Page 50 of The Lost Reliquary
Nolan shrugs innocently. “We can’t both be Executrix. I was doing what it took to ensure it would be me.”
“What happened to you respecting the Goddess’s wishes?”
“Don’t be cross because you actually believed that.”
“I’m not.” But I am, as much as I try not to show it. Nolan sized meup right from the start, whipping up a sweetened, pious facade he knew I would think too well trained and obedient to be threatening. And I ate it up with a spoon. “Stupid not to wait until we actually found the reliquary, though.”
“I saw an opportunity.”
“And look where it got you.” I put away my sickles and rifle through the workroom until I find a roll of bandages, then strip off my blood-soaked jacket. Despite the chamber now resembling an abattoir, the floor directly in front Nolan is clear. I sit before him, cross-legged, and begin bandaging my arm. “Unfortunately, you being an untrustworthy ass isn’t my biggest problem right now. Or yours, for that matter.” I gesture to the corpses surrounding us. “This is.”
He crooks an eyebrow. “Seems to me like you made short work of the ‘problem.’?”
“Don’t sound so impressed.” I tip my chin at the dead woman. “You recognized her voice, yeah?”
He nods carefully.
“And I’m sure you’ve figured out by now why a pack of Renderers were teamed up with assassination-happy heretics.”
A furrow appears in his brow. “Because it would have been open season on our brethren if the Goddess had fallen.”
“A bit concerning, right?”
“Yes, but not quite as immediate a concern as figuring out a way to escape before they…” His voice falters. “Completed their work.”
He’s shaken. Good. “Sorry to interrupt what I’m sure would have been a spectacular getaway.” Finished with the bandage, I put my hands behind me and lean back. “Well, while you were having fun with your new friends, I ran into one of the other heretics from Novena on the road. Mine was less… antagonistic.”
“Where are they now?”
“Where all heretics should be,” I reply. “Dead.” Truth is a tool I need right now, but that doesn’t mean I have to tellallof it. “I needed a horse, and he had one. But that’s far from the most interesting part.”
“And that is?”
“He was a cleric.” I let the revelation sink in. “Not in disguise either. So is one of the dead Renderers out in the hall.Thatone I found inSethane. Thought he was helping me; instead he tipped his friends off. Which means that whatever this is, whatever plots are being hatched against Tempestra-Innara, it goes beyond a handful of unusually ambitious heretics. I think who we’re after might have their fingers in more pies than we expect.”
Nolan considers me for a long, cold moment. “You’re saying they’ve infiltrated the Goddess’s devoted?”
“Yup. And not recently. Probably been planning this for years.”
Something flashes in his eyes. “And after killing the false cleric you didn’t follow the heretic? Or send word to Lumeris? You camehereinstead?” His face flushes with true anger. “I knew you were a fool, Lys, but—”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wanted to get carved up into pieces!”
“Youshouldhave gone after the reliquary!”
I jab a finger at the dead woman. “I did!Sheknew where it was. Untilsomeonegave her the chance to take that very vital piece of information to the grave!” That chastens him. “They areRenderers. Do you not get that? Have you not figured out how they knew who—what—you were?”
His mouth thins. “One of them…”
“Yeah, met him. Good news is, he didn’t survive. But that doesn’t exactly offset the bad.” I get to my feet again, gesture around the room. “All this? It isn’t some enterprise they threw up overnight. These aren’t vague, half-baked monsters meant to scare baby Potentiates. Or desperate scavengers on the fringes of the Devoted Lands scrounging up long-lost, dried-out skeletons.” The book that Cook was consulting sits open on the table. I flip through the pages, each filled with tiny, cramped writing and illustrations that make my stomach turn. “Theyknowstuff. Look at this. It’s an actual recipe book on turning you and me into a really fun time. Purifying and concentrating Chosen blood, the best ways to dry and powder fresh bone versus old, rendering fat and brains into an oil that causes—”
“I don’t need the details of their foul heresy,” Nolan cuts in.
“Are you sure? Kinda think a lesson or two about all this back at the Cloisters might have come in handy.” I spot something behind thebook—a small red lacquer box, out of place among the tools and tinctures. Its contents turn my stomach: a trove of small jars and vials. I’ve never seen them, but know what they are in an instant. These are the culmination of the Renderers’ work, vile concoctions that carry with them a temporary taste of divinity. A drop of blood tincture to bring on euphoria and strength; a balm to enhance the senses or even heal a wound. But one vial stands out. “Hello, what have we got here?” I pick it up. It’s filled with a fine, crystalline dust. Nothing that would have been manufactured from human parts. And as soon as I touch it, it begins to glow. “Look familiar?” I ask Nolan.
“It’s glowing like the reliquary did.”
“Yup.” I tip the vial slowly, letting the fine powder pour from one end to another. It sparkles with a brilliance that borders on unnatural. “Maybe Renderers like to mess with their eyesight as much as Arbiters. And maybe there’s more than one use for a reliquary. That would have been helpful to know before we set out, right?”
