Page 129 of The Lost Reliquary
Caius’s mouth thins to near disappearance. “Within the hour, you will become avatar for the most powerful divinity to ever walk this land. Show the occasion the respect it deserves.”
I move to the bars, grinning even wider. “And then you’ll have to take orders from me. Won’t that be fun?”
“I’ll take orders from the Goddess.”
“Uh-huh, of course, sure. But we both know there will always be a piece of me in there too.” I let the smile spread. “And if that piece has even a crumb of control, you’ll know… by the hell I try to make your life into, you cruel, self-absorbed ass.”
Caius goes red in the face. Oh, he wants to retort; I can practically see the shape of the words caught in his throat. But he’s right. Soon I’llbe little more than a marionette controlled by divine strings. And even if there’s not a damn thing I can do about it, I’m happy that one of my last acts can be to make this day as miserable as possible for Caius.
“We will take you to the Goddess now.” His tone is pleasingly bitter as a clutch of Cathedral Guard enter. “Please do not resist.”
I could. No one willwantto hurt me—not me, their next blessed avatar. But I have a distinct feeling that the guards have been prepped to know exactly how much incapacitation would be allowable without risking punishment, or worse, delaying the ritual. And I don’t fancy being dragged through the Cathedral because of a few sliced tendons. If I’m going to my fate, I’m going to do it on my own two feet.
We move in a somber procession, Caius in the lead, me surrounded. For some reason, I am reminded anyway of that original trek to the reliquary chamber, back when Nolan and I were first roped into this.
Nolan.
I hate the feeling that surfaces when I think of him, and the last time we spoke.
Anger, because he could have spared me from this, and didn’t.
Anger, because he refuses to accept that whatever remains of me after this will be only scraps and shards.
And anger because soon nothing so trivial as the patched-together friendship that passed between us will matter at all.
When we reach the Cathedral’s main hall, it’s a godsdamned party. Dozens of my blood brethren are gathered, lining the second- and third-story galleries, familiar faces staring down at me with a plethora of expressions. Some are definitely not too happy about the current developments, but others gaze at me with a wide-eyed reverence, no doubt thinking how lucky they are to witness this less-than-once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. Tucked in the back corner of the Cathedral, masks hiding any indication of their thoughts, are six attendants of Cineris. An escort, waiting quietly to perform their duty of bearing Innara’s ashes to interment in the necropolis.
The remaining, older Potentiates are also present, done up in full ceremonial armor and on the floor this time, like an honor guard. Peeking through the gaps between them are clerics—eyes wide, reveries clutched in their fingers—so many that they must have come fromall over, as fast as they could. I’d expected this to be a family affair, especially given the events of Emmaus’s execution, but it makes sense that the Goddess would want witnesses, mouths that could spread the joyous words of the new avatar to the farthest edges of the Devoted Lands.
They gape at me, awestruck, even though they must know—or at least wonder—why I am surrounded by guards. It’s tempting to scream the truth, tell them about the reliquary, that divine weak spot. But I remember what happened to the gathered devoted the last time they learned something they weren’t meant to. Instead, I seek out Morgan, a little surprised the fury pouring off her doesn’t immediately set me aflame. Our eyes lock, and I give her a wink, just on the off chance she’s mad enough to lose her temper and put a spear through me.
I am not so lucky.
I don’t see Prior Petronilla, though, which is a bit of a relief. Maybe she’s already been demoted. Or, martyr that she is, demoted herself in shame. It would be like her to skip witnessing this as a personal punishment. But I don’t have time to wonder. Caius clears his throat, wordlessly telling me it’s time to make our way forward. I obey, though every step forward feels like a failure. The Goddess waits ahead, framed by all of their golden, conquered dead. Their hands are folded before them, a patient, eager expression on their face—Innara’s face. But their light feels more wan than usual. Maybe that’s part of it, the divinity already separating from the flesh, the beginning of the fade. Or maybe they’ve simply been hiding how weak they are until there was no longer a reason to do so.
Nolan stands beside them in the Executrix’s place of honor, holding the reliquary. His expression is so neutral he might as well be wax, but it doesn’t fool me in the least. He watches me approach. I keep my gaze off him. If I don’t, I’ll see something I don’t like, even if I’m not entirely sure what that will be.
My blood brethren are silent as we approach the apse, but the onlooking devoted can’t contain themselves. Hands begin to reach for me—despite my guards—pawing at my arms, my shoulders, my hair. My name is spoken like a prayer. One cleric even has tears streaking down her face. All of it its own sort of insult, but there is no stoppingit, this unwanted reverence, with its undercurrent of hysteria. Ahead of me, Caius holds his head high until we reach the steps. Pissed as he is, he’s still puffed like a peacock about this ceremonial place of honor. He stops before the Goddess, squaring his shoulders.
“Mother,” he says, in a voice loud enough for the whole Cathedral to hear him, “I have brought you your daughter, betrayer, and”—he doesn’t even falter—“chosen vessel, known to us as Lystrata of the Dawn Cloister.”
“Lys.” I make sure I’m heard too. “My mother called me Lys. Myrealmother.”
The crowd murmurs, shocked, and Caius’s head snaps around before he can stop himself. “May your joining with her be infinitely blessed,” he finishes, with a bitterness that makes it clear I’ve ruined his moment.
Here we go.
My eyes drop to the shiny, burnished stone at my feet. The spot I know so well it’s almost as if all my years in the Cloisters never happened. I am a child again, doomed to another unwanted baptism. A numbness spreads over my skin, but I bite the inside of my lip until I taste blood, using the pain to focus. My faint reflection wavers in the stone as I take a deep, steadying breath. I am surrounded by those to whom weakness is one of the worst things I could show. Not that I care what any of these assholes think, not now. But the only way I can stick it to them is to try to maintain as much dignity as possible. I’m probably not as successful in that as I’d like, given the pity I read on Nolan’s face when I succumb to the urge to glance his way. Oh well. It’s not as if it will matter for much longer.
Caius steps to one side, giving me an unobstructed view of Tempestra-Innara. Cool serenity paints their tired countenance. No defiance of mine will throw them off now. This is their time. The elevation, execution, absorption—all simply a set of rituals for the hundreds of eyes boring into my back. Another bit of theater playing itself out.
“My daughter,” the Goddess begins. I loathe the love in their voice, the forgiveness I don’t want or deserve. “A short time ago, you were entrusted with a secret, crucial task: to find a dangerous weapon acquired by the heretics and used against us. You were to retrieve it from them and return it here to me.” A calculated pause. Or maybe a test, to see if I’ll challenge that weak fiction with the truth, damn a few more oftheir devoted. I’m sure there are plenty more beyond the doors of the Cathedral who would elatedly take their place. “Instead, you conspired to join with the heretics, to try to use this foul, murderous concoction against your own.”
“No,” I interject. “Not against my own. Just you.”
Caius steps forward, as if about to strike, but the Goddess gestures. He stops.
“Such anger,” the Goddess continues, “hiding such love.”
