah’s—no, Georgia’s—throat bursts through my mind, and the bread threatens to come back up.

If I confess to him, it could just muddy the waters and ruin our escape attempt, which hovers on the edge of disaster already. I have no illusions that Adam’s plan won’t result in bloodshed. There’s no way he can save me or himself from the Prophet without violence.

The forbidden bread reassures me that Chastity will fight for us and for herself. I just hope the rest of the Maidens will see the opening and do what they must to regain their freedom.

And even if they aren’t ready to fight, I am.