Page 88 of The Lost Reliquary
A minute passes before I realize it’s not curiosity I’m feeling, but jealousy. Maybe, like me, Nolan has lived with a secret for years. His desire to become an avatar could have been born long before the heretics tried to kill Tempestra-Innara, and their growing weakness made it an actual possibility. It’s strange to think that the same seemingly impossible occurrence unlocked a new door for both of us. Now, even as desperation wears on him, having that part of himself revealed to another has seemed to soften something in Nolan. Made him more willing to mete out other pieces of himself too.
I can’t do the same.
We fall silent, my thoughts anything but. They crash like the nearby waves, persistent and unrelenting, as the sun begins to set. Below them is the measured evenness of Nolan’s breath, a calming rhythm I latch onto. Someday, maybe, I’ll be able to sit with someone else like this, like I sat with Rion, in a time where secrets and threats aren’t the keystones holding up my life. Still, this isn’t the worst thing, watching the sun set with Nolan, its light warming the both of us until, almost suddenly, it is gone, leaving the shrine coated in a watery dark.
Only then do the footsteps come. We jump to our feet, turning toward the sound that had been muffled by the waves, which had permitted the sole cloaked figure on the stairs to get closer than our senses would have normally allowed. They are narrow and hooded, but there’s a relaxed set to their stance that eases my wariness.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”
In an instant, what relief I felt disappears. The voice is a familiar one. From the tensing of Nolan beside me, I know he recognizes it too.
On the stairs, the figure peels back its hood to reveal Avery, smiling down at us.
Thirty-six
Prior Nils has not been heard from in over a month. The prudent course would be to claim an accident. A body will be found, an interment arranged. As to the disappearance, I will send some of my most discreet clerics to investigate in Cyprene. I fear, however, that any trail is long cold.
—FROM THE LETTERS OF HIGH CLERIC OF THE BLOOD SAMARA TO PRIOR SUPERIOR JUNIAN, ERA OF TEMPESTRA-INNARA
ISENSENOLAN’S SURPRISE INthe background of my own as the blood rises in my ears.
Itisa trap… I just don’t know what kind.
But as Avery calmly descends the stairs, he shows no sign of recognition. Curious and confused, I follow suit.
“Thank you for coming.” Avery speaks as if he’s invited us to a dinner party. No cleric garb below his cloak, of course. Not in Cyprene. Suddenly, I wonder if the vision I saw of him on the way back from the botched meeting wasn’t a product of the salve. Has Avery been here, watching us? “We weren’t sure you would.”
“We?” says Nolan.
Avery doesn’t expand on this, merely offers a patient, closed smile. “Especially after your recent involvement with the Caerula, and our… friend. I want to assure you that nothing like that will happen here, and that I’ve come alone.”
Nolan stands taller. “And whoareyou, exactly?”
“My name is Avery,” he replies, “though that is irrelevant. What isn’t is you, the goods you are peddling, and how you came by them. And what inspired you to smuggle them here, instead of selling them on the mainland.”
“A desire not to burn,” Nolan says curtly. “As to how I came by them, do you care?”
Does Avery know that what we have came from the Renderers in Sethane? Machias didn’t get a chance to tell them, but maybe he had other ways of finding out. Then again, if so, why this meeting? Something is off. I know it. I’m sure Nolan knows it. But if we want answers, Avery is the only one who can give them.
“If youareinterested,” Nolan continues, “rest assured that there’s more. If you aren’t… I have other buyers.”
“Do you? Ones that won’t cut your throat or turn you in to the Caerula?”
“How do I knowyouaren’t planning to do exactly that? I know nothing about you, or who you represent. And one of your people is already dead, because he chose suspicion over a deal that benefitted us both.”
“Well, first, I suspect she’d get in the way.” Avery’s gaze flicks to mine and holds it briefly. “And yes, Machias is dead. We mourn for him. But you need to understand that Cyprene is… complicated. He acted in a way he believed served our interests, when he expected a fragile peace with the Caerula to be upset by your association with Tychus. However, the collective that I represent wants what you have, more than anyone else in Cyprene. Enough to make us overlook what happened.”
“Is that so?” Nolan sounds suitably intrigued.
“Some may wish to indulge in the blissful intoxication of the divine, others to use it to better commune with their chosen deities. But us?” Avery pauses meaningfully. “We have more specific uses for it.”
Clever. He’s all but told Nolan that they are the heretics who attacked Tempestra-Innara, who would use the Renderers’ creations as a weapon against the very Chosen they were made from. The truth, technically.
“Frankly, I don’t care what purpose you use it for. Not as long as I’m paid what it’s worth.” Words tinged with greed.
I get the sensation of watching a play, one where the audience knows more than the characters being played by the actors, though I don’t quite get the plot. If Avery’s heretics truly want the Renderers’ wares—and maybe they do—why not simply kill us and take them? Whythisinstead?
“We’d need a sample first, of course,” say Avery.
