Forbidden by Ted Dekker

years, Avra had kept personal company with no one but him, and Rom had systematically ruled out every relation, neighbor, or other artisan he knew.
    “There’s no one else.”
    “Neah works in the Citadel. She could help us find this man called the Book, whoever he is.”
    “You actually mean to try to find him? We’ll be caught for sure! No, Rom. We have to leave the city. We have to run.”
    “We’ll eventually get caught. This Book may be the only one alive who knows what’s really happened to us. Or how we can fix things. Or if we even can.”
    “Too dangerous. We all know the Honor Code.” Those who infringed on the Order were responsible for reporting not only others, but themselves. Anyone who didn’t was at risk of being reported for their failure to report.
    In a system ruled by fear, the code rarely failed.
    “I don’t like it.”
    “Can you think of an alternative?”
    When she didn’t answer, he tightened his grip on the door handle and opened it enough to peer out. The altar stood at the opposite corner of the sanctum. Farther down, near the narthex, early arrivals filed in from the main entrance. No guardsmen that he could see.
    “Stay close.”
    He opened the door, stepped out with Avra, and hurried to a side door, which he opened.
    A voice near the altar: “Rom?”
    They both turned. A priest stood on the dais, censers dangling from each hand. “Rom? There was someone here just a few minutes ago looking for you. I think he might still be here, I’ll see if—”
    Rom grabbed Avra’s hand and bolted into the daylight. The door fell shut with a heavy bang.
    “Run!” Avra cried, pulling her hand free.
    “This way!” He veered toward the entrance to the underground, a block away.
    A truck sped by on the street. On the walk, foot traffic was noticeably heavier than yesterday.
    Rom glanced over his shoulder. “Walk, walk!” he breathed. “We don’t want to attract attention. Pull your hood up.”
    Together they joined the human stream flowing into the underground station.
    A new banner had gone up over the entrance in the last day, bearing the image of Feyn Cerelia and the date of her inauguration, just four days away now. Rom felt her eyes follow them into the subterranean space.
    He had to wonder if they would live to see the event at all.

Chapter Eleven
    I s she in there? Do you see her?” Avra whispered.
    Rom leaned out from the wall just far enough to look through the window. “Not yet.”
    They were wedged against the wall between the front door and a small window on the private landing of Neah’s second-story apartment. The stair that led to Neah’s entrance had been built in the narrow gap between two buildings. From here they could loiter without attracting notice.
    A long time ago, the window must have overlooked the greenery of a backyard. At least, that’s how Rom imagined it. Now, however, it looked out only on the cracked concrete of the stair and the stone of the neighboring building. Its sheer curtain had been drawn aside to let in whatever eastern light it could.
    In the distance, basilica bells sounded the hour: eight o’clock. Across Byzantium, assemblies began and would continue throughout the day. It was rest day, set aside for the purpose of rejuvenation and assembly at the workweek’s end. How different those bells sounded today, ominous and more lyrical at once.
    Rom sank back against the wall and glanced up at the churning sky. For the first time in his life, the mere sight of it sparked wonder in his heart. Even the bells struck their own chord of awe and hollow longing.
    Everything was different.
    As the last of the bells subsided, voices sounded from within the apartment—a man’s and a woman’s. Rom glanced at Avra.
    She whispered, “She’s not alone?”
    Rom peered through the window again, his mouth in a tight line. “I guess not.”
    “Who would be here at this hour?”
    He could see into the corner of Neah’s well-appointed living room, her