Chapter 10
We only need one key. Saipha and I can share a room, I tell myself as we race down the spiral stair. What matters is that we’re not left out at night. Whatever the inquisitors have in store for those unlucky souls isn’t going to be good, I feel it in my marrow, and I’m not going to let it be me.
Once afflicted human bodies have matured enough to physically hold the imbalance of Ethershade that causes the transformation, it can happen any moment.
But times of intense physical or emotional distress—pain, fear, danger—are well-established triggers.
Knowing this, I can only imagine what kind of situations they’ve crafted to draw out a change.
The other supplicants seem to have the same take on our circumstances. They’re racing down the stairs, shouts and grunts echoing back at us. Saipha and I are all the way on the fourth floor, so beating anyone out to the main areas is hopeless…unless we resort to more ruthless physicality.
Is that what we’re supposed to do? Harm each other for an edge?
Would the inquisitors stop us? I’ve no idea.
For the first time, it dawns on me what that really means…
Anything could happen in here. The notion sticks in my brain as though pinned there by a Mercy dagger, poisoning my blood with fear.
Suddenly, not telling us about the inner workings of the Tribunal feels less like an effort to prevent the cursed from avoiding discovery…
and more like another way to mess with our minds.
And cover their asses. Mum’s words echo in my ears.
But they will do things to you in there…
horrible things that should never be forgiven, and they’ll tell you it’s normal.
“Down here.” I make a quick decision and pull Saipha into the third-floor hall.
“Here? Why?”
“We’re already the last of the group. We’re not going to catch up.
Let them dissipate, maybe find a few keys, and we can see if there’s some sort of trend in where they’re hidden.
Plus, there’s nothing to say a key can’t be hidden in plain sight here in one of the hallways,” I explain, skimming the long stretch of doors for a key already in its lock.
“Sometimes the right solution is the most obvious,” Saipha immediately agrees. “I’ll go back up to the fourth floor and check there.”
“After this, I’ll check the first.” Concocting a plan already feels better than racing headlong into the chaos.
“And I’ll take the second.”
“Then we can split up to search the rest of the building.”
She pauses at the entrance to the stairwell. “We only need one, right?” I love how we arrived at the same conclusion without the need for discussion.
“Yeah, but let’s get as many as we can find. They could be good for bartering later.” It’s probably far too optimistic to think we’ll find more than two, but if we do… I’m taking any advantage I can get here.
“Great minds.” She grins, no doubt having already thought much the same again. Saipha is going to make an exceptional Mercy Knight, I already know. “The vicar or your father wouldn’t have happened to teach you any find-the-thing-I-need sigils, would they?”
I snort at the notion. “You know Father would never go against the rules of the Creed.” And those rules state that only full citizens can see a sigil—even then, most in use are obscured. Their full designs are kept guarded in Mercy’s records.
“You spent a lot of time in his workshop. I didn’t know if you peeked.” She leans against the stone archway with a smirk that tells me she absolutely would’ve if she’d been in my shoes.
“You can’t imagine how tempting it was.”
She picks up on the note of bitter longing in my words. “So why didn’t you?”
“The vicar said that I would draw Etherlight without a sigil or not at all.”
She drops her voice, taking a step forward so no one else hears when she says, “You hate the vicar. And you lit my father’s lantern.”
I sigh. “I know, it’s probably silly, but it’s because my father asked me not to.”
“I don’t think loving and respecting your family is silly at all.” She smiles. “Meet back on floor four by dusk?”
“Done.” No sooner do I say the word than she’s off.
I continue my search in earnest. I skim every keyhole and run my hands along the top of every door trim. Much to my dismay, there are no hidden keys here… Nor any on the first floor.
Damn. I’d been thinking that I was clever for that, too.
Reemerging into the central atrium, I see a supplicant who’s climbed up onto the back of the Elder Dragon.
He’s fishing underneath scales, trying to see if any of the spines that trail down its back are loose.
Another has her arm in the dragon’s mouth all the way to her shoulder.
I suppress a shudder and head for one of the many doors that line the circular central hall.
If there are keys hidden inside the dragon statue, the others can have them.
I’d rather not pass out in my first few hours of the Tribunal.
