Chapter 60
My cheek meets the packed earth of the stadium floor—thank goodness it’s not where I got sick. I still stare at Saipha through the eye that isn’t being forced shut by the weight of bodies and boots upon me. Mercy Knights surround me, followed by the clicking of crossbow bolts being engaged.
Marius staggers to his daughter. He collapses to his knees by the dragon, hanging his head and gripping his thighs. Sobs he does not unleash rack his shoulders. He is allowed to mourn for his daughter now that the Mercy kill has been completed.
He made sure they could take the shot.
Whereas I reached for her as she breathed. I told them all to stop. I committed a cardinal sin of Vinguard: sympathy for a dragon.
“Let her up,” the vicar commands, and bile rises in my throat. I’d rather be at the hands of Mercy Knights than accept help from him. “Get her to a room for questioning.”
“This way.” The high curate from Mercy leads the way.
I’m peeled off the ground by at least three people. Two hands in my armpits, a person grabbing each arm. The hoisting is so violent that my toes leave the ground. There are ten crossbows all pointed at my face.
The vicar looks at me with thinly veiled disdain as we follow the high curate of Mercy. I’ve never seen the vicar regard me with such contempt so openly. Even if his expression could be mistaken for worry by anyone else, I know better. I know him.
I barely hide my own rage in reply.
Lucan comes to walk at his side, head slightly bowed in his usual stoic statue stance. But, for the first time, I don’t resent the sight of it. For the first time ever, seeing him next to the vicar is a balm. Lucan glances my way.
Our eyes meet, and I inhale; I hold my breath and, with it, the sense of safety his arms gave me the other night. It’s a fool’s hope, I know it, but I have the errant notion that as long as Lucan is near, he’ll help. He’ll keep me safe.
Mum is gone. Father is gone. Saipha’s gone…
As fond as I am of Marie and Callon and they are of me, I wouldn’t expect them to stand up for me and risk their own skins. Not after what’s happened. I wouldn’t blame them in the slightest if they chose to focus on their own self-preservation now.
The high curate opens a hidden door that’s flush with the tall walls of the stadium. It unhinges with a push and a hiss of gears, swinging to the side. He takes us within. The inquisitors are rough with me the entire time, but I don’t bother fighting.
The little space is barely more than a storeroom, and it quickly becomes cramped with people.
I’m forced down onto a crate as they release me, crossbows still locked in my direction.
I give the inquisitors a dull look. I’m numb not only physically from all the frost and bitter winter winds, but emotionally from the shock of my friend’s death.
“Should I fetch the other high curates?” the man who was leading asks after he shuts the door.
“No. As Valor Reborn, the final decision rests with me.”
“She called off our attacks.” Of course the first thing the prelate does is try to condemn me.
“Your attacks were not hitting.” The vicar regards her warily from the corner of his eyes.
There’s a sense of betrayal to him, as if he expected more from her.
“A dragon freshly changed cannot be stopped by such rudimentary means. The barrier of Etherlight is too thick. Only one with powers such as Valor Reborn could effectively attack in that moment, but none of you heeded her.”
I hate that they’re talking about me like I’m not here. But I know that anything I could say wouldn’t help my case. For right now, it’s better to let the vicar spin his lies.
The prelate purses her lips. “Very well, but she cannot be set free into the city, given these circumstances. Why not take her to Mercy for at least a final night of observation?”
“You mean to tell me what to do?” the vicar says coldly.
“You step out of line,” the high curate from Mercy scolds the prelate.
She raises her hands in a gesture of submission.
“I was giving a suggestion, nothing more. The citizenry will hear of this. Will they not feel more assured knowing she was within Mercy Spire at least for the night immediately following? Could you not say that it is to discuss dragon attack strategies with Valor?”
The vicar strokes his chin in thought. “Very well,” he relents. “But before you take her, I would like a moment alone with Valor Reborn, so that I might give her blessings to carry with her into the night ahead.”
The prelate looks like she wants to object but doesn’t.
“We will be outside,” the high curate says.
The prelate and the other inquisitors begrudgingly leave. Even Lucan steps out with them.
The air feels markedly colder as the vicar places all his attention on me and me alone.
“You are Valor Reborn.” The words are said as though he could force them to be true with his sheer will. “You will go into Mercy, and you will show them that it is where you are meant to be, not as a prisoner but as our hero.”
“I doubt they’re going to allow that while I’m in a cage,” I say dully.
“Leave that to me.” He presses his fingertips together. “All you need to know is that the last thing you want to do, from here on, is disappoint me.”
“Or what?” The Tribunal has changed me—maybe not for the better, as it seems my sense of self-preservation has been worn through.
The vicar assesses me as though I’m a puzzle that’s changed its shape.
Seeing the new picture of who I am becoming as I’m simultaneously realizing it myself.
I’m not the demure and helpless woman I once was.
So afraid. So determined to make everyone around me proud.
So desperate to feel normal. I’m not normal.
I’m special, and that threatens you. A smile slips onto my lips.
“I’ve lost everything. My mum’s gone, Father’s dead”—his eyes widen; he didn’t think I’d know that yet—“my best friend was dragon cursed and was shown Mercy. What else is there for me?”
“You are Valor Reborn,” he repeats more firmly. “The savior of Vinguard.”
“And what if I’m not? What if you’re wrong?”
His eyes widen with shock, which is both gratifying and confusing. Surely, he’s known I have my doubts. Why does he look so fearful and desperate?
Did he truly believe his own lies that the girl on the rooftop would change the world?
Or maybe he believed the lie that he’d own that little girl forever.
Without warning, he grabs my chin, jerking my face, nearly pulling me off the box in the process. I don’t even flinch. His eyes narrow, and with a snarl, he says, “Valor or not, it doesn’t matter. You have what I need. Your power will be mine. I will be the savior of this world.”
I. Not you. Not we. I.
“You resent me, don’t you?” I whisper, thinking of what my father told me. His thumb and fingers press into my cheeks, making it hard to speak. “All that scheming, all that power you consolidated for years as you expanded the Creed, and you’re still nothing compared to a scared little girl.”
He chuckles, low and raspy, like daggers scraping against stone.
“You think you have the answers. But you barely have the questions.” Stillness overtakes me, and the ground I thought I was gaining slips under my feet.
The vicar is still one step ahead—still more powerful with knowledge I don’t yet have.
“You don’t even know what power you possess, and that’s why you can’t be trusted to keep it. ”
The vicar releases me and strides for the door, calling through before I can get a word in. “Take her away.”
The prelate and the other inquisitors enter eagerly.
I stand, calm and composed on the outside, but on the inside, I’m rattled by the vicar’s words.
Frantically, I covertly scan the room for one person: Lucan.
Yet he’s nowhere to be found. A pang of hurt strikes me in the chest like a crossbow bolt.
I don’t blame him for leaving. He was probably freed. But I wanted to see him one last time…
They take me from the room and through back hallways that are crumbling and ancient, yet clearly still well-tended by the endless repairs. It doesn’t take long to affirm my initial suspicion of this place—the arena connects to Mercy Spire itself.
I did it, I think dryly as I march forward. I made it into Mercy after all.