Ti’Lee couldn’t sleep all night. No matter how hard he tried to shut his eyes and forget about the nun, he couldn’t stop worrying about her. Would she try to sneak out? Run away? Surely not when it was dark.

He needed her to be there.

She was his ticket into the monastery, to meeting Zin Agar. Ti’Lee couldn’t simply walk up to the man’s house, knock on his front door, and ask him to chat. No one was allowed into the monastery unless they were formally invited. And that nun—that precious nun—could get him in.

Ti’Lee was swelling with jittery anticipation.

Zin was a spiritsmithing prodigy, a holy man. What would happen if he asked to be the man’s apprentice? Would he take him on? Ti’Lee had the book smarts, having read everything he could get his hands on about spiritsmithing, but he lacked practice and practical experience. He still didn’t know why his gauntlet had exploded, which is another reason he needed a teacher. That way, he’d avoid inevitable pitfalls, things books simply couldn’t warn him about.

But there was a deeper reason he wanted to speak with the man. As much as he wanted to be his apprentice, his parents would never let him. Not unless Ti’Lee abandoned his name and shamed theirs forever . . .

He needed guidance.

And Zin could give that to him.

Did he follow his parents’ dream, become an imperial scholar, and save face for the family name? Or did he forsake tradition, shame the Lees, risk getting exiled, and build a life he wanted to live?

He glanced toward a tall window built into the back wall of his room.

The sun hadn’t even risen, but he couldn’t possibly wait any longer. It was better to arrive at the library as early as possible. He was still dressed in his black vest and slacks, so after sliding on his dress shoes and grabbing the keys, he exited his room, crept down the hall, and slipped into the kitchen. A couple of cooks were there, organizing shelves and getting ready to prepare breakfast. They said nothing as he stuffed a pack full of food and bottled water.

He slipped out of the house, and as he passed the gates of his parents’ property, a couple of guards stopped him, asking where he was headed.

“The library,” he said.

“The library?” an older gentleman with an eyepatch said. “At this unholy hour?” They let him pass anyway, but he knew they wouldn’t let him leave their sight. His parents wanted to know where he was at all times.

It didn’t take long for him to reach the library. The key slid into place, unlocking the deadbolt. He pushed the polished door aside and entered, quietly shutting the door behind him and hurrying across the hall.

When he reached a door leading into the common room, he pressed his ear to the woodgrain, listening. When he didn’t hear anything, he carefully twisted the doorknob and then stepped through. As he crept along a carpet—bookshelves on either side of him—he strained to hear something. A snore. A grumble. Gentle breathing. Anything!

As he peeked around one of the shelves and looked into the common room, his jaw dropped. The long tables jutting from the far wall—and even those at the center of the room—were piled with books. Opened scrolls lay abandoned on the tiled floor, stretched wide like great paper carpets.

His first thought was, The loremaster’s going to kill me. Then he perked, realization lighting up his face. The nun. She did this. He frowned. Why?

He heard a gasp, then a thud, and a whispered curse. Heart pounding, he leaned deeper into the room, looking toward the bookshelves. The nun was sitting on the ground, rubbing her forehead. A tome the size of her skull lay open beside her.

Relief swept over him, seeing her there. He swallowed, then licked his dry lips, wondering how he should approach her. If she spotted him from a distance, she might flee. So was sneaking his best option? But that might startle her . . .

As he watched her, he slipped the pack from off his back and took out a loaf of warm bread. She would be hungry. Tempting her with food might just be his best option.

He stepped from his hiding place, and into the common room as he held out the bread. She didn’t notice him, so he just stood there, watching as she dragged the tome to a small pile of books and scrolls. Her Kaithist wraparound robe was the color of pine needles, but the long-sleeve tunic beneath was a shade lighter, as was the headdress enveloping her scalp.

Ti’Lee cleared his throat.

The nun jumped, spinning to face him, eyes large.

“I come in peace.” Ti’Lee held up the bread. “Hungry?”

She narrowed her eyes, crouching in a posture that told him she was about ready to make a run for it. He was about to speak, but decided to let the silence linger. Her eyes darted from him to the books by her feet. She tightened her fists, pursing her lips, as if trying to decide whether to leave them behind or not.

“If I was going to hurt you,” Ti’Lee whispered, his tone gentle. “I would have already done so. I want to help you. And I . . . need your help, too.”

Jasmine crouched by her stack of books, placing a hand on one of the covers, glaring at him like an overprotective bear intent on protecting her cubs. Why wasn’t she speaking? And why did she look like she wanted to tear out his throat with her teeth? Did she treat everyone like this? Heavens, but he shouldn’t be so surprised. Just yesterday, he was at the mercy of a couple of cruel soul artists. The thought made his stomach turn.

