Page 28 of The Lost Reliquary
I flip through the booklet, skimming for more about Novena, when a drawing catches my eye: crossed lightning bolts, an old symbol of the Storm Goddess Serapia. But it’s the ring of crudely sketched figures surrounding the symbol that interests me. It’s hard to tell, but each one seems to be clutching something in their hands. Something that might be a box, or other small container.
Maybe even a bottle.
I scan the text around it. It doesn’t seem to have a narrative, more like notes meant to be strung together later.
… winds fierce enough to shear flesh from bone…
… a tribute of jewels and silks…
… keeps their vessels…
I stop. Vessels?
Most recently, it’s said, the Goddess has turned suspicious, keeping their vessels close at hand, never far from their divine source.
It’s only a single line, but itmustbe a reference to the reliquaries. The drawing implies there were many of them, and the note seems to say that Serapia stopped sending them out into the Devoted Lands. But who knows how many might have been lost or stolen before that happened? Or maybe the Storm Goddess hid some away—maybeallthe divinities did—reliquaries that were forgotten or lost when they fell. It certainly explains how one could have found its way into the hands ofheretics centuries later. There wasn’t likely to have been an inventory, after all; even Tempestra-Innara might have missed some in a hunt for stragglers.
The diary at least corroborates what the Goddess told us, but the musings are so disorganized, so fractured, that I quickly realize it could take me days to properly read through it… days I don’t have. So, when Caius comes to collect me, I make a show of returning the books I’ve pulled to their shelves, all save one, which is already secreted in my coat. And I tell myself that if Caius knew what we were really up to, he’d hand it over freely.
The dining room is like some strange dream, not quite a nightmare, but not exactly inviting either. Most of that is owing to the hundreds of preserved animal heads lining one wall of the long chamber. Beasts great and small (I even spot a squirrel), all shabby with age, their glass eyes dull and clouded. And yet, all looking disconcertingly more alive than the person seated at the head of the banquet table.
The first thing I do is confirm that the princess is still breathing. Papery skin sags below rheumy eyes half hidden behind lifeless strands of long white hair. She wears a dress of fashionable, tailored finery, which only makes the sight more uncomfortable, turning her into a dreadful sort of doll. As Caius and I approach, her gaze hangs straight ahead, the only sign of life a tip of pink tongue that darts out briefly to lick dry, withered lips. Arbiter Gottschalk is seated beside her. By comparison, he’s the picture of vigor, though he doesn’t stand for my arrival. Instead, he sips from a glass of wine, hand trembling slightly with the effort. Also in attendance are half a dozen of the Thorn Guard, set at intervals around the room, so still I could almost take them for being stuffed too.
A party, for sure.
I have been drilled by instructors on how to behave in countless sorts of formal situations, but I am not prepared for… whatever this is. When Caius pulls out a chair for me, I remain standing.
“Apologies, your grace.” I don’t know if that’s the proper title for apowerless figurehead, but it’s probably close enough. “I haven’t had the chance to introduce myself.”
Arbiter Gottschalk makes a sound of impatient annoyance.
Caius outright scoffs. “She can’t hear you. No need for formalities here.” He speaks louder. “Princess Osmunda doesn’t mind skipping them, do you, my dear?”
“My name is Lys,” I say anyway. The two Arbiters are clearly dug into Belspire as deeply as ticks and can ignore the usual niceties, but that only makes me want to follow them closer. “Thank you for sharing your hospitality this evening.”
I don’t know if my words get through, but the tongue makes another brief appearance.
I shut up and sit.
The attendant boy from earlier appears, escorting Nolan to the seat beside me. He’s definitely taken the opportunity to clean up too, the dust gone from his skin and clothes. No fancy outfit for him either, but his dark hair is slicked neatly with oil. I catch a whiff of it as he approaches the seat next to me—cedarwood, and a hint of mint. Classy.
“Your grace.” He bows before sitting. Princess Osmunda acknowledges him as much as she does me.
Immediately, everything is weird.
Servants rush to fill our wineglasses, a conversation substitute for a few blessed seconds. Then it’s the four of us staring silently at one another, and the Princess, staring silently at nothing.
“I trust your rooms were adequate,” Gottschalk grumbles, clearly filling the dead air. “Along with everything else.” Caius must have informed him about the dungeon events by now. I’m not sure he would have objected, given his instructions from the Cathedral, but he also doesn’t bring it up, content to let it hang around us awkwardly.
“Yes,” Nolan replies cordially, as if nothing is amiss. “Lovely rooms. Too nice for us, even.”
“Speak for yourself.” A poor contribution, but the best I can muster.
“Lys has also taken the opportunity to visit our library.” Like Nolan, Caius adopts a genial tone.
Gottschalk arches one eyebrow. “Is that so? How did you find it?”
“It definitely has a lot of books.” Nolan gives me a questioning look, though I’m not sure if it’s in regards to my library visit or my inept response. “I can see why it has such a renowned reputation.”
