Page 93 of The Lost Reliquary
“Where’s Hiram?” I snap.
“Below.” Marzela is calm, unperturbed.
“Alive?” Nolan speaks tranquilly as well, but there’s an edge to his voice.
“Alive,” Marzela confirms. “And there’s no reason for that to change. He’s settled his part in this for now. You, on the other hand…”
“Tell me what you want,” Nolan says, “and be done with it.”
But Marzela only moves deeper into the baths, leaving Nolan and me no choice but to follow. The pools are empty—no communing bathers, though more Salt priests line the walls, watching us as we make our way down the center path. I find no malice in their faces, but there isn’t on Marzela’s either, and she worked in a dismemberment before breakfast.
“Cyprene is strong.” Marzela stops in the midst of the pools, turning back to us. “As strong as the stone that surrounds it. But, like anything, it has its vulnerable spots. Its systems and rules that must be followed in order for its… conflicting forces to remain harmonious.” She pauses. “Such were our agreements with the Caerula.”
Nolan’s chin tips up, a little haughty. “If you have a point, I’d ask you to skip directly to it.”
There’s a brief flash of amusement on Marzela’s features. “Even if you’d been upfront about what you had to offer, going behind Ramiro’s back on such significant trade would have upset our particular balance. But now, he and his Caerula think you have fled the island.”
“A notion that you haven’t enlightened them about.”
“No. And which now frees us up to deal more openly. Ramiro doesn’t understand, of course. He does not know what it is to taste the divine, to reach out to Astris and truly feel their touch.”
Nolan scoffs. “But you do. And you want to keep that going, even though Machias, your usual supplier, is now dead. Frankly, sounds as if you need me more than I need you. There are buyers on the mainland, though, and I’m beginning to wonder how wise it is to bother with Cyprene any further.”
Marzela looks around at the Salt priests watching us.Surroundingus. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to imply this was optional. It is not. But I did hope we might be able to put aside the past; after all, Cyprene is Cyprene. We will happily buy what you’ve brought here, now and in the future. But if you refuse, well… then we will simply take what you have and count it as a generous gift from the Salt Goddess.”
“Take what we have, you mean,” Nolan echoes, “and dispose of us.”
Marzela tips her head graciously. “The waves welcome all.”
A few heartbeats pass, during which I very much wish to turn those clear pools red, but I wait for some direction from Nolan.
“I dislike being pressured into a deal,” he says with a sigh, “but I understand your position. Cyprene is Cyprene, as you said. I suppose I have to respect its customs.”
Marzela grins.
“But after that unfortunate encounter in the cliffs, and the circumstances of this invitation, I didn’t think it prudent to bring my wares along.”
The Salt priest’s gaze jumps to me.
I raise my hands. “Go on, search. Nothing, I promise. And you won’t find it at the Petrel either.”
“Everything has been hidden away to allowmeto deal more freely,” Nolan continues. “You could be rid of us, but that would leave you to have to search every inch of Cyprene. An inconvenience, to say the least.” He waits a beat. “And might even draw unwanted attention from the Caerula.”
Finally, Marzela’s calm demeanor ripples, giving way to displeasure.
“But I think we’d both be happier getting what we’re after,” Nolan continues. “Violence may have quick results, but rarely benefits long-term. Do you agree?”
Marzela clearly isn’t pleased, but she nods. “It does seem that the most beneficial thing for both of us would be to come to an agreement.”
“I will certainly take it under consideration,” Nolan counters, “but you aren’t the only interested party, you understand. There are other sects, other buyers.”
The Salt priest’s features cloud further. “You place a deal before me, then pull it away?”
“Not in the least. I will trade with whoever makes me the best offer. Whether that is you or one of your counterparts.” He smiles pleasantly. “Or all of you, if you choose to combine efforts. As you said, we are now able to deal more freely. But until I’ve had the time to reach back out to the other sects, all paths to the divine will remain safely hidden away. Oh, and I would ask that Hiram be released now. As you said, he’s settled with you.”
At first, I think Nolan’s tongue has failed to sway Marzela. He’s called her bluff, dared her to make threats again and risk losing her desired prize entirely. And maybe she’s tempted to do so. Certainly, the old woman looks as if she’s taken a sip of seawater when she expected fresh. Then, her jaw loosens and I see the desperate desire beneath the intimidation and posturing—the hungry need for the Renderers’ wares, to get closer to the deity she believes is waiting, just out of reach. One hand snaps up. More Salt priests appear, Hiram walking between them. His hand is bandaged, spots of dark red soaking through the fabric.
“Safe and sound,” Marzela says, “as promised.”
