Chapter 30
To my amazement, the knights step back. Even as a rush of nerves has me fighting shivers, my stance is strong, my skin doesn’t crawl, my pulse is even and steady.
The knights all stare at me, open-mouthed. None of them are seriously injured. A few scorched capes. Burned cheeks that are paid no mind. These folks are accustomed to worse.
My gaze finds Lucan. The tightness in my chest loosens at the sight of him unhurt—and loosens more when I catch the pride burning in his eyes. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I look away before a flush can settle there.
I straighten away from the wall, even though my knees threaten to give out, attempting to project strength. My head spins. It’s like something—or someone—else took over and spoke for me. As if here, in this scourge-encrusted room, I truly became Valor.
“The prophecy—” One of the men who was just lunging for me sinks to his knees.
“She must be… She truly is…”
A woman speaks for them all. “Valor Reborn has truly returned.”
The man who was first into the room looks between Lucan and me.
His eyes narrow. I can almost feel him wanting to believe.
Knowing that no dragon cursed has ever commanded flame—at least not in any stories I’ve ever heard.
But judging from the sheen of Etherlight that covers his armor, he’s of higher rank than the rest of them.
So I’m not surprised when he says, “There are ways this must be handled. Take them for interrogation.”
The woman looks aghast. She continues to speak for those on their knees. Those looking at me as if I’m a goddess come to life. “Sir, this is Valor Reborn. We cannot—”
“And she stands in a room coated with scourge dust. There are processes for what has occurred. Take them to the interrogation room, now. Doing only that is already a deviation from protocol.” He barks his orders.
“Take us for interrogation,” I say before the woman can object again. Arguing is only going to prolong the inevitable. The woman looks between me and her leader uncertainly. I give a slight smile. “I am not afraid. As Valor Reborn, I gladly uphold the laws of Vinguard.”
“Do it,” the leader commands again.
Their training takes over. They do exactly as ordered and encircle me. One man pulls my hands to the small of my back, grabbing my wrists and holding them in place. Another keeps his hand on the hilt of his dagger, though he doesn’t draw it.
Lucan is behind me. I can’t see him, but I can hear his footsteps.
Like me, he doesn’t resist. We’re escorted through the dark, dank halls that slope upward.
The smell abates as we leave the sundering pits and continue down the long hallway.
Sunlight streams in through little holes punched through the ceiling to what must be the Upper City.
One such porthole illuminates the room where Lucan and I are taken.
There’s nothing else inside the small stone space, leaving me to wonder about this room’s original purpose.
I don’t think interrogations are all that common in Vinguard—not outside the Tribunal, at least. Probably why we had to walk for a while.
This must be part of a sentinel tower similar to the one Mum and I were taken to after the dragon attack, before the Convening.
“Wait here.” The commander leaves, and the rest of the knights follow. Once more, a door is closed on us, and a heavy lock engaged.
My knees give out.
Lucan is at my side in an instant. He grabs me, but his grip is awkward.
Rather than keeping me upright, he manages to ease us both to the floor.
I hunch and hang my head. My arms tremble as my palms press against the cold, hard stone beneath me.
Lucan gently loops his arm around my shoulders, one hand hovering above my arm, as though ready to catch me should my elbows unlock.
“What were those flames?” he whispers.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head and try to gather my scattered thoughts. “I… If I had to guess, it’s something lingering from the artificer sigils.”
“You didn’t draw any for fire.” He states the obvious.
“I know. But maybe one of the symbols on me smudged into something new. That’s exactly why the Creed doesn’t want untrained people messing with them. It could happen. And I… I don’t know enough sigil symbols to recognize what might be there.”
“You know as well as I do that sigils need to be precise. It’s unlikely you ‘smudged’ one sigil perfectly into another.
” A pause. “Isola…did you just draw Etherlight without a sigil?” Lucan has never revered me like the others.
Even though I’ve only just come to realize as much, hearing him regard me now with awe feels like a wound.
“I…” I shake my head. “I don’t know what happened.” I manage to lift my gaze, meeting his eyes. Worry gives me a convenient excuse to move the topic of conversation off me. “Do you think other supplicants were affected by the scourge?”
“You know what I think.” That the vicar sabotaged us…probably hoping for just this outcome. His arm tightens around my shoulders. I’ve never had someone hold me like this before. Saipha always is there for me. She always has my back. But this is something more. This feels like…
Like if I were to lean on him, he wouldn’t pull away. As though he’s a break against a storm I didn’t even notice on the horizon.