“You have a right not to trust me,” Ti’Lee said. “I’m a stranger, and I’m—”

The girl swiped a scroll and darted toward a hall of shelves.

“Hey!” Ti’Lee dropped his pack and sprinted after her, leaping over abandoned scrolls. He reached her before she had a chance to touch the exit. He grabbed her arm, stopping her as he held up the bread.

She winced, as if expecting to be hit by it.

“This is for you,” he whispered. “Honestly, I’m not going to hurt you.” His chest tingled with pity. He wanted to cry, seeing how scared she was.

She eyed the bread suspiciously, then glared at him.

He sighed. “Do you . . . think it’s poisoned or something?”

No response.

Ti’Lee took a bite of the loaf. It crunched, and his mouth salivated as he chewed the crust and the warm fluffy substance. “See?” he said over a mouthful. “No poison.”

She sniffed, looking away from him.

He noticed the scroll in her hand. It was labeled, Cultivation Practices: A Guide for Beginners.

“Beginners?” Ti’Lee cocked a brow as he looked upon her face. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You don’t know how to cultivate?” Is that why nuns never developed their spirit core? Did they merely lack the knowledge?

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But everyone knew how to cultivate. Even the lower class had some measure of practice, which is why all of them were Tins. “The manual you’re trying to steal is . . . lacking. I’m sure you found something better.” He nodded toward the pile she’d gathered. “Come with me.” He released her arm and started toward the pile.

He could sense her hesitation, but eventually the soft pat-pat-pat of her feet followed him from behind. Smart move. If she ran, he’d just catch her again. He wasn’t going to let her go until he got what he wanted. He, of course, wanted to help too, by feeding her and making sure she returned home unharmed. But he needed her word that she’d invite him into the monastery . . .

If a Kaithist nun walked up to his parents’ manor, knocked on their door, and informed them that their son was chosen to make a sacrifice to one of the gods, they’d see it as a good omen, and let him go, no questions asked.

Ti’Lee crouched by her stack of books. One was titled, Meridians and the Dantian. Another, Absorbing Vital Aura: Your Guide to Advancement. These were all good books, but most of them were a little too complex for beginners. There were better volumes she could read, but before he made any recommendations, he needed to make his intentions clear. “I would let you take these books . . .” He looked over his shoulder, toward the nun. She was standing ten paces away, watching him, arms crossed. “. . . but the loremaster does an inventory check every week or so. If anything’s missing, I’m to blame.”

He rose to his feet, facing her. Before speaking, he took another bite of the bread. “Here’s my offer.” He pointed the loaf at her. She flinched. He cringed. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “You invite me to make an offering to the gods, and I’ll let you sneak into this library whenever you like. I’ll even guide you around, help you find books, teach you.” He shrugged. “What do you think?”

The girl’s frown didn’t waiver. She looked off to one side, expression thoughtful.

“Give me something. Please!” He winced. That sounded desperate. But he wouldn’t get anywhere if she refused to speak. As the silence stretched, he considered a new tactic. What if he threatened to hold her here, and show her to the loremaster? That thought alone made him want to vomit. His master would surely beat her, then throw her into prison for life. Unless her leaders bailed her out, of course.

“Why do you want to go the monastery?” she whispered.

Ti’Lee flinched. “You can talk!”

She cocked a brow, arms still folded across her chest.

He raised the bread. “Eat. You’re probably starving.”

“Answer my question first.”

Wow. For a coreless nun, she was pretty bold. “I need to talk with Zin Agar.”

“The Spiritsmith?”

Ti’Lee nodded.

“Why?”

“I’m . . . at a crossroads right now. I want to do what he does, but I’m getting pulled in another direction.” Ti’Lee folded his hands behind his back. “I need guidance.”

“He’s a busy man.”

“I’m a Lee.”

The girl gave him a flat stare.

Ti’Lee cleared his throat. “He’ll make time for me.” He could feel his face flushing. Was he letting his family’s name get to his head? Speaking of names, he didn’t even know hers. He placed his hands together and bowed at the waist. “My name’s Ti’Lee.” When he rose from his bow, he pushed his glasses back and asked, “What’s your name?”

The girl appeared uncertain. “. . . Mon-Jasmine.”

“Mon-Jasmine.” Ti’Lee nodded. “Good to meet you.”

