Chapter 7
A collision with a wooden floorboard was enough to jolt me awake, coaxing a groan from my throat as I rubbed the pain from my nose.
A twisted blanket wove itself around my legs, and I quickly fought to free myself from the restrictive fabric before clambering to my feet, the details of my unexpected dream starting to solidify in my mind.
Tobias had reached me, ushering with him a warning that tainted any joy brought by his presence.
What’s more, he reignited my fears whether or not the solution given by the Sleeper would truly wake him.
Also, if this Umbral entity was working in the background to prevent it, what more could be done?
I reached into my pocket, pulling out the folded sheet of paper I’d received from the Sleeper. It seemed almost hopeless now.
The door to the washroom opened, and Cirian stopped short in the doorway, spotting me. He was once again wrapped in the silken blue robe, his hair pulled back from his angular face.
“Ah, you’re awake. It’s almost first light.”
“Cirian,” I started, grabbing the pile of my discarded clothes as I moved toward him.
He held up a hand, and I halted in place, moving no closer.
“You don’t have to apologize,” he said. “We both shared claims last night that I’m certain we regret, so I think it wise to let it settle for a while before we—”
“First off, I have nothing to apologize for,” I interrupted, irritation prevalent in my tone. “Second, there are more important things to worry about—”
“Right, like how we’re about to be late to meet with Sancha,” Cirian countered, moving to the wardrobe beside his bed and pulling it open. “You should really get cleaned up.”
“Forget that for a moment, there’s something we need to discuss—”
“Like what, exactly? I think you made your stance abundantly clear last night, so there’s no need for us to continue that conversation right now. Her Eminence is waiting.”
“But that’s not what I—”
“It’s fine, Bast. You can just continue about, operating as a one-man militia, doing whatever it is you wish, without thought of others.
And I will stop deluding myself into believing that there’s anything between us other than some ill-fated, glowing string that I’ve used to convince myself means that there’s anything more than—”
“Can you stop and listen for a gods’ damn moment? Tobias spoke to me last night.”
Slowly, the door of the wardrobe closed, revealing Cirian’s skeptical expression. “What are you talking about?”
“He came into my dream,” I explained.
Cirian’s incredulity only deepened at that.
“And what? He told you that you were choosing the right thing by trusting this Sleeper and the spellwork that he’s given you? How awfully convenient.”
“I’m serious,” I argued. “It was undoubtedly him. He came with a warning. One important enough that he had to project himself into my dream.”
“What warning?”
I relayed what little detail Tobias was able to give me during the dream.
“The Umbral,” Cirian repeated. “I’ve not heard hide nor hair of this entity in all my years of teachings from the Church. Are you sure this isn’t some elaborate fabrication of your dreaming?”
“I don’t normally dream,” I admitted. “So no, I don’t think it coincidence. Somehow, my subconscious knew that Tobias was reaching out to me through the Ether. That he would only be able to infiltrate my dream if there was one in which to do it.”
“So, what do you propose we do about it?” Cirian questioned, huffing a sigh of frustration. “Tobias obviously trusts you with this information. Why would he bring it to you and not me or Azrael?”
“Is that another tinge of jealousy I hear, oh great Acolyte?”
“It is an annoyance that Tobias would choose to confide in someone else,” he clarified. “Especially if that someone is a Reviled with a penchant for keeping secrets.”
“Ah, there’s the crux of it. You think because I am a Reviled, that I must have some predetermined inclination to deception, is that it? Gods, Cirian, I knew that you were na?ve, but I had harbored hope that you’d at least deny the prejudice of your position.”
Cirian recoiled at that, but the flames of my anger spurred me further.
“The truth of the matter is that I have kept nothing of importance from you. And as time wears on, I realize that perhaps I have entrusted you with too much. It is a mistake that I will not be making again.”
Cirian let out a shuddered exhale. “Bast, wait, let me explain—”
“As always, it will fall to me to carry the burden of this knowledge entrusted to me. Keep my secrets, as you so eloquently put it. No need to discuss it further.” I pushed past him, tightening my grip on the bundle of clothes under my arm and escaping to the washroom.
The heavy door closed behind me, and I stared down at the tiled floor, breathing through my nose till I could regulate the anger that roiled in my gut.