“It’s all right,” he says softly, tenderly. “No matter what it was, I’m here with you.”
I want to lean into his aura of safety. Into his sturdy yet warm hands. To collapse and sleep for a thousand years only to wake and have him be the first thing I see.
And what feels more dangerous than actually doing any of it is how badly I want it.
I’ve never desired the comfort of another as desperately as I want his in this moment, and the idea of it…
of risking myself in that way—of creating that sort of a vulnerability…
is almost too much. Especially when it comes to this boy whom I’ve always seen as the vicar’s son.
Even if my heart knows so much more about him now, so much that changes everything, my head has to catch up.
The door opens again, and the prelate stands in its frame. “Lucan. Come with me.”
“What?” He frowns. I’ve never seen him openly defiant to authority before. The knit in his brow and firm set of his jaw suit him. It ignites a spark in his eyes that lends a maturity beyond his eighteen years.
“You will be interrogated separately. Now, with me.” She dips her chin. Lucan doesn’t move. “I said, now.”
He begrudgingly stands. The moment he’s gone from my side, I’m cold again. I tense back up, push myself into a seated position. Lucan gives me one more wary glance before following her, the door closing and locking behind them.
I’m not alone for long, nor am I surprised to see who comes in next.
“So, you finally did it,” Vicar Darius says quietly the moment the door closes. The glint in his eyes immediately puts me on edge. He stalks across the room, coming to a stop a step away, looming over me. The light halos him, as radiant as it is horrible. “My Valor…”
“I don’t know what I did.” Terror has smothered my voice to a whisper.
“You focused raw Etherlight without an artificer sigil.”
“I actually drew one,” I say hastily.
His eyes narrow a fraction for only a second. “Ah, yes… The ones you saw in the automaton.” I can only assume the inquisitors told him. The vicar’s smile widens. “Do not be so modest. You know as well as I that one sigil was to draw Etherlight but not apply it, and the other was for armor.”
“My father always said I was a great artificer in the making—just like Valor was said to be. I must’ve made something new, by accident.” Continuing to object to him isn’t a good idea for my well-being, but allowing him to think what he’s clearly thinking feels equally dangerous.
“Don’t be so modest, Isola. You bent the essence of life itself to your will.” The vicar looks right through me, as if pulling back the curtains to peer into my soul. “You are so very close to claiming our destiny.”
Our destiny. I say nothing. I can’t imagine what he wants to hear, so I keep my mouth shut. I’ve never seen this side of the vicar, and I thought I’d seen everything.
He leans forward, light shadowing the deep wrinkles of his face. “Now, show me.”
“I… I can’t.”
Vicar Darius leans away. “You would dare defy me?”
“No,” I say. His stare sparks something in me, a survival instinct. My palms are clammy with sweat. “Of course not. I don’t know what I did, not really. And even if I did, I’m too exhausted. I—”
Vicar Darius grabs my cheeks so hard my lips pucker.
He towers over me, eyes shadowed yet gleaming with something I can’t place.
It’s not malice, but it is the opposite of kindness.
It’s desire but not lust. It’s something that puts the taste of bile in the back of my throat.
An expression sweeter than the scent of roses and twice as putrid as decay.
Run, that primal instinct within me whispers.
But there’s nowhere for me to go. I’m trapped in a room, alone with this man. Part of me searches for a way out, envisioning a sprint to the door. The other part of me wants to reach for the magic I might have just found and fight.
I’m trapped, suspended between the two and exhaustion. The only thing I know for sure is that I want it to be over. I want this moment to be done and gone—to be free of him and everything he represents.
“Show. Me,” the vicar snarls through clenched teeth.
My heart quickens. “I can’t.” The words are as harsh as steel across stone. Scraping the corners of my mouth where his fingers press on my cheeks. “I’m too tired. I’m sorry. Please.”
“So, you’d like it to be the hard way, then.” He releases me and slowly steps back, composed and calm.
“Vicar Darius, if I could, I would. I swear it.” I don’t even know if it’s the truth, but the drive to protect myself has me bartering and begging him.
“You responded to pressure well.” Does he mean the scourge?
Was Lucan right and he really did sabotage our room?
I’ve always known the vicar to be a man who would do anything to achieve his goals.
But I never thought he’d actually do something that could harm Vinguard.
That could kill me. “Let’s test it again. ”
He knocks on the door, and it opens. Two Mercy Knights step in. Their hoods are drawn like the inquisitors. I resist the urge to plead for any kindness.
Mercy is death.
Cruelty means you are still breathing.
So I take a deep breath and brace.