Page 26 of The Lost Reliquary
“Not too soon, I hope.” Caius clasps his hands in front of him. “We’ve had rooms made up for you. And Arbiter Gottschalk has requested that you join us for dinner tonight. With the princess, of course.”
I’d nearly forgotten there was royalty somewhere about.
I shrug in reply. “Sure. I’ve never had dinner with a princess before.”
“Then come.” Caius leads us out of the cell, ignoring Magda’s corpse. “I’ll send someone along to deal withthatlater.”
The bedroom Caius deposits me in makes my cell in the Cloister look like a hovel. Tapestries, carpets, a bed so soft it seems to be trying to swallow me—being stationed in Belspire may not be the pinnacle of assignments, but it’s clearly not the worst either.
I know that plenty of my blood brethren live in finery. Many even better than this. Spacious residences, loads of servants, as many high-quality, artisanal weapons as their hearts desire—tribute in honor of our revered rank. But Prior Petronilla and the other instructors at the Dawn Cloisters don’t preach the lifestyle. The opposite, in fact: A true devotee of the Goddess remains humble. They do not desire the gifts that come with the station her blood gift grants us.
But—surprise, surprise—plenty of us end up with them anyway.
The first thing I do is bathe. I hate admitting it, but the baths at the Dawn Cloister spoiled me. I loathe the sensation of grime on my skin, of unwashed hair, of whatever else has built up after many days on the road. I soak for at least an hour, letting the languid scents of infused oils smother what happened in the dungeon. I don’t feel bad; Magda bought herself a merciful end. But her conviction gnaws at me, and no amount of lavender and rose chases away the sound of Nolan snapping her neck.
A sound like cracking ice.
Physical, if not mental, cleanliness achieved, I return to the bedroom to find that a pair of dresses as well as a tailored jacket and waistcoat set have appeared, laid out carefully on the bed. Each one is an extravagance, silk and lace and what might be real gemstones sewn into one of the necklines. I gather them up and toss them into the hall before putting on my cleanest set of regular clothes.
A timid knock sounds.
“Come in!”
A youth enters, neatly liveried and green in the face, as if he’s about to tell me someone I’m fond of has died. He swallows hard before speaking. “The clothing—”
“Was too elegant for the likes of me. My travel companion Nolan might like them, though.” He pales further, and I take pity on him. “I prefer my own garments, that’s all. How long until dinner?”
“Two hours,” he replies.
At least killing time won’t leave me wanting another bath. And if I have it, I might as well put it to use. “Belspire has a library, right?”
He nods enthusiastically. “One of the finest in the Devoted Lands.”
“Take me there.” I expect resistance, not knowing exactly what the scope of my privileges as a guest is, but the boy seems relieved to be given an order he can fulfill.
The library is massive. It makes the one at the Cloister, which Prior Petronilla always made out to be enviable, look as pathetic as the stacks of smutty pamphlets the attendants used to smuggle Jeziah sometimes. There’s row after row of shelves, the chamber opening up to reveal two more levels above us, books lining the walls from floor to ceiling. It’s obviously not the excitement center of Belspire—I see no one but an older woman who appears to be the librarian dozing over a tome, a line of drool hanging perilously close to its pages—but it’s clearly been cared for. There’s not a trace of dust, and while the library carries a sense of age, it doesn’t have the threadbare feeling of the rest of the castle.
“How do I find anything in here?” I ask.
He shows me a codex in one corner, after which I send him away. The system is easy enough, and within minutes I have pulled a stack of texts and found myself a private little niche in which to peruse them.
Research topic of the day: gods.
Magda and Emmaus both clung to their faith until the very end, believing that felling Tempestra-Innara would bring back the other gods, something they have exactly zero proof of. My reason for wanting Tempestra-Innara dead is at least tangible: I want to be free. But the heretics? Their vehemence in serving gods gone for centuries seems more mad than not, sepulchrae notwithstanding. I have seen the Endless Storm. And it sounds like I’ll see Novena soon enough too. But so have countless others who’ve watched and waited and prayed and sacrificed and probably done a funny dance or two, all in hope of a dead god’s return. And yet… nothing.
Still, Magda truly believed there was a way to bring the dead gods back. As did Emmaus. Would my blood brethren spin similar beliefs if Tempestra-Innara croaked? Maybe. Probably. If nothing else it would be the smart way to hang on to power and their posh lifestyles. Of course, if it happens by my hand, I don’t plan to stick around to find out. Things always gets bad after the death of a god.Realbad. The carving up of adead deity’s former lands, both literally and figuratively… cleanup in the form of countless conversions and excessive penance… messy. Divinity is as much a poison as a blessing. The worldwillbe better off without it… once it’s done losing its mind.
But right now, my concern isn’t what Tempestra-Innara’s followers will do later; it’s what the dead gods’ followers are doing now, and how. I—we—need more information about the reliquaries. If what the Goddess said is true—and I’m not entirely sold on that idea—reliquaries used to be common knowledge. Which means that someone, somewhere, wrote something down about them at some point, and maybe I can find some mention in one of the countless old texts I’m currently keeping company with.
It’s an idea I’m quickly disabused of.
There’s no shortage of books about the gods in Belspire’s library. But they are, for the most part, the same sorts I’d find moldering on the Dawn Cloister shelves, missing only the occasional dirty doodle left behind by a bored Potentiate. My best find is a large map within one folio, so detailed that I’m able to find the approximate location of my former village. It’s not marked, of course, but the storm is, a seething cloud of charcoal shot through with inky lightning. There is also a sketchy patch of withered plant life—Novena. Choppy waves and the rendering of a splintered prow where the Salt Goddess fell. One sketch for each of the dead gods, except the Whisperer, weakest of the divinities and first to fall when they tried to remedy that flaw by stealing their siblings’ power. Shadow, Stone, Salt, Storm, and finally the Green God. All dead from one divine disagreement or another. Only the Flame left standing.
“Find something good to read?”
I nearly jump out of my skin.Caius.He stands calmly at the end of the table where I’ve built my nest of texts. “For fuck’s—do you have any idea how long it’s been since someone snuck that close to me without me knowing?”
He sniffs with faint amusement. “I know Arbiters are often viewed as less capable in the physical arts, but I still remember my Cloister training. We all have our little talents.”
