Page 111 of The Lost Reliquary
“It’s not just a few heretics,” he continues, “even capable ones. Those, the Goddess’s forces could have flushed out, given the time and resources. But they didn’t send Bellators and their legions, or even Arbiters. They sentyou.”
Nolan shakes his head. “Ambition is making you see riddles and machinations where there are none. You’re imagining—”
“A weapon,” I say. Nolan turns sharply, but we’ve had enough delays. “A weapon that’s able to kill the Goddess. One that almostdid.”
Caius’s arrogant facade finally wavers, a glimmer of alarm appearing. Self-centered ass that he is, I almost forgot that his devotion likely runs as deep as any of Tempestra-Innara’s children. “Impossible.”
“It’s not,” Nolan says flatly. “We saw it, saw what it was capable of during the attack at the Cathedral.”
“But,” I add, “we’re sworn to secrecy about the details, so that’s all you get. At least until we find it.”
“And what…” The Arbiter exhales. “What if you don’t?” He’s rattled by this new information.Good. “If I knew what it was—”
“Why?” I interrupt. “How many guards did you bring with you? A hundred? Two? You could close the port again, set every one of them to tearing the city apart, and yes, likely come up with more heretics. Or, like you said, burn it to the ground. But while you did, that weapon would disappear. And if that happens, none of us are gonna be rewarded.” As this logic seeps in, it’s clear he understands, if begrudgingly. “You ever try chasing a rat? Not nearly as easy as baiting them to come to you. Which is what we were doing untilyoushowed up and ruined the trap.”
Caius is silent for a long minute. The debate on his face is clear, weighing the indiscriminate thrashing of his approach against the targeted cuts of ours. His eyes search mine, a gaze I hold, forcing expectant impatience into them.
“Three days,” he says finally. “That’s as much as I’m willing to give you. If you don’t manage to find this weapon by then, well…” His folds his hands. “Then I decide how to proceed.”
“That’s not enough.” Nolan paces to the other side of the room, agitated. “We may need more to truly earn their trust, figure out where they are keeping—”
“Three days.” Caius isn’t about to budge. “The Goddess has confidence in you”—his mouth flattens into a cheerless, mocking smile, the Arbiter we know returning—“and so do I.”
TheGolden Glorysails the next morning on the early tide. Nolan and I watch as it slides from the docks, through the relinquished canon towers, and disappears into the passage that leads to open waters. A crowd has gathered for this too, as if the whole of the city wanted to see the Arbiter gone with their own eyes. If only they knew how short their reprieve will be.
Three days. We got what we wanted from Caius, just not enough of it. At least as far as Nolan believes. As for me… I already have what I came here for. All I need to do is accept the terms tied to it.
A god’s terms.
My skin itches as we wait for dusk to arrive, wandering the streets of Cyprene, almost aimlessly. There’s an unmistakable air of relief, a sense of release that seems to highlight the little holy moments that play out all around. The clasping of a reverie. The sprinkling of salt on a threshold. A bottle of the briny liquor Tychus drank being shared among friends. They captivate my attention. There is nowhere else I might see so many gestures of fidelity not directed toward Tempestra-Innara. Is this what the world was like when the gods were young, their followers spoiled for choice about whom to pledge their devotion to? Is Cyprene a glimpse of the world that Osiron would make again? And would that world—could that world—ever hold?
I’m so deep in thought that I don’t register the plaza we’re passing through until I spot the stakes, pitted and blackened by fire. An acrid tang of smoke still hangs in the air, touched by a hint of roasted meat. But, thankfully, whatever remained of Marzela and her Salt priests has been cleared away. And, at the base of the posts, little piles have appeared. Shells, braids of seaweed, but mostly tiny piles of salt, starkly pale against the dark scars left by the flames. I glance at Nolan, no hint in his face about whether there are any lingering feelings about having sent the priests to their deaths. But he knows the world he wants.
They learned eventually, of course. When they built empires around themselves—great, grand things that grew and grew until they were all pressed up against each other… when those armies of the blessed turned on each other… they learned.
The death of Tempestra-Innara would fracture the Devoted Landseither way, but free of the gods, it would settle into something new—something wholly human, if not entirely peaceful. But if new ones rose to power… I can’t help but picture a cycle started anew, playing out over and over.
Faith, in whatever form it comes in, persists… will outlive every single divine being that has ever walked this land.
And so, some deep part of me knows, will the sins of their devout. New gods or old, there’s no knowing where the reality of either will land. I refused to walk across the ice because I thought death would come regardless. Instead, I was made a thrall to the Goddess. To this day, I don’t know which was the worse outcome. And here I am again, with a decision that feels as if it will end in some similar, damning result.
This should be an easy choice. And yet…
When we finally make our way to the shrine, the tide is rising instead of falling, the stone pillars fully exposed, waves slipping their way closer as dusk falls. The sun sinks behind a low sky of clouds, muting what little color there is in the shrine, making it feel even more ancient. And heavy too, as if the ghosts of who knows how many executions have seeped into the stone ceiling above us and are trying to bring it down. Like at our last visit, we wait on the lowest tier, where the water will submerge our words, drown them like offerings. Or would, if we were talking. Instead, Nolan stares quietly out across the bay, gaze hard but unfocused, toward… well,thatI can guess. The light. TheFlame.
“You’ve barely said a word since Caius set sail.”
“I know.”
“Well, there’s two.”
He sighs. A moment stretches with careful consideration. “You know Caius is going to try to kill us, right? If we find the reliquary?”
“You’re sure?”
“You’re not? It was all there, beneath the conceit. The way he looked at us…” He pauses. “You were right.”
“Ooh, I do love it when you say that, but about what?”
