Chapter 27 #3
“Is it more of a sin to craft a demon when I know what I’m doing? Is it more of a sin than not killing the dog the demon is already in?”
“Why don’t you kill it? Don’t tell me it’s to keep the voice of your dead paladin alive. I know that is not all the story.”
She looks tired. “If I kill the dog, then the demon will leap, and then I’ll have to kill another man.
And another. And another. Because until I figure out how to cast this one back into hell, he’s a danger to everyone.
He’s not coming out just with prayer.” She juts out her lower lip.
“I could keep my hands clean. I could be a Saint. But then who will die for that? Whose soul will be made foul because I wanted to keep myself unbesmirched?”
I am considering this.
“Surely you understand.”
“I understand?” I can’t keep the disbelief from my tone.
“You kiss very delectably for a man sworn against it.”
I swallow.
“I’m not …” I cough, awkwardly, not sure where to put my gaze. “I’m not entirely sworn against it.”
“You‘re not.” She doesn’t believe me.
“Are you entirely sworn against taking coin offered you?”
“No.”
“And yet that is riches.”
“I am forsworn from hoarding it.” Her smile is wry.
“Even one or two coins?”
“No.”
I give her a wry smile of my own. “Then consider this my two coins.”
She thinks, tapping her chin with one finger before raising one brow. “I’ll consider it whatever you want it to be if you’ll do it again.”
She is tempting me and it is working.
“Here?” I ask, gesturing tightly to indicate our surroundings. “In an arcanery where we are forced to breed demons or die buried under the ground? Here, in the dark, on a teetering platform? Here, where men might have died in this very trial?”
She swallows and looks away. “The Majester. Whether he fell or was pushed by Sir Coriand.”
“He was pushed,” I say gravely. I have no doubt about this. “Never underestimate a man who will keep a half-living slave.”
She looks back at me and I can tell she wants to say something but she doesn’t.
“Say it,” I urge.
She shakes her head, laughing ruefully.
“Say it.” I am firm this time.
“Fine, let it be so. Here is what I have to say: I ought not to take from you what is not yours to give. You are forsworn affection.”
She is correct, of course, in every way.
By rights, she should be dead at my hand, and I should have a demon in a dog to contend with.
But the God has stayed my hand. And by doing so, he has left me only two paths: ignore her entirely, a thing that cannot be done with her demon dog and her insistence on bucking the course others try to set for her, or embrace her.
I have made my choice, the God have mercy on me.
I swallow and commit to it.
“If we live through the turnings of this monastery, then we will both emerge on the other side with a shared problem — three of them, to be precise.”
This gets her attention. “What three problems?”
“Firstly, that we have sworn to stay by each other until the cup is returned to one of the aspects. A cup, I might point out, that is not here and likely never has been.”
She nods steadily. “Yes.”
There is no fear or panic in her eyes, and I feel my brows lift. It’s not a paladin thing to fear commitment, but even so, I am essentially revealing to her that we are bound together indefinitely, and she does not recoil from that. Interesting. I am … a little … flattered by this.
“Secondly, that there is a demon in your dog which we will need help to remove, and it must be kept a secret until we find that help.”
“We?” Her tone is hopeful, and I feel a spark of hope ignite in response.
“We,” I say with certainty.
“Thirdly, that you have sworn to never forgive me.” Her eyes meet mine sharply and I feel hot again.
I take her hand. “I renounce my vow. I forgive you in all fullness.”
“Your resolve was very weak,” she teases.
“But only because of the third problem.”
“Fourth,” she corrects, as she steps closer, and now our breath is mingling. I don’t let go of her hand.
“No, that was your problem. I have not confessed to it. I knew from the moment my hand was stayed that forgiveness was granted to you.”
“Then tell me, what is your third problem?” Her gaze stays anchored to mine. I am losing myself in marigold eyes.
“My third problem is that I have fallen hopelessly in love with you.”
“That is a problem.” She looks a challenge at me. “What are you going to do about it?”
I draw nearer and nearer to her as I speak, until my lips are brushing hers as I say, “It is especially a problem since I have already kissed you once, and I have had no time to recover from the event, so it harms nothing at all for me to do it again, right now.”
This time it is she who presses herself into me and takes my lips in hers.
I taste her excitement as if it is my own.
