Page 34 of The Lost Reliquary
When the final blow fell, when the Green God succumbed, its effects were felt leagues and leagues away. In Acerna, the petals plummeted from those celebrated rosebushes. In the orchards of Evene, rot bloomed on all the fruit.
There were no survivors beyond those first few hours. Poison pervaded Novena with such ferocity that anyone—soldier, priest, Chosen—who didn’t flee immediately remained permanently, entombed in a bramble crypt.
—FROMTHE AFTERMATH OF ARCADIUS, BY PRIOR MATTHOS (RESTRICTED TEXT)
WE RIDE FOR HOURSbefore Nolan finally breaks the weighted silence.
“Caius was doing what the Goddess has entrusted him to do.”
Oh, I know. How I fucking know.
“Though,” he continues, “I will admit that his implementation leaves something to be desired.”
“You mean the part where he clearly enjoyed roasting that woman alive?” There’s a bitter edge to my words and I don’t even care.
You don’t have to watch this.
That’s what Nolan said. But I did. Because I’ve already spent enoughof my life looking the other way. For as long as I’ve wanted Tempestra-Innara dead, craved being free of them, I still served. Still did what I needed to survive. Still lapped up the Goddess’s attention like some godsdamned thirsty kitten and…
And that’s how I would have continued, day after day, year after year, if not for Emmaus’s assassination attempt. Standing by while the Goddess and their devoted throw burn-the-heretic parties. But the fact that Nolan said what he did means he doesn’t think I’m weak for not wanting to watch a heretic burn. That he doesn’t revel in suffering, like Caius and so many of Belspire’s residents seemed to. I like that about him.
“Yes,” Nolan agrees. “But we follow the Goddess’s will whether or not we enjoy the particulars of it. Magda will not be the last heretic we encounter. Would you spare them?”
“No, of course not.” Where is this questioning going? “Unchecked heresy is obviouslybad. But we weren’t sent to punish heretics. We were sent to find the reliquary.”
“Yes,” he says.
A minute of silence passes.
“In the dungeon,” he begins, as I knew he would, eventually. “What you said to Magda…”
“Disgusted to find out a heretic has been given the divine gift?” No point in dancing around it.
He considers for an uncomfortable measure of time. “No. Rather it… it makes me wonder how many more of our blood brethren might have come from a similar beginning.” My shoulders drop a bit. “You were a child,” he continues. “A child cannot be blamed for their parents’ sins.”
Tension returns in an instant. Because we both know that’s not true. They can be blamed, and they can be punished. But I’m in no mood for that conversation. Time to change the subject.
“Speaking of my illicit past, look what I found in the library.” I pull Jogue’s diary out.
He blinks at it. “You stole a book?”
“From the restricted section, no less. And they’re lucky I didn’t go back for a few more after what they pulled.” I return it to the safety ofmy jacket. “I haven’t gone through it closely, but I found a picture of the Storm Goddess surrounded by followers carrying what I think are reliquaries.”
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I got a little distracted by that whole thing where we were almost forcibly locked away.”
“Does it say anything about where the reliquaries were kept? Or where the heretics might have found one?”
“No,” I say. “Only that the Storm Goddess kept the vessels close to her. But that was a long time ago. The reliquaries could have traveled to the end of the Devoted Lands and back since then. And honestly, it’s mostly filled with descriptions of places long gone, stuff like that.”
“Hmm.”
“Oh, don’t pout. I may find something useful yet. Or, if we’re lucky, we won’t need any more help than what Magda gave us.”
“Yes,” he says. “Novena.”
“Novena,” I echo quietly.
