Chapter 15
I crack my eyelids as the door leading back inside the tower scrapes open again. By some miracle, I’m not dead. Or, worse, a dragon.
Maybe I’m not cursed after all… The thought is as bracing as the cool breeze that drifts down from the already snow-capped peaks of the Nightgale Mountains.
I’m not sure if it, or the wind, is what sends a chill down my spine.
But, for the first time, it doesn’t feel ominous.
I was pushed farther than I ever have been before last night, and here I am.
The sky is brightening steadily with a hazy dawn. The woman who called the shots earlier has returned with her lackeys, striding out from the door. They stand around me like I’m some failed experiment.
“Let it be recorded that Isola Thaz has spent the night exposed, without dragon attack, and shows no sign of change.” Disappointment is apparent in her voice. I grit my teeth. She wanted me to be cursed.
It’s astounding how I can be so loved and hated at the same time in Vinguard.
The inquisitors unlock my shackles and step back as I struggle to stand.
The wound on my back feels swollen and crusted with the paste Lucan applied.
Gravel is indented into my side from where I slept on it all night.
No help is given. Even this is its own test.
None of them stop me as I head for the door and stumble down the stairs, using the wall for support.
I wait for someone to bring up how I found and used a sigil, since they only focused on me handling the fiery sludge last night, but no one does.
So I don’t linger. One foot in front of the next…
I’m not sure how I make it back to the residence hall, but I do.
Other doors are opening, supplicants stepping out for the day.
Most don’t notice me, but one does. The same dark-haired, androgynous teen from the night before—the one who had been fighting Cindel for a key.
They open their mouth as if to call out but close it as another supplicant steps into the hall.
Almost like they don’t want to draw attention to my state.
I give them a small nod of appreciation and finish dragging myself up to Saipha’s room right as she’s emerging.
“Isola!” she exclaims, rushing to me.
My knees give out at the sight of her, and she catches me. I wince, and she adjusts her grip on my back, seeing the wound. “What happened?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I fought a dragon?” The dragon automatons were concealed again behind their tapestries. The inquisitors must have realized my sabotage of the silver one.
“You have all the fun.” Saipha half carries me into her small room.
It’s a simple setup: a cot, a tiny table, and a stool.
The table is empty. There’s no dresser or armoire—not enough room for it.
I suppose that makes sense. Curates living in the monastery don’t need much space, and the Creed supplies all they need.
Which makes the small lockbox at the foot of her bed stand out.
“What’s in there?” My voice cracks from the exhaustion I can finally let show.
“Nothing yet, I checked—was hoping a kind curate took pity and left us something good.” She helps me sit on the floor rather than the bed. I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t want me bleeding all over the sheets, either.
“Too bad they didn’t break the law to help us.” I wince as I sit.
“I’m guessing they left them because we’re going to be encouraged to collect our own supplies at some point, or hoard whatever we find. What happened to you?”
I lean against the wall and explain the events of the night. She listens attentively to everything—Lucan, the mechanical dragons, using the sigils, the greenhouse, and the rooftop.
She makes a low noise, somewhere between contemplation and disgust, and then stands, pacing to the window and opening the shutters to get a breath of fresh air.
“What is it?” I ask.
“You’re not going to like it.”
“I figure. Tell me.”
One more second of hesitation, a slightly apologetic look, then, “I think we should stay out tonight.”
“What?”
“If what you said is true, there are more sigils on the dragons—good ones. We should find them all. It’ll give us a big advantage because, unlike anyone else here, you can use them.” She has a point, but…
“I’m in no position to take on more automatons. I barely made it out of that room with my spine inside my back.” And, if I’m being honest, I never would have without Lucan’s assistance. “You want to do it again?”
“I know, I know.” Saipha sighs and runs a hand through her short red hair. “If we had time, Isola, you know all I would want to do is bring you soup and fresh bandages and tell you all the market gossip I could find until you were better. But we don’t have those luxuries in here.”
I look away. She’s right, of course. But I just want a warm bed and a proper night’s rest. Not like I have a room to do it in.
“Besides, if the silver dragon gave you a sigil that gave you armor—like a silver dragon—then maybe the other ones have similar sigils. You could get the yellow dragon’s and—”
My head snaps back to her, and I finish her sentence. “Properly heal myself.”
Saipha kneels and locks eyes with me. “Here’s what we’ll do.
I’ll go to the workshops; I’ll find bandages or something that can be used as such; I’ll get food, too; and I’ll keep an eye out for a key for you while I do it, just in case.
Rest, for now, then I’ll patch you up. Won’t be as good as a proper renewer, but I’ll do what I can.
Come sunset, if you’re still unsure and we found you a key, we can make a final decision if we want to try. But key or no, I think we should.”
What would a Mercy Knight do?
Not back down.
“You’re right. We should,” I say with more confidence than I feel. If last night is any indication, this Tribunal is only going to get worse. We will need every advantage we can get. And, maybe since I’ve survived this long already, I’ll actually make it through.
But despite my forced optimism, I can’t help but feel like this plan is a terrible, terrible mistake.