I draw in her desire with the softness of her lips and the warmth of her breath and the silkiness of how her long hair tangles around me.
Her strong, work-roughened fingers grip my face, and her nose slides against mine.
I close my eyes and beg to lose myself forever.
This should wash me of none of my guilt. That is the domain of the God alone. And yet, in some indefinable way, it does. It makes redemption feel possible. It creeps down into my fibers and tells me that my shame need not blemish my honor forever.
I should not find forgiveness in the arms of a woman. I should not find hope in her kiss. That should be tainted with the stain of lust and be tangled up with my failures, my shortcomings, and my broken vows.
It is not. There is something about this that glows like the light that surrounds my brothers when we pray. There is some mystery here that salves wounds and binds broken souls.
I do not question it. I thank the God it exists and melt into the relief that has not been my companion in more than a decade, and into the warmth I never thought I’d feel again, and I try to thank her with how I kiss her.
I try to say all the things I don’t dare allow to touch my lips.
I try to make promises I may never be free to keep.
There’s a thump and we spring apart, gasping.
“You can’t wait in the darkness forever, Beggar girl,” Sir Coriand’s voice rings out. “Eventually, you will have to come to your senses and play. Or, if you are very unlucky, one of us will solve this riddle soon, and turn the room, and you will be trapped forever in this empty, yawning tomb.”
“Did I hear correctly, Engineer?” I call back. “Did you murder the Majester General?”
There’s a silence that is just a breath too long.
Sir Coriand’s voice is far too familiar when he replies. “You’re back, Poisoned Saint. What a relief! Your friend Hefertus has been worried about you.”
“I’m surprised he’s not here,” I say in a light tone. “I would have expected loyalty from my old friend.”
“Oh, you know the Princes,” Sir Coriand says lightly.
“Lacking common sense. Besides, the Beggar is just like her beast. She stands over you and growls. Did she tell you she leapt from her own island to join you on yours? A brave thing to do, if foolhardy. Maybe you can do the same for her. Make the sacrifice, light the candle, and put it and a book on the altar, and you can come eat the soup that Cleft has brewed for us. It’s mushroom.
The golems collected a lovely crop of morels before we were all brought down here.
We’d nearly forgotten about them in the excitement. I think you’ll find it aromatic, hmm?”
It has never surprised me that the blackest of souls have the lightest of voices.
They carry no burden for no conscience weighs them down.
Some might think that a blessing. I know it is not.
My own father flew high and light, free of consequence or shame, until he was burned by the sun and crashed to the depths.
I should pity him, but I do not find it in me to feel warmth for a man who treated my mother as he did.
I wonder when Sir Coriand will crash.
“I won’t join you,” Victoriana calls out. “You know that.”
“Convince her, Poisoned Saint. A day and a night have passed and we have but a single day and night left on the clock. What do you think might happen when time runs out and our doom comes after us?”
“No less than we deserve,” Victoriana mutters.
“I heard that, Beggar. Think what you will, but you are no Saint, and even if you were, I would not care what you thought.”
And then he is gone, his footsteps stomping away across the stone, and we’re left in silence again.
“They come every hour by my estimate,” Victoriana said quietly. “I think they are growing frantic. They aren’t sure if the puzzle isn’t being solved because they have the wrong answer or because I won’t join their game.”
I pause. “They are going to lock us both in here? With me helpless and you dissenting?”
She laughs darkly. “They have killed three paladins and another died for their secrets. What do they care about adding two more?”
“And you think these murders were all done by Sir Coriand?”
“The Majester kept talking about a voice telling him what to do. I thought he meant a demon, or that he was crazy. But what if he was talking about a literal voice? What if it was the Engineers calling down to him in the chaos?”
That was plausible. “And the Seer? The Engineers stayed up top.”
“As far as we knew. What would have kept them from sneaking down when no one was watching?”
I grunt. Those are solid points.
“Then we have to decide,” I say. “Eventually they will crack the code and they will spin the walls again, and we will be trapped in here while they move inevitably to what must be the last trial.”
She’s nodding, a look of determination on her face. I must choose my words with care.
“We can stay here and die on principle.”
Her eyes take on a dangerous gleam. She doesn’t like the “or” dangling in the air. I say it anyway.
“Or.”