Chapter 2
She’d been in Erich’s arms. The impression of her against him lingered.
Her phantom scent, rosewater and sea salt, intoxicated him still.
And all Erich could do was watch her carriage disappear up the hill, sliding farther and farther out of reach.
His decision to see her disembark had been ill-conceived from the start.
The Midnight Guard might have noticed him, or worse.
He’d come all this way to extract Liane from the church’s grasp.
He wanted to see what sort of challenges they might face in rescuing her.
Fritz’s visions hadn’t given any insight into how they should proceed.
Erich might have started out as a casual observer, but when the crowd had swarmed, he’d lost his head trying to protect her. Foolish, reckless, dangerous. He was lucky the Midnight Guard was more preoccupied with protecting her than wondering who he was.
With Liane gone, the faithful turned on him.
“You touched her. Did she impart a gift upon you?” a man holding a thin child in the crook of his arm asked.
“Will you lay your hands upon my daughter? Maybe some of the avatar’s holy light will transfer onto her.
” His eyes were hungry and hollow, and the child’s eyes were closed, and her face was ashen gray.
He smelled death on them, and knowing he could do nothing felt like a knife twisting in his gut.
And yet he felt compelled to offer them a small measure of blind hope and laid his hand on the child’s forehead.
It was a mistake. After seeing that, they crowded closer.
“My arm hasn’t been the same since my accident,” a man with a skeletal arm hanging loosely at his side said. “What about me?” He shoved closer.
Erich had no power to heal them. If anything, he might transfer the corruption of his dragon curse to them.
He shook his head to deny them, but the crowd’s fervent desire for a miracle threatened to swallow him whole.
The crush of bodies and dozens of voices talking over one another made his skin twitch, and the dragon, already too close to the surface, roared within him.
Erich sought the hilt of his dagger for comfort, but there wasn’t room to bend an elbow, and instead, he was left with his palms itching.
He had to get away. Erich thrust his shoulder between people, forcing a path out.
But their hands grasped for his clothes, tearing open his tunic and dragging his vest off him.
Clothes that had touched their avatar seemed to appease them because once they had them, they descended upon each other like a pack of wolves, tearing them into strips.
Erich drew his dagger and pointed it at the stragglers on the fringe of the crowd who eyed him.
But they lost interest and left him to skulk away like a beaten dog.
They’d scratched his chest and neck, but the flesh was already mending, though it itched.
He’d expected obstacles, but hordes of fanatical worshippers hadn’t been one of them.
The next logical step was to regroup and report what he’d learned to Fritz.
They’d feared the elves would attempt an assassination on Liane to prevent her rise to power.
They hadn’t planned on the people assaulting her out of desperation.
Though his head told him to return to the inn, dragon wings beat in his skull like a second pulse.
The waning gibbous moon should’ve soothed the dragon, but ever since Artria, it’d been closer to the surface, harder to control.
Erich pulled taut the chains that held his dragon power in check.
He didn’t head back to the inn as would have been wise, but rather joined the crowd of worshippers trailing Liane to the temple.
All knowledge was worth having, and the risk of the Midnight Guard taking note of him in the crowd was low.
They had enough on their plate keeping the masses under control.
People stood on rooftops and hung out of windows to watch the closed carriage as it inched its way toward the temple.
Erich caught glimpses of it from the alleys and back ways he traveled to avoid the bulk of the crowds.
They kept the curtains drawn, robbing him of an opportunity to see her en route.
When the carriage reached its destination, the crowd surged again.
They were pushed back by the Midnight Guards.
Erich had to elbow his way to the front of the temple steps.
The guards stood, arms interlocked, in two rows, preventing anyone from getting close enough to touch her.
Despite the well-armed wall of flesh in their way, the people grasped at her.
Their desperation was reaching a fever pitch.
The stench of unwashed bodies and sickness turned Erich’s stomach.
He was jostled as hands pulled him back in an attempt to steal his place.
Under normal circumstances, being this close to strangers would make him uneasy, but this time, his dragon twisted and thrashed against its chains, and he feared it’d break loose among the crowd.
The effort to maintain control was making his head pound more.
He couldn’t so much as bend an elbow without accidentally jabbing someone in the ribs.
He’d thought the crowds in Artria were bad, but Basilia was unbearable.
But he wanted to see her safely enter the temple. With this many guards around, they’d keep her party safe. As much as he hated to admit it, she was safest in the church’s care, for now.
The carriage doors opened, and Liane stepped out, looking shaken and terrified.
Six guards escorted her up the temple steps as the people cried out for her to turn their way.
She didn’t glance at the crowd, even as Erich’s gaze burned into the back of her skull, willing her to find him.
Which was for the best. Erich had a sinking suspicion she’d seen him at the dock, and when she’d stopped to find him, the crowd had swarmed.
The thought made his chest constrict. Even when he was trying to protect her, he endangered her.
Attempting to see her was a selfish indulgence, and yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away until she passed through the temple doors and they slammed shut behind her.
With Liane’s safety ensured, he retreated.
As he did, the pilgrims chanted her name, a rising chorus demanding to see the goddess’ avatar.
When their demands were not met, they grew agitated, pushing harder and harder.
The line of guards retaliated with clubs, dispersing the crowd, who let out a scream that rippled like the tide.
Erich was nearly out of the square when the pilgrims fled.
He knew they’d be back. The city was swarming with the devoted, seeking a miracle.
More would arrive as the word spread. They would not be dissuaded, and Erich had to admit he shared their sentiments.
Fritz couldn’t heal his curse, but maybe Liane could.
It was what had driven him, against his better instincts, to come to Basilia. He’d made a deal with a rogue elf and risked capture by the Midnight Guard all because of his vain hope that he might be saved.
The crowds thinned away from the temple, and the tension in his chest eased a measure.
Though he doubted he’d be able to unclench his jaw and relax his shoulders until he, Liane, and Fritz were out of this Trinity-damned city.
He and Fritz had arrived in Basilia by a swift merchant ship shortly before Liane, and by then, rumors had already been swirling about the goddess’ avatar.
They spoke of her miracle-working and her ability to heal the ill and, perhaps, heal corruption.
Fritz said her power had awakened, and Erich wondered how much she’d learned since they’d last spoken.
Could she perform miracles, or had the gossip twisted the truth? Erich had to know.
First, they needed to get Liane away from the Church of Sol. The church would wield her like a sword to exterminate the elves and everything they deemed unholy. Fritz had seen it in a vision, and though Erich didn’t trust much, he trusted Fritz.
Erich’s footsteps dragged as he walked. Summer had passed its peak, and he felt the gray cloud of autumn looming on the horizon.
They’d spent weeks planning and preparing, but he felt woefully underprepared.
The Church of Sol had a mountain of magic, influence, and arms, and Erich felt as if he were standing at the foot of it, unsure how he’d reach that summit.
The wind blew down the street, and he caught a faint sour odor.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, but rather than look over his shoulder and alert his stalker, he kept walking.
Residents passed him by, disinterested in him and muttering about the influx of pilgrims in the city.
Without seeing his stalker, he couldn’t say for certain, but with the lack of metal clinking or the sweet smell of magic, he assumed whoever was following him wasn’t part of the Midnight Guard.
He’d felt eyes watching him from the shadows before.
This town was crawling with Midnight Guards, and at first, he’d chalked it up to paranoia.
But now, he could hear leather-booted footsteps echoing behind him on the cobbles.
When he stopped, pretending to examine a shop window, the footsteps halted as well.
A tingle raced up his spine, and he made an abrupt turn down an alleyway.