Page 8 of The Lost Reliquary
“In your training. You almost always let her win. Why?”
I cross my arms. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do. As much a pain in the ass—inmyass—as you are, Lys, you are a more than competent Potentiate. Impressive, even. But you hold back. Youhide, both in your physical training and in your educational examinations. I tolerated it because your potential didn’t make up for your insolence. And because I never expected to be in a position like this.”
“Morgan beats me fair and square all the time.” But not always. It’s a lesson I learned early on—being the best means you’re the one everyone is trying to knock down. We all serve the Goddess, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t encouraged to try to serve a little better than the next Potentiate. Failure results in punishment, sometimes even death. But so does success. Jeziah and I both understood that, which was about two-thirds of the reason for our “friendship.” Best to be near the top, but notontop. Not if you wanted to survive long enough to leave this place. “She’s a better fighter than me. If anyone should be Executrix, it’s her.”
“Yes.” The Prior folds her hands in front of her. “But that’s not a possibility right now, and this is not a negotiation. And, frankly, if I could punish you for turning it into one, I would. But I don’t have that luxury. So, know this: If you wish to learn more about what happened at the Cathedral, you will accept this path.Thisis your responsibility.Thisis the Goddess’s will. There is no other.”
Her meaning is crystal clear. To refuse again will be regarded as blasphemy. At least this shows that she doesn’t suspect me of anything more than my usual obstinance, that she hasn’t picked up on my penchant for imagined deicide any more now than in the past.
I let out a breath. “The Goddess’s will it is.” The words taste sour in my mouth.
Executrix.Bound even closer to Tempestra-Innara than I already am. Not exactly what I had in mind.
Assuming I get the job. Because the Dusk Cloister will be putting up a candidate too, and there’s no telling how good theirs will be. The two of us will be tested, pushed to our limits, pitted against one another—and probably end up with a few chances to whittle two candidates down to one. More often than not, the choice for Executrix isn’t really a decision—it’s based on whoever is left standing. But this is how I’ve been tasked to serve the Goddess.
It is also, apparently, my only chance to learn how to escape them.
“Cheer up,” I say to Prior Petronilla, who still looks like she’s had to swallow something rotten. “At least this means you’ll be rid of me, one way or another.”
Five
Prior. Bellator. Arbiter. Cleric of the Blood. Each calling has its own esteem, its own distinctions. But Executrix—its call must be answered by only the finest of our blood brethren. For they serve at the Goddess’s side, acting as their hand, their blade, and, when necessary, their executioner.
—EDICTS OF THE BLOOD, 3RD EDITION
IAM EVER SO KINDLYallowed the last few hours before dawn to prepare myself. Which means I’m ready to go early, since there’s nothing for me to do besides put on a clean uniform and give my sickles one last going over to make sure there’s no crusty bits of Emmaus left on them. (There are a few. Ick.)
The Cloister stable yard is shadowed and silent, save for the faint tread of my steps across the cobbles, enough to alert the horses, who nicker a faint greeting as I enter. Stall by stall, I pat their muzzles as I pass, choosing two of the draft horses to draw the carriage Prior Petronilla and I will use. Attendants’ work, but I’m not cruel enough to wake them hours before they need to gather for morning prayers. My fellow Potentiates will follow suit a little after that… or not, I suppose. I picture that daily gathering, erasing familiar faces I’ve seen strained with effort, twisted by anger, broken and bleeding. When I get to Jeziah, his features are laughing. A lump forms in my throat. I swallow it and getthe horses hitched, even if it risks a chastising from the Prior for “lowering myself.”
I lead them into the yard to wait. The silence turns immediately oppressive, my thoughts flipping to and fro between getting stuck as the Dawn Cloister’s candidate for Executrix and the possibility that it will lead me to answers about how Emmaus nearly eviscerated Tempestra-Innara. A smile touches my lips. At leastthatthought is a warming one.
Instinct throws me to the side a split second before a spear embeds itself in the wood of the stable wall next to me. There, it quivers with disappointment.
I draw my sickles and calmly turn toward its source. “The proper response is ‘Congratulations.’?”
Morgan is about as furious as I’ve ever seen her. Which is saying something. “Ishould have been offered.”
“Yeah, well, next time our blood mother is attacked, make sure not to choke during the rescue.”
“I didn’t—” She wisely cuts herself off. Morgan may have dumped me on my ass in training plenty of times, but she knows better than to engage me in a war of words. “You don’t deserve to be a candidate for Executrix.”
No, I don’t. “Take it up with Prior P. Or try to kill me again. But I’m warning you, I’m gonna make a run for it. Think you can keep up on that leg?”
For a moment, Idothink she’s going to come at me again. She’s practically vibrating with fury, not the focused, calculating Morgan I’m used to facing here in the yards. I almost consider telling her that I agree with her. But she did just try to kill me, so fuck her feelings.
“Go back to bed.” I lower my sickles but don’t put them away. “You do your holy duty and I’ll do mine. Just like we’re supposed to, right?”
Morgan scowls, but she’s done. The decision made is the Goddess’s will, and one murder attempt is as much insurrection as she plans today. “May the Goddess see the truth about you—your weakness and unworthiness.” With that, she turns away and limps back into the Cloister, and the night.
But her words hang in the air.May the Goddess see the truth about you…
I hope not. Because if they ever do, what happened to Emmaus will look like a mercy.
In a dim chamber off the chilly corridors that worm their way beneath the Cathedral complex, the bodies of the divine dead lay on stone tables, shrouded in white linen. All except for their faces, where a single thin strip has been laid across their eyes. There’s something impossibly still about them, less than even meat now, no more life in them than the statues in the Cathedral’s halls above. The twinge in my stomach has returned, digging deeper this time. With the exception of Jeziah, I can’t claim tocareabout the deaths of my fellow Potentiates, but there’s an unfairness that nags. An injustice. None of them had any more choice about their fate than I did, even if they embraced it. And now they are dead before fulfilling the purpose they strove so hard for, robbed of two lives instead of just one.
The reason for that stands above them, a thin trickle of tears running down their cheeks.