I was such a fool to think—even for a moment—that Cirian would be able to overcome the stigma of my identity.
It was ingrained in him by this place. This Church that preached one doctrine aloud, yet followed another in the shadows.
It was madness for me to expect otherwise, and though I still felt a great deal of resentment toward Cirian, I realized in that moment that the greatest anger I carried was toward myself.
That I would lower my guard enough for Cirian to burrow within.
We were the antithesis of one another. I could see that clearly now.
Moving to the sink, the cool water running over my hands was enough to ground me back in reality. I quickly washed my face, allowing the bracing water to chase away any of my lingering thoughts of Cirian. There were more important perils at hand than the workings of my heart.
If he would not listen, then I would discuss this matter directly with the Cardinal.
Perhaps there was information that even the Acolyte wasn’t privy to.
I needed more details if I was going to track down the Umbral, whatever it was.
Tobias spoke of them as if they were flesh and blood, but I knew better than to believe that magic would ever manifest in ways that I anticipated.
Once I had dressed and considered myself presentable once more, I stepped out into Cirian’s quarters, finding him standing by the door, holding a small silver pocket watch that he quickly stowed as I approached.
“Malachi will be waiting for us,” he said, his gaze drifting anywhere but my face. “We’ll make the debrief with Her Eminence as quick as possible. I know that you wish to get back to Tobias as soon as you can.”
“Fine. Lead on.”
Cirian guided me out into the stone hallway, weaving in the reverse order of last night to make our way back to Malachi’s room. Not a word was passed between the two of us as we went, and though I had expected that to be the case, I still found myself annoyed by the time we rounded the last corner.
Ahead of me, Cirian reached the door to the room first, pressing his hand against the invisible force of the ward and trailing a finger in the air to weave a sigil that dissolved in a shower of blue sparks. He reached forward, giving a polite knock on the door before taking a step backward.
From within the room, a rustling noise followed by a succession of quick thumps, then the door cracked open to reveal a sliver of Malachi’s face, peering out.
“Good morning,” Cirian greeted the man. “I hope you slept well.”
“Is it time?” Malachi asked, ignoring the pleasantries. “We’re to see the Saint?”
There was a desperation in his voice that unnerved me.
“Yes, we are to escort you to the Cardinal’s office. Should you need more time to prepare—”
“No, I’m ready. One moment.”
The door slammed shut, and after another moment of rustling from within, Malachi emerged, quickly pulling the door closed behind him as he joined us in the hallway.
He was wearing the same outfit from the night before, his dark hair disheveled and matted on one side.
But it was his eyes that stayed with me, bloodshot and darting, as he joined us.
“Are you well?” I asked him, passing a cautious glance to Cirian, who seemed to mirror my apprehension.
“Yes, quite,” Malachi replied, his thin lips pulling over his teeth in a pained smile. This close, I could see the cracks in the skin of his lips and the blood that had dried in the crevasses.
“This can wait till you’re rested,” Cirian offered.
“No!” Malachi blurted. “Now. It needs to be now.”
“Why is it so urgent for you?” I asked.
“Because she needs to know what I saw. She needs to know. She needs to know.”
“When you went through the door?” I pressed. “What did they show you, Malachi? Just why is it so important that you see the Cardinal?”
“The truth. They showed me the truth. Made me promise that I’d tell her. Made me swear to it. I told them I would.”
Cirian placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, and he blinked a few times, as if he were coming to after a long slumber.
“Okay, mate. She’s waiting for us now. Let’s get a move on, yeah?”
Malachi nodded, his eyes darting between the two of us, then down the hallway.
“Cirian,” I muttered, but he cut me a look that let me know he shared my concerns. Whatever it was Malachi wanted to tell the Cardinal, it would continue to drive him mad until it was done.
Cirian led us down another twisting path of hallways, though we encountered far more foot traffic on this route than any previous.
I could sense that we were near the center of the Cradle.
Almost within the belly of the beast, as it were.
And when we arrived at Sancha’s office, Malachi was practically vibrating as Cirian rapped on the door.
“Enter,” the Cardinal’s voice echoed through the wood.
Twisting the knob in the center of the door, Cirian entered the space first, followed quickly by Malachi.
I hovered in the entrance.