Chapter 38
Ruben got us three names of local inns from the stable hand, but the first two were rammed and standing room only, and getting out of them is almost as hard as getting into them.
‘Move out the way!’ A woman holding more tankards than should physically be possible barges through with her elbows out, causing other patrons to shift out of her path, including one who knocks my shoulder. I stumble to the side, only for my hands to grab the nearest solid object. Kyor.
As one palm lands flat against his chest, my other grabs his right arm, just a little way down from his injured shoulder.
‘I’m sorry …’ I stutter, straightening myself as he quickly hides the wince with a grin.
‘For touching me, Thorn? You never have to apologise for that. You should know that by now.’
As our eyes lock, I can’t help but think of the image of him only a few hours ago, weak and in pain. The thought I could have lost him causes a searing through my chest that makes it almost impossible to breathe.
But I’d feel like that if I lost any of the group – any of my friends from Wrohelm.
That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.
‘We should get going,’ I tell him, trying to ignore the breathlessness in my voice. ‘Try the last place Ruben mentioned.’
‘Sure …’ Kyor smirks. ‘You just need to let go of my arm first.’
I hastily release him and twist away, hoping I’m fast enough that he doesn’t see the colour rise in my cheeks.
Out in the open, I make sure I’m walking just far enough away that I don’t accidentally bump into him again, but it’s hard. First, because the streets are so busy, but also because my eyes and body seem to be constantly drawn to him.
We’re still on the route to the third inn when I’m struck by a pressure at the base of my spine, almost identical to how it felt when we were in the forest, riding away from the ring.
Instinctively, I look down at my hand, as if I expect the ring to be gone, but it’s still there on my middle finger.
‘Everything all right?’ Kyor asks as I slide to a stop.
‘I think so,’ I say as my gaze skims over him to a dome-shaped roof cresting into the skyline. Immediately, the pressure in my spine subsides, almost as if my acknowledgement of the building was what it was waiting for.
‘I should go to the temple,’ I tell him with a sudden sense of certainty. ‘That’s what we’ve said this trip is for, after all. A pilgrimage for Etta. I should make good on that. Keep up appearances.’ Thank her for Kyor’s continued ability to breathe.
Kyor presses his lips together as if he’s going to object, only to dip his chin in acquiescence. ‘Fine, but we can’t be long. If there are any rooms left, I suspect they’ll go fast.’
I nod in agreement, already weaving through the buildings towards the dome shape that I am certain is a temple.
Sure enough, when I reach the outside, the cleanliness of the building exudes deference to the Gods. Not wanting to waste time, I head inside.
‘Rose,’ Kyor calls after me, but I don’t so much as turn my head to look at him.
‘I’ll just be a minute,’ I tell him. ‘You can wait outside if you want.’
Then, as if I am being pushed on by an invisible hand, I open the heavy wooden doors and step into the temple.
Prayer has been an intermittent activity for me ever since Florian died – or at least, since I believed he had died.
It was hard to pray to the Gods when I knew they had punished my family and me wrongly, even more so because I believed the person who should have been punished for lying was still living in splendour in the palace.
The few prayers that I managed came more out of desperation than a belief that the Gods were actually listening to me.
When Dinah would insist we share words to the Goddess together, I would feel a prickle of unease across my skin.
But now that I have been gifted by Etta herself, I suspect I should have perhaps been more forthcoming with my libations, more dedicated to my thanks.
But there has been little time to think of that with everything going on.
Now, though, as I step into the candlelit temple, aromas of ash and rosemary filling the air, I feel a sense of peace I didn’t expect.
A sensation that I am on the right path; something I have doubted for almost every step of this journey.
Here, inside these walls, that doubt has all but evaporated.
The pews are wide and practically empty, but as I move towards one of them, ready to take a seat, I pause, my attention stolen by a priestess.
She is standing by the altar, dressed in a white robe, the edges trimmed in gold.
I watch as she turns, and I realise it isn’t only the colour of her cloak that’s wrong, but the iridescent, pearl-like stone set in her forehead.
‘Rose,’ Kyor whispers as he sidles up to me.
‘I didn’t realise Etta’s priestesses wore a different colour in Galreck,’ I murmur, my voice as hushed as his, despite how few people there are to disturb.
‘They don’t,’ he says. ‘This isn’t Etta’s temple.’
