Page 31 of The Lost Reliquary
The ice cracks.
“Lys!” A hand clamps down on my shoulder. “Wait!”
The world snaps back into focus as I spin, tearing free. Nolan stares down at me from a step above, eyes hard with concern, a deep furrow in his brow. My hand aches. I look down to see a splinter piercing the pad of my palm. A chunk is missing from the banister. Apparently, I caught myself a bit harder than necessary.
I take a deep breath and pull the bit of wood free. Blood beads. “Oops.”
The furrow deepens. “You shouldn’t have had to do that.”
The kind way he says it actually manages to chase away some of the chill.
“You shouldn’t have had to snap Magda’s neck.” Another crack echoes in memory. “We need to keep going. You dealt with her. I dealt with this. It was only fair.”
His lips thin. “There was nothing fair about it.” The words are quiet. I don’t back away as he takes a step down so that he’s standing beside me. Standingwithme. We were supposed to be rivals. Instead, this is the second time he’s defended me against our own brethren. Clearly, Nolan takes our assignment to work together seriously. “That was a decision you shouldn’t have had to make.”
I didn’t, though. Didn’t even know which woman I was pointing at. Because it’s easy to condemn a person if they mean nothing to you, a lesson I learned long before I arrived at the Cathedral. I can’t tell Nolan that, though. I look away, mad at myself, at Caius and Gottschalk, and, most of all, at the Goddess who has forced us into these ruthless roles. Something warm alights on my arm.
His hand. Hesitant. An attempt at comfort, if an unpracticed one.
My cheeks flush again, but not out of anger. Definitely had too much wine.
“I want to leave.” I step away. “We have what we need. There’s no reason to stay in this rotten place any longer.”
Nolan’s hand, now consoling nothing but air, drops. “The horses need rest. We do too. We did what we needed to do. Tomorrow, we can begin again. But there’s nothing to be gained by leaving tonight.”
He’s right of course. Even though staying a minute longer makes me fantasize about tearing the castle down with my bare hands, finishing what time and neglect has already started. But I nod, swallowing my other emotions.
More anger I will put aside, store up, and save for my Butcher Goddess blood mother, Tempestra-Innara.
Fifteen
Within the city, the bells of Belspire sing like a glorious choir. Go beyond its gates, though, beyond its borders… when the wind carries that song, it can sound like cries.
—FROM THE WRITINGS OF CLERIC ERIS
ISTAND AT THE EDGEof the white river.
Wind whips and screams, needling my skin with snowflakes as chalky clouds press down from above. On the other side of the water an invisible promise beckons: freedom.
I don’t want to move, but I do.
Tracks appear in front of me as I step onto the frozen river, hundreds of them, trails for me to follow. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to follow.
I do anyway.
In the middle of the river, the tracks disappear.
Run.My body betrays me again, rooting me where I stand.Run to where they won’t follow.Liberty is right there, waiting on the other side of the river. But I can’t move, and beneath me, the ice begins to crack. Liquid oozes up through the gap.
Not water.
Blood.
Crack.
The fissures spread, the white shattering into unsteady pieces.
Crack.