He placed his hands behind his back and glanced around, eyes roving from one messy table of opened books to a carpet of sprawling scrolls. “If you could help me put all these back, I’d be more than happy to let you read through two of the best books on cultivation I’ve ever read and, trust me, I’ve read a lot of books.” Every single one of them, he mentally added.

Ti’Lee moved to a stack on his right and picked up a couple of leatherbound books. “Grab the rest of them,” he told Mon-Jasmine. “And follow me. We need to get this place cleaned up before the loremaster gets here.”

***

Ti’Lee took a deep breath, leaning on a broom while wiping his brow with the sleeve of his nice shirt. He wasn’t winded, nor was he sweating, but if he was anything less than Silver, he would have been.

The common room was immaculate. Tables were free of clutter. Books and scrolls sat neatly on designated shelves. The floors were no longer littered with stray leaves and dust.

Mon-Jasmine sat cross-legged on a long table jutting from the wall, pouring over one of the books Ti’Lee had recommended. Forming Your Core: Cycling for Children. She hadn’t spoken much since their last interaction, but from what he gathered through their short conversation, her spiritual issues stemmed from an inability to form her dantian. Which was odd, because people naturally gathered vital aura. Most of them developed their cores and advanced to Tin before the age of five.

Except for her, he thought, sweeping the final bits of dust into a small pile. And every other nun in the monastery. Whenever an enigma confronted him, he refused to let it go until the mystery was resolved. He barely knew Mon-Jasmine, but there was something intoxicating about her drive to cultivate. It fired him up about his own dream!

He smiled, tapping the bristles of his broom against the tiles. She promised to hide here for the day, and read until closing. Then, after Ti’Lee went home and sat down for dinner, she was going to knock on his front door, enter the manor, and invite him to make a sacrificial offering. The plan was perfect.

Almost too perfect.

He saw the way Mon-Jasmine watched him with those untrusting eyes. Whenever he got too close, she’d tighten up, coiling like a viper poised to strike. But how could he blame her? She was a young woman in a society who treated females and weaklings like trash. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to advance, and increase in power.

But what if someone found out? He shivered to think what would happen if they did. He shook his head, sweeping the remaining dust into a copper dustpan. Nuns were forbidden by the Heavens to cultivate, and women weren’t allowed to break into Gold. Even his own mother, as old as she was, only had a Silver core. Just like him!

“Ahem.”

Ti’Lee nearly jumped out of his skin. The loremaster was standing ten feet in front of him, hands behind his back. Ti’Lee paled. “M-Master!” He dropped his broom, bowing over his waist. “I didn’t hear you enter.”

“When did you get here?” he asked, stroking his curly beard, bespectacled eyes squinting.

“Hours ago.”

“And still, the sun has yet to rise.” He gestured to the windows, then gave a sharp gasp. Ti’Lee closed his eyes, biting down hard. Crap scat. Mon-Jasmine was back there. “Who told you she was coming?”

Ti’Lee frowned. “Uh . . .” He glanced over his shoulder. The window was open, and Mon-Jasmine was gone. Ti’Lee’s heart stopped. No . . .

The loremaster swept past him, stepping up to the table she’d been sitting on. “Elder Oot’s daughter is coming.” He picked up one of the books from the table. They were basic cultivation and foundation guides.

Ti’Lee noticed, with some irritation, that the one Mon-Jasmine had been reading was gone. “She’s young, so these should do.” The loremaster glanced over at him. “It appears you are . . . atoning for your past shame?”

Ti’Lee nodded, hoping his flushed face wasn’t giving him away. “Yes, master.” He licked his lips. “I am.”

“Good!” He clapped the book shut and faced him. “I expect you to keep this up. Arrive every day, four hours before sunrise. That will give you enough time to dig into your studies, take stock of the books, clean my office, and organize the lobby before I or any of the patrons show up.”

Ti’Lee placed his hands together and bowed again. “Yes, master.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

“Now hurry along.” He made brushing motions with his hands. “There are books and papers piled everywhere in my office. Organize them, and don’t stop until I arrive. Elder Oot and his child will be here soon, and I don’t want you distracting her.”

Ti’Lee gave another bow then spun on his heel, heading toward the exit. He spared a glance over his shoulder, toward the window, and though his heart tingled with disappointment, he couldn’t help but smirk as he eyed the books.

He’d picked those specific texts for a reason. Yes, the information inside would help an amateur on the road to advancement, but they were woefully incomplete. They referenced greater texts, tantalizing the reader with baskets of ripened fruit just out of reach.

If Mon-Jasmine really had the drive to cultivate, she’d be back.

And he’d be right here waiting.