I find myself in the heart of a two-story library packed with shelves of scrolls and—even rarer—books. I don’t have time to appreciate it as I step into the middle of a fight.
Blood splatters, nearly blending with the dark-gray carpet. A supplicant tumbles to the ground. A boot slams down onto their wrist, and their fingers unfurl.
Someone else reaches down to pluck a key from their now-open palm with a familiar grace in her movements. Despite the scuffle, not a hair of the braids her delicate, light-brown waves have been tamed into is out of place. My lip nearly curls in disgust.
It would be her getting into a fistfight on the first day.
“You should learn to mind your betters.” Cindel sneers.
Before I can do anything, the supplicant on the floor rolls, grabbing Cindel’s ankle and biting down. She lets out a yelp that’s more surprise than pain.
The one on the floor then grabs Cindel’s other boot and yanks, hard. She topples, and the black-haired supplicant is on top of her.
“Give. It. Back!”
Cindel comes from a wealthy, well-connected family.
Money and power buy one thing in Vinguard: training.
Which means an easier time in the Tribunal and a higher likelihood of becoming a Mercy Knight, or attracting the eye of a first-rate guild or craftsman, at least. She’s almost as skilled as I am.
Cindel shifts her weight, bringing up a knee and rolling. Her opponent is pinned.
“I saw it first,” Cindel declares.
“I got it first!” The other supplicant attempts to pummel Cindel’s thighs.
I scan the room. There’s an inquisitor nearby, at the end of one of the shelves. Another leans against the railing that rounds the second-story mezzanine.
Neither move.
They’re Mercy Knights in a different uniform, I remind myself.
They might be young, but each is a trained killer.
They don’t care about violence; it’s second nature to them.
All they’re here for is to ensure none of us are cursed and bestow mercy if we are.
They’d probably let us do anything to each other, if that’s what it takes to be sure none of us spontaneously transform into mindless killing machines in the middle of a market someday.
Which seems fair enough, when I put it like that…
Still, my mother’s words are gaining new clarity by the second.
“Stop.” I step forward. The duo ignores me. “Stop!”
I grab Cindel’s fist before it can be thrown. Another blow flies in my direction. I dodge it effortlessly and keep my balance. Begrudgingly, I admit there may have been something to all the training the vicar put me through.
Cindel’s eyes meet mine. There’s a flash of recognition, then hatred. “You.”
Feeling’s mutual, I want to say. But instead: “That’s enough.”
A cold mask shutters the flash of genuine emotion on her face. Cindel never lets more than a second of weakness show. Her wrist quivers in my grip, key locked in her fist. “What do you want?”
The other supplicant looks between Cindel and me through their thick lashes set against light-brown skin. After a quick assessment, the black-haired individual seizes the moment to regain their footing and rub their nose with the back of their hand, smearing a trickle of blood.
“It’s not worth it,” I say.
“I never thought Valor Reborn would shy away from a fight.” Cindel looks me up and down.
“Save the violence for our real enemies: the dragons. We have a lot more to gain by helping each other. Like knights on the wall.”
Her lips twitch downward at my mention of them. She must hate that I’m making her look bad. But then, she shouldn’t make it so easy.
I grab her closed fist with my other hand, feel her body shake in anger. “Give it up.” I could tell from the beginning that Cindel has no right to the key. She’s always fighting a scowl whenever she’s in the wrong.
“I’m not going to give this to you just because you’re Valor Reborn.
” She lowers her voice, as if afraid someone else might hear her being anything less than deferential to me.
This is her eternal torture—trapped between her resentment of me and her fealty to the Creed, which tells her to revere me as her savior returned.
I don’t relish in this dynamic, but I’ll use it to my advantage. “I’m not keeping it. I’m going to give it back to the person who found it.”
For a second, I think she’s going to swing for me.
Instead, she uncurls her fingers, and I take the key.
I toss it to Cindel’s victim, who snatches their lifeline out of the air and promptly scampers off, throwing a quick thanks over their shoulder.
I don’t blame them. Got what they needed and got out before anyone else could add bruises.
“So noble.” The way Cindel says it, I know it’s not intended as a compliment. “Such a luxury to be idealistic.”
“Luxury?” Feels more like a suffocating responsibility.
“Not all of us are guaranteed a position in the Mercy Knights.”