The reason, the priests of the Order of the Fold taught, was sacred. Women were vessels of raw, unshaped magic— anima fluens , the flowing soul. Men were vessels of structure— anima ligans , the binding soul. A woman’s bare skin allowed the world’s chaotic magic to pass through her without resistance, to be harvested by the clothed male mages, priests, and lords who stood nearby. A man’s clothing acted as a runic cage, concentrating his binding will. Thus, a clothed man and a naked woman formed a circuit: her openness, his containment. Together, they made civilization possible.

Elara took the dryad’s hand. Behind her, the first bell of revolution rang.

“The first thing you must understand,” Kellus said, not looking at her body but at her eyes, “is that the Tithe is not magic. It is a cage.”

Elara’s hands trembled as she took it. The fabric felt like sin against her bare skin. She pulled it over her head. The sensation of covering—of hiding —was so foreign it made her dizzy.

“Then arrest me,” she said, and walked past.