Page 32 of The Lost Reliquary
I am frozen in place.
Crack. Crack. Cr—
I wake up gasping in the hazy morning light, nearly strangled by silk sheets soaked with sweat.
A dream. Familiar and unwelcome.
I curse aloud to my empty room. Kick off the bedding and take another quick bath. Pack my things.
It’s time to get the fuck out of Belspire.
Almost as soon as I’m ready, a knock sounds on my door. When I rip it open, Nolan is in the hall, pack slung over one shoulder.
“You look terrible,” he says.
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” I push past him. “C’mon, we’ve got better places to be.”
We trek through the castle without saying thank you or goodbye or any other of that polite nonsense. But despite Caius’s emphasis last night, no one seems to care. It’s festival time, and that supersedes any bothersome hospitality. I briefly worry Gottschalk and Caius will try to delay us further, but when we arrive at the stables, the horses are waiting, ready to go. I take Mortimer’s reins and check him over. Given the kind of cruelty the Arbiters show for people, who knows what they might do to innocent horses. But Mortimer appears to have been well cared for, nickering softly as I rub the star on his nose.
At the castle gate, I curse again. Thousands are already gathered in the plaza, surrounding the stage constructed in the center. I’d hoped to be gone before the festival kicked off, but no such luck. It’s slow going, making our way through the press of bodies, all bright eyed and joyous at the prospect of starting the morning off with an invigorating execution. There’s laughter. Singing. Vendors hawking their special-occasion foods. Yesterday, my mouth watered. This morning I want to throw up. As we move, I keep my gaze turned away from the stage set at the feet of Tempestra-Innara’s statue, and the foreboding metal post at its center.
We almost make it out of the plaza before I stop.
Nolan draws up beside me. “Is something the matter?”
“No.” I can’t help myself. I turn back to the dais. The post. “Yes.”
I swing Mortimer back so that I am facing the center of the plaza. Horsed, I have a fine view above the sea of people.
“Lys?” Nolan speaks gently, but in a tone heavy with questions.
“Just… wait.” I don’t look at him, only the post. “Please.”
He doesn’t say anything else. We wait.
After a few minutes, the bells begin to ring.
They start one at a time but soon overlap each other, a high, joyful chorus. I expect the crowd to cheer, but instead a reverent silence falls, seeming to spread beyond us, throughout the rest of the city. Some lips move in prayer, but no one speaks a single word aloud.
Soon, a procession emerges from the castle. Caius rides at the head of it, followed by a palanquin with gauzy curtains obscuring the flaccid figure of the princess within. I don’t see Gottschalk.
Then comes the prisoner. She’s on an open wagon, bound with ropes, burlap covering her face yet again. The people part to allow access to the dais. There, guards drag the woman up the stairs and bind her to the post. Only then does Caius dismount and join her.
Suddenly, the bells cease.
The cheering begins.
It hits me like a punch to the gut: the communal bloodlust that Caius was so desperate to feed. How long have Belspire’s people been waiting for this rare treat, this echo of the slaughter that began their fealty? It doesn’t matter that there’s no real justice here, or that the woman on the dais isn’t Magda. They have a body, someone to blame. To judge.
Caius holds up his hands. With his blessed eyesight, he should have no trouble seeing us. But if he does, there’s no break in his ritualistic performance. This is his show, one that he must think will help elevate him, maybe even garner enough of the Goddess’s favor to promote him away from Belspire. Which means he’s going to lay it on as thick as he can.
The crowd quiets at his gesture.
“Belspire.” His voice carries throughout the plaza. “Today we gather to remember the most hallowed moment in our history: the day when this fair city saw the true light and dedicated itself wholly to our Goddess Tempestra-Innara. May the Flame warm us all.”
When they whisper, we wake…
The crowd responds with prayer. When Nolan joins in, so do I.