I frown, ready to tell him that has to be wrong. After all, I was drawn to the building, and I’m blessed by Etta herself. It isn’t hard to put two and two together. Yet as I look around me, I slowly realise he’s right.
There are no symbols of the Goddess of Life, no sign of her spiral, the mark of the ever-flowing act of life.
‘Whose—’
‘Oel,’ he answers my question before I even finish it. ‘This is Oel’s temple.’
I stare at the altar. Oel. The God of Order and Logic. Why would I have been drawn here? None of my family have ever worshipped him. Not that I know of.
Goosebumps rise along my arms as I stare at the ring on my finger, unsure and unsettled by its presence and effect on me. It drew me here, and it was Mother’s ring. How many more secrets do you have, Mother?
How many more that even Dinah did not know?
Well, I am here, and it would be rude to walk out without saying something to Oel.
I genuflect. “Thank you,” I murmur to him, “for clear thoughts in moments of stress.” I hesitate before adding silently, If you could help me see what I should do about Kyor … that would be great.
There. That would do.
Aware of the weight that is suddenly bearing down on my chest, I spin around. ‘Come on. We should go to the last inn and see if there is room.’
‘What about Etta?’ Kyor asks. ‘Do you not want to find her temple?’
‘I’ll go in the morning,’ I tell him. ‘For now, we need a room.’ The ring is silent on my hand. I have done what it required of me, though I have no idea what exactly that is or why I had to do it.
As we walk out, there is no pull from the ring, no push to go in a certain direction, so we continue to the inn as planned.
The possibility of us finding somewhere to sleep is looking increasingly less likely as we arrive and are greeted by the sound of more heavy beats.
‘Fucking drums,’ I mutter as we make our way across to the bar.
My mind is still whirring with the scene in the temple.
That sense of peace I felt inside has very much gone, and in its place is a new sense of nervousness.
Perhaps worship of Oel and Etta takes place in the same temple in Galreck, I consider, only to dismiss the thought.
I am reaching. Hoping to find an explanation as to why I was drawn to that place, but I’m not going to find one. Not this hungry and tired.
‘Good evening, we were just—’
‘If you’re going to ask if we’ve got a room, the answer’s no,’ the woman says before Kyor can even finish his sentence.
He presses his lips together, preparing his next line, only for her to beat him to it.
‘And it doesn’t matter how big a tip you want to offer me.
The prince himself could walk in right now and offer me every pair of his pretty silk underwear, and I’d still tell him I don’t have space.
I can’t create more rooms.’ She bustles off, visibly harried by the overwhelming crowd.
‘Well, that’s me told,’ he says, looking at me with a smirk, though it falls almost instantly. ‘It’s your call. We can keep trying if you want. Or … stables?’
Neither of us wants to sleep in the stables, but the more we’ve walked around, the more I’ve seen Kyor start to flag. His right shoulder has been jostled by the crowds on the streets more than once, and he’s gone white with pain every time.
These last few hours walking through the city have also tired me out more than the entire journey combined.
We have no choice now, I think, looking at his pale skin. He needs rest, and if that ends up being on a pile of straw … well, it’s better than the wooden pallet of the night before. Marginally.
‘Maybe we should—’
‘Commander?’
Kyor and I turn around simultaneously, but while I have no idea who we’re looking at, the same can’t be said for Kyor, whose face cracks into one of the widest and most genuine smiles I’ve seen in a long time.
‘Ryne?’ He says it as if he can’t believe it’s true. ‘What are you doing here?’
The woman he’s talking to has to be in her sixties, with grey hair and broad shoulders.
I’m immediately reminded of another person of a similar age: Grenda, one of the most formidable Rettlings in the whole Retterheld.
And she might have even won it, too, had Zara not ended her life the instant the Ofur – the final Retterheld trial – started.
‘What the fuck am I doing here?’ Ryne replies. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
Kyor embraces the woman, pulling her fully into him as he slaps her on the back. When they break away, his smile is still in place despite his slight wince at his shoulder pain. ‘I thought Father assigned you up north?’
Her eyes dart around her. ‘Yes, well, I was posted at the Torailian border – fuckers trying to push into our land again – but I got some news that Arle might be in Galreck. And after Zelle, you know … I requested a transfer.’
Arle. Fuck. That makes me even more nervous than the thought of encroaching Torailians.