Page 38 of The Lost Reliquary
Now I’m going to make it hurt.
By the time true dawn breaks, all I can think about is putting my hands around Nolan’s neck, pressing my thumbs into the soft parts of his throat, and choking the life out of him. The growing stiffness in my arms would make that a trick at the moment, but I indulge the fantasy nonetheless. The sun is high by the time I make it back to the main road that passes by Novena, any hope of catching up long gone. But I know where he’s headed, which keeps my step motivated. That and thinking about what I’m going to do to him. But I’m moving too slow on foot. I need to find a new horse, and quick.
Seething hours pass. I stop to drink from a stream and relieve myself. I pick a few wild raspberries from a thorny briar, then immediately spit them out. They are sour and mealy, which I suspect I can thank the Green God for. Then I walk some more.
Eventually, I realize something: I am alone.
Truly, entirely alone for the first time in as long as I can remember. Even at the Cloisters, when there was no one immediately around, another Potentiate or instructor or attendant was never far. Not like this. I don’t know where the nearest soul is exactly, but it’s nowhere near me. Everyone in Lumeris thinks I’m with Nolan, seeking out the reliquary. Nolan thinks I am dead.
If only Icouldbe. Lystrata, Potentiate of the Dawn Cloister, would, from here on forth, be lost forever in the bottomless pit of holy wrath, never to be seen again.
But it wouldn’t be long before the pull would be unbearable. Even now, the invisible threads that stitch me to Tempestra-Innara give an occasional beckoning tug, spin the temptation to return to the Cathedral using Nolan’s betrayal as an excuse. Which makes me even angrier. No matter where I go, a cage goes with me. There are only two avenues of escape, and they both end in death. Either Tempestra-Innara’s, or mine.
And the latter is much more likely if I don’t catch Nolan.
Late afternoon, I hear the sound of a horse approaching. There’s still distance between us, so I stop, listening closely to the jingle of tack and hoofbeats. It’s definitely not Nolan, but it’s someone with a horse. And, even better, someone alone. I wait. Eventually, a figure on a dun gelding appears around a bend in the road. He slows as he spots me.
I give him a bright smile. “Hi there.”
“Hello.” He eyes me with suspicion, which he is right to do. I do the same, hiding it beneath a mask of friendly coyness. A young man, brown haired and slight, with a deep tan complexion that tells me that either he came from the southern coasts or his parents did. Freckles spot his cheeks, making him appear younger than he is. But the most interesting thing about him is his clothing: He’s wearing a cleric’s cassock. Not a Cleric of the Blood, obviously, or even a town cleric, but one of the traveling devoted who spread the word of Tempestra-Innara to places not large enough to support their own local shrines and clergy, generally referred to as mud clerics.
He blinks at me. “Are you in some sort of trouble, miss?”
My smile nearly cracks. A second surprise: I know that voice. I didn’t see the face attached to it, but there’s no mistaking it—this is the calm, reasoning young man from the secret meeting in Novena.
A heretic. And a cleric.
I almost laugh at the dark irony of it. Turns out I’m not the only traitor in the Goddess’s Orders. It seems impossible—this underfed mud cleric going up against Tempestra-Innara? I can’t decide if this is good luck or ill, but I can work with it.
“Trouble?” I make a show of thinking, considering my surroundings. “Not at this particular moment. But given that my horse got spooked and ran on me last night, taking all of my food and supplies with it, I can’t be certain that situation will hold much longer.”
The young man nods, as if acknowledging my made-up story, but there’s still suspicion in his eyes. “You were traveling through this area alone?”
“Sure was.” I draw one of my sickles and let it spin with a bit of flair before gripping the handle and giving him a wink. “I know how to take care of myself. A far bit better than a horse, apparently. I was on my way north to find work.” The lies come easy. “I thought it would be smart to take a shortcut. Turns out I was wrong.”
This seems to loosen him. “Yes, that’s bad luck on your part.”
“Where are you headed, if you don’t mind me asking?”
He shrugs. “Nowhere in particular. Or, more specifically, wherever the word of the Goddess might be needed, and welcome.”
“Huh.” I return my sickle to its holster. “Well, are you in the market for a bodyguard on the way to nowhere in particular? Sure, most folks know better than to touch the clergy, but you never know when you might cross paths with a desperate brigand or two. I’ve got a special going right now: full service, unparalleled protection for a spot on your horse, and a bit of food if you have it to spare.”
At first, he looks unsure, but it’s clear he’s low in his Order—poor—and unlikely to be carrying any weapons larger than a cooking knife. “I have faith in the Goddess’s protection.”
“Sure, but maybe they sent me to be that protection.” I break out my most winning smile. “And if you doubt that, just know that I could have easily ambushed you, cut your throat, and stolen your horse without breaking a sweat. No one would ever find your body. I’m simply that good.” It would be a lie to say a part of me isn’t considering it, but I speak with what I hope is a sufficiently joking tone.
He laughs. Guess I got it right.
“I serve the Goddess,” he says. “And to serve them is to serve their followers. I’ll take you up on your offer. Galeas is about three days from here. Maybe you can pick up some work and make your way from there?”
“Sounds like you’ve got yourself a bodyguard.” And I’ve got myself a ride. Maybe I can catch up with Nolan after all. But, more importantly, I’ll have time with this heretical cleric. He seems as low among his coconspirators as he is among the Goddess’s clergy, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t another tidbit or two to glean from him about the reliquary. Or, at the very least, what kind of meddling he’s doing within the holy order. “May the Flame warm you and find you even worthier than you clearly are, er—?”
“Avery.” He bows slightly in the saddle. “Of the Goddess’s humble clergy.”
And secret enemy of them as well. “Avery. Gotcha. And I’m Lys. Of the side of the road where you found me.”
Eighteen
