Page 85 of The Lost Reliquary
Rion knew what they were. Knows lots of things, about history, the gods… and Cyprene. Tychus managed to hold connections here even as a visitor. Who knows what sorts of acquaintances Rion has?
It’s not a good idea. Local or not, Rion is only a bookseller, not whatever flavor of criminal Tychus was. And I can’t pretend it’s not born of growing desperation. Yet, no matter how I turn the situation over and around, it’s the only idea I’ve got.
Cloaked, I sneak out of the Petrel’s back door, eyes peeled for Caerula. It’s still on the early side, but the streets are far from empty, which lends me added cover. I pass a window where the baker is putting out the first loaves of the day, so fresh that their warmth steams the glass. That earthy, malty scent wafts into the street, setting off a sudden, ravenous hunger. Since I apparently haven’t eaten in over a day and a half, I pick out a large roll studded with dried fruit and citrus, then add a few extra—for Rion and one for Nolan too, as an explanation in case he wakes to find me gone.
There’s a Salt priest standing across from the bakery as I leave. He gives me a languid, closed-mouth smile, then turns away as a young woman approaches him, hand folded and eyes lowered. Taking a pinch of salt from a pouch around his neck, he proceeds to sprinkleit on her tongue. I watch the ritual play out, then continue on my way. The blessing—which is what I assume it to be—seems strange, though it shouldn’t be. On the mainland, Tempestra-Innara’s clerics can be found on their cities’ streets offering similar, sans seasoning. And yet, I’d somehow imagined the priests keeping entirely to their baths, hidden away, even if their practices are no more a secret than the baked goods I carry.
I eat as I walk, the fresh pastry divine in the way only good food can be, with a hint of something to it, a flavor I don’t recognize. Some exotic spice, maybe. Leaves or seeds or roots preserved and dried, ground or powdered, all borne here on the tides, traveling more of the world than I ever have. All to add a pleasant, fragrant note to a bit of bread.
Something plunges in me, wondering if this small, paltry taste of existence beyond the Goddess is the most I’ll ever achieve. We’d been close, so close. But now Machias is dead, an abrupt end to the trail we’d been following. I can only hope that Rion has some insight into who we are looking for, and that I can tease it out of him without revealing too much about what we’re really after in Cyprene. But when I reach the bookshop, the windows are shuttered and the door locked. Knocking yields no response, and while I could wait for him to show up, there’s no knowing how long that will be, or how Nolan might react if he wakes to find me gone.
As I ponder my options, a pale gray flicker reflects off the windowpane.
The Salt priest again, taken up on another corner. No smile this time, only an interest that makes me pull my hood lower and start moving. A few buildings away, I glance back. The priest is where I left him, still staring. I hasten my step. Head for the Petrel, but by a different route, weaving through the twists and turns of the city. Every so often I stop and wait, but there’s no pursuit. Still, I keep to the busiest streets, then abruptly cut down a long, narrow alley. Not a desirable avenue—it’s empty, save for rats and refuse—but if memory serves, it will dump me only a few streets from the relative safety of the guesthouse.
I’m nearly there when a figure cuts across the other end. The uniform is unmistakable: another Salt priest. But not the one I saw earlier.No, that one is waiting when I retreat, blocking the only way out of the alley. In tandem, they approach, squeezing me in between them. I draw a sickle but keep it lowered.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” I keep it light. Smile wide. Because I don’t know what’s going on here. Two priests don’t exactly scare me, but after the Renderers and their fancy little poison darts, safety is the last thing I should assume. “Just got my salty blessing yesterday, so I’m good right now.”
The first priest, the one who followed me to the bookshop, smiles calmly. “We haven’t come to deliver a blessing, rather a message: Marzela is very disappointed in your employer.”
Marzela? The priest from the first salt baths we visited. “Oh? Huh, I know he seemed interested in partaking of your lovely pools, but he’s been a bit busy. I’m sure he’ll be along once he—”
“She would like him to know that if he’d been upfront about what hereallyhad to offer, there would have been an opportunity to deal.”
Ah.Well, well, well… someone’s been talking to the Salt priests. Ramiro? Maybe, but the disdain in his voice when he mentioned them doesn’t make him a likely collaborator. There was the Caerula taking the bribe the morning we met Marzela, though. I’d assumed it was to keep authority off their doorstep, but maybe it ensured information flowed over it too.
I shrug. “He could have been a bit less oblique, I’ll give you that. Unfortunately, I can’t speak for him. His business, his reasons to be careful around how he engages in it.”
The other priest takes a step closer. “He lied to those he chose to deal with, left them with only a taste of what he had to offer. But there’s more.”
Not a question.
“Marzela would like to acquire it.” The first priest again.
“What’s not clear here, gentlemen? Bodyguard. Not proxy.”
“You’ll inform him of what we’ve communicated. He had the chance to flee Cyprene and didn’t, which Marzela understands as a desire to not leave empty-handed. She will assist in that.”
What had Ramiro said, about Machias profiting off the Salt Sects? So, Salt priests are trying to cut out the middleman. Makes sense, giventheir middleman is dead. “Sure. I’ll do that. But you’re going to have to let me out of this alley first.”
The first man nods. “She looks forward to speaking with you again…” Both priests begin backing away. “Soon.”
And with that vaguely threatening farewell, I’m alone.
Thirty-five
The waters welcome all those that seek their embrace. And some that don’t.
—CYPRENE SAYING
IGO STRAIGHT TONOLAN’Ssuite to wake him, but have barely managed a single knock when the door flies open.
“Are you mad, going out alone?”
Despite the question, there’s less anger in it than I expected. “Being passed out for a whole day will leave you with an appetite.” I step inside, toss him the roll. “Snuck out for some breakfast.”
He catches it. Sets it on the table with barely a glance. “Did you see anyone when you went?”
