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A glint of light caught her eye and she walked over to its source. The water in one of the crystal basins was moving in ever-slowing circles, as if the thing had been used just now.

She looked around. “Hello?”

There was no answer, just the sweet smell of lemon, which suggested No’One had been by recently with her cleaning cloth. Which was a bit of a waste of time, really. There was no dust, no grime, no dirt to be dealt with here, but then No’One was a part of the great Chosen tradition, wasn’t she.

Nothing to do but make-work that served no great purpose.

As Payne turned to leave and passed by all the vacant chairs, the sense of her mother’s failure was as prevalent as the silence that abounded.

She didn’t like the female, for truth. But there was a sad reality to all the plans that had been made that had come to naught: Design a breeding program to weed out defects so that the race was strong. Face the enemy on the field on earth and win. Have her many children serve her with love, obedience, and joy.

Where was the Scribe Virgin now? Alone. Unworshiped. Unliked.

And the coming generations were even less likely to follow her ways, given the manner in which so many parents had strayed from tradition.

Leaving the empty room, Payne stepped out into the pervasive milky light and—

Down by the reflecting pool, a brilliant yellow shape shifted and danced like a tulip in a breeze.

Payne strode toward the figure and as she got closer, she decided Layla had evidently lost her mind.

The Chosen was singing a song that had no words, her body moving to a rhythm that had no fiddle, her hair swinging around like a flag.

It was the first and only time the female had not worn a chignon in the fashion of all Chosen—at least that Payne had seen.

“My sister!” Layla said, coming to a halt. “Forgive me.”

Her brilliant smile was brighter than the yellow of her robing and her scent was louder than it had ever been, the fragrance of cinnamon ringing in the air as sure as her lovely voice had.

Payne shrugged. “There’s nothing to forgive. Verily, your song is pleasing to the ear.”

Layla’s arms resumed their elegant swinging. “’Tis a lovely day, is it not?”

“Indeed.” From out of nowhere, Payne felt a bolt of fear. “Your mood is much improved.”

“’Tis, ’tis.” The Chosen pirouetted around, pointing her foot in a lovely arch before springing up into the air. “Verily, ’tis a lovely day.”

“Whatever has pleased you so?” Although Payne knew the answer. Transformations of disposition, after all, were rarely spontaneous—most required a trigger.

Layla slowed her dance, her arms and hair drifting downward and coming to a rest. As her elegant fingers lifted to her mouth, she seemed at a loss for words.

She has been of proper service, Payne thought. No longer was her experience as an ehros just theory.

“I . . .” The blush on those cheeks was vibrant.

“Say no more, just know I am happy for you,” Payne murmured, and that was largely true. But there was a part of her which felt curiously dejected.

Was it now just her and No’One who were of no use? Seemed so.

“He kissed me,” Layla said, looking toward the reflecting pool. “He . . . laid his mouth upon mine.”

With grace, the Chosen sat upon the lip of marble and trailed her hand through the still water. After a moment, Payne joined her because sometimes it was better to feel something, anything. Even if it was an ache.

“You enjoyed it, yes?”

Layla stared at her own reflection, her blond hair trailing over her shoulder until the blunt ends hit the silvery surface of the pool. “He was . . . a fire within me. A great burning rush that . . . consumed me.”

“So you are virgin no longer.”

“He stopped us both after the kissing. He said he wanted me to be sure.” The sensuous smile that touched the female’s face was a clear echo of the passion. “I was certain, and still am. So is he. Indeed, his warrior’s body was ready for me. Hungry for me. To be desired in such a way was a