Chapter 10 #2
I scoff. “I wish.” It’s my turn to drop my voice to a hush and lean into her personal space.
“You really think the vicar is going to let me just don a dragon-blood cape and stroll onto the wall? To let anyone doubt the strength of the savior? I’m going to have to fight for a spot just like you.
If I want a life after this Tribunal, I’m going to prove I am as good—no, I’m better than everyone else here.
” I say that last bit louder, for everyone’s benefit.
“Good. I look forward to seeing how I measure up against the great Valor Reborn.” Cindel steps away.
“You know, I meant it—we’ve a lot more to gain by working together than fighting each other.
” It’s futile to say to her of all people.
She’s always seemed to harbor a dislike for me.
Even before I was Valor Reborn and we were just two young girls living a couple of blocks apart.
Her father’s another high curate and seems to dislike mine just as much as she does me.
Cindel slowly shakes her head and checks that the pinnings of her hair haven’t come undone.
I’ve never missed how she wears it in a similar style to what the vicar requires of me: pinned up in braids around a bun.
“Might is earned through conflict and sacrifice. I’ll be praying you have the will to be who Vinguard needs, Isola. ”
“I appreciate your prayers.” While I’m of average height and Cindel slightly taller than me, I try to give off the energy of staring down at her. “But I have the blessings of Valor himself. Save your breath for someone who needs it.”
“So confident. Let’s hope it’s not misplaced after all our dear vicar has invested in you.” Her gaze shifts over my shoulder and slightly up.
At first, I think it’s some kind of ploy to distract me, and I don’t move. But, when her focus remains stuck on whatever it is, I finally turn slightly and glance over my shoulder. There, with forearms resting on the railing of the mezzanine, is Lucan.
I fight a groan. Of course he’s shadowing me. It was too much to hope he wouldn’t just because he didn’t stop next to me when I did at the dragon statue.
But then I realize that it’s not me he’s looking at. Lucan is staring down Cindel like a Mercy Knight would stare down a wounded dragon in the Nightgale Mountains. It’s absolutely murderous. And, judging from Cindel’s uncomfortable shift, she sees it, too.
“It’s so unfair,” she mutters under her breath. “You get to be Valor and have him.”
My head jerks in her direction, and my jaw falls from shock.
Cindel isn’t even looking at me. She’s transfixed on Lucan.
No…it’s like she’s looking straight through him.
At what he represents: power, status, a connection with the Creed.
I can practically see the fantasy she’s constructing where Lucan is the vicar and she’s his doting wife, the spiritual mother of Vinguard.
With a noise of disgust, Cindel shakes her head and strides away before I can object.
“Benj,” she calls out, and a man that looks like he could be Lucan’s cousin comes running from between the shelves.
Benj has slightly darker hair, but still with lighter highlights.
His eyes are a light brown, however, not hazel.
It’s so obvious what she sees in him I nearly gag.
“Find me another key,” Cindel commands, and away he runs.
Shaking my head at her as she walks out, I look back up at the balcony. Lucan is gone. What in Valor’s name was that about? Usually I’m the one Lucan is glowering at. So why did he look like he was ready to shoot down Cindel where she stood?
I can’t leave the library fast enough, sweeping my gaze at every turn for any other sign of him.
The back of the room connects to a tower of dusty artificer workshops that I wander through until I find myself at a greenhouse, hot and humid upon entry.
It’s strange to see a room with this much glass in Vinguard—the ceiling and one wall are made of thick, clear panels to allow light in for the plants that grow throughout.
Lucan enters just as I’m leaving, and I make it a point to say nothing to him. I’ve nothing to say.
Lunch is called by way of another booming announcement over the copper boxes that project inquisitors’ voices.
I make a quick pass through the refectory to grab a flat roll, but I don’t linger.
I use that time when others might be taking their breaks to search inside every toolkit in the workshops, then backtrack to paw through the potting shed and garden bed in the greenhouse.
I hunt for a key like my life depends on it. Because it just might.
In the process, I learn the overall layout of the monastery.
The building is four stories high, though that much I knew from the outside.
It’s ancient, not as old as the wall, but shows its age with patches of fresh brick and mortar.
Much like the wall, it seems to have been made from a handful of combined towers.
There are walkways that lead to nowhere, closed off as it’s been built on over time, or barred by locked doors, winding inner corridors, and new structures wedged where they fit.
There are stairs that dead-end in dusty storerooms filled with nonsensical things like massive casks that could fit a person, rows of empty weapon racks, or crates that have all been nailed shut and bolted together—probably filled with ritual supplies we don’t need to be getting into.
There are more prayer rooms than I can count, each bearing tiny tokens on the walls of the five tenets of the Creed.
I quickly search them all but find nothing.
The chapter house and library are in one of the connected towers, physical training and combat arenas in another, then residence hall, gardens, workshops for artifice and renewing, and myriad other rooms whose original purposes seem lost to time.
I find myself turned around more than once, but I eventually begin to navigate by memory.
Yet, for all my exploring, I don’t find a single key.
But I do spot Lucan several more times and immediately strike out in the opposite direction.
He’s following me, no doubt at the vicar’s direction, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of even acknowledging his existence.
I ignore him repeatedly, until he eventually gives up, wandering back toward the central atrium as I search high and low.
Backtrack. Double-check every nook and cranny.
I remain empty-handed as dusk turns the sky orange. I glance over my shoulder, half expecting to find the vicar’s watchdog lurking in the shadows again, but I’m alone, which is…irritating? And that irritates me even more.
It’s not like I wanted him to complete this challenge for me… But I’d be lying if I said at this point I wouldn’t appreciate it.
Defeated, I take a deep breath and head for the residence hall stairs.
Every step of the climb to the fourth floor feels like a funeral procession.
If Saipha didn’t manage to find a key…we’ll both be at the whim of the inquisitors tonight.
And, based on how tight my skin feels, I’m not sure if I’ll survive it.