Page 94 of The Lost Reliquary
“Not sound.” I meet Hiram halfway, flanking him as he joins Nolan and me. He has a touch of pallor but otherwise appears as usual. Even somewhat bored, as if the events of the morning are commonplace, bordering on tedious. “Are you okay?”
He nods. “S’only the little finger. Won’t slow me down too much.”
His blunt, serene acceptance of it sets off my anger again. I turn around, scanning every face of every priest, meeting every set of eyes. “I’d just like to make one thing clear.” I speak slowly, making sure I am heard. “If this were my decision—if I had even a sliver of a choice in the matter—I’d leave every single one of you in the exact same condition as Hiram.”Or worse.I let that remain unspoken.
“Lucky for all of you,” says Nolan, “it isnother decision. Now. I’ll be taking my leave.”
Marzela’s stare could melt ice. “Donotleave us waiting long… again.”
Nolan only grins placidly at the veiled hostility. “Once I’ve reached out to the other Salt Sects, I’ll entertain all offers, including yours. Which I’ll expect to be delivered in a more conventional manner than your last correspondence.”
I don’t relax fully until we are out of the baths and well away from their zealous, salty miasma.
“I am very sorry,” Nolan says to Hiram. It’s his place to say it, true, but I’m surprised to hear genuine emotion in his voice. “They harmed you for helping us, when you had no real reason to. If there was some way to undo the damage done, I would make it happen.”
Hiram’s head hangs a bit as we travel. “Never did like the Salt priests any more than the Caerula,” he mutters.
“We should return to the Petrel,” I say. “I can clean and bandage that wound.” And see if Avery has left any messages. It’s only been a few hours, but now that Hiram is safe, I’m anxious to hear from my heretic friend again.
Suddenly, Hiram stops. We’ve reached an avenue that curves along a cliff, one that overlooks the harbor. Noise filters up from below, a buzz of voices, far more than the typical level of daily activity. It’s indistinct, but the wind carries a clear note of apprehension. As much as I want to get back, I don’t object when we shift our path to investigate. We reach the outskirts of the docks, where a crowd has gathered around a large frigate that appears freshly arrived. There’s a pile of crates beside us; I climb onto one for a better vantage. The name of the ship—theGolden Glory—doesn’t answer any questions. Neither does the appearance of Ramiro on its deck.
“What is it?” Nolan strains to see over the crowd.
“I’m not sure.” The last thing that should come as a surprise is a ship arriving. Even a particularly large, affluent-looking ship. But when another figure appears beside the Caerula leader, a sensation like a punch catches me below the ribs. “Fuck.”
It’s Caius.
Standing tall and straight, stark as snow in his Arbiter’s cassock, he gazes out serenely over the gathered citizens of Cyprene.
“Huh,” Hiram grunts from below. “Figures this day would only get worse.”
Thirty-eight
This city is a remote, aching hell. And I have my doubts as to how deep the devotion of its local militia runs. In my opinion, the Goddess’s Chosen have little purpose and less solace here. Which would make it the perfect posting for a rival one desired to see ensconced well out of the way.
—FROM THE PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE OF CLERIC DELO TO HIGH CLERIC OF THE BLOOD SULLIVAS
ANARBITER. INCYPRENE.
When that might have last occurred, I have no idea. But given the jeers from the docks that followed Caius’s appearance, it’s been a while.
On the mainland, it would be blasphemy for an Arbiter to be treated with such disrespect; penance would be swift, severe, and put on display. But Caius seemed to eat up the indignation like a sumptuous dessert, a satisfied smile spreading on his lips as he raised a hand in greeting, even after some brave soul lobbed a gutted fish at the hull of the ship. The reason for that quickly became clear; dozens of Belspire’s Thorn Guard appeared on deck behind him, fully armored, oozing the same discipline that I remember from our visit.
“They’ve taken the towers,” someone near us growled, “closed the port.”
That triggered new anger, the simmering sense of animosity spreading through the crowd. And understandably. After years of tolerated defiance, the authority of the Goddess had abruptly returned to Cyprene.
The question was: Why?
“If there was anything we needed less right now…” With Hiram bandaged up, Nolan and I have retreated to his suite. “… it’s him.”
“Agreed.” Nolan slumps in his chair. “The timing is… less than ideal.”
“Why is he even here?” I pace one end of the room to the other. “Lumeris wouldn’t have sent him. The Goddess hasn’t sent anyone here in—”
“I sent him a letter.”
The words take a moment to sink in. “Youwhat?”
