2 #2
Hinges wail as the first agent lets the office door close.
Gabriel gives a thin smile. Normally he’s the picture of poise, but tonight I can’t help feeling the tethers he keeps on his emotions are beginning to fray.
His gaze, the deep blue of a late-afternoon sky, finds me first. I stare impassively back.
By now I’ve had a few long years of learning to behave in his presence.
“Talin,” he says, making my name a lovely thing. “I see you’ve returned.”
When Gabriel speaks, I can almost understand why all of Sundbourg is willing to follow him.
He has the kind of voice that makes you want to listen.
He speaks with the sort of authority that makes you sit up and take note, and his presence is both a comfort and a threat.
You only need to look at the Prophet to understand this: If you’re on his side, you’re protected.
If you’re against him, you’ve chosen poorly.
I bite the inside of my cheek before replying. “It’s done.”
Gabriel’s gaze hardens. Abruptly I deduce the reason for his strange behavior: He’s already heard about Pietersen’s wife.
He knows I left a witness. I’m not sure how much the woman saw as I leaped from the window, but being seen at all is a failure.
To Pietersen’s wife, I hadn’t been a ghost. I’d been a living, breathing person who’d just put a bullet in her husband’s head.
But “Good” is all Gabriel says, and I realize Yannick and Darva are glancing curiously between us. They can tell something’s amiss.
The Prophet sighs, trailing fingers through his ink-spill hair.
“I take it you’re wondering why you’re all here.
And no, I’m not going to make you cooperate on a job, so don’t worry about that.
” He smiles to himself as if enjoying a private joke before sobering again.
“My request is simple. You see, I’ve been advised that another community of Solemn Apostles may have emerged near the border with Brevania.
We’re not sure if the information is reliable, but if it is, it’s imperative that we determine whether these Apostles are with the Regiment or against us.
As we know”—his attention slides to me—“communities in the past have been…unpredictable.”
I go perfectly still, my teeth snapping together.
The last thing I want to do is talk about the Solemn Apostles, especially with Yannick and Darva present.
An extremist offshoot of Sundbourg’s state religion, the Apostles indoctrinated my parents, stole what remained of my childhood, then poisoned my entire family against me.
Known primarily for committing to an isolated, less complicated way of life, they interpret the holy book as literal fact.
The last community I know of was mine, and everyone remembers how that ended.
Seventy-three people destroyed alongside the temple.
Seventy-four if you count the baby my sister, Ilse, had been carrying, courtesy of the much-older Vicar Johannes.
Every adult but me, burned to death in the raging fire.
An entire community wiped out, their children left to pick up the pieces.
And a part of me is horribly glad for it.
I just wish Ilse hadn’t burned alongside the rest.
“Keep an ear to the ground,” Gabriel continues, pacing over to his desk and settling in that absurd chair. “If it truly is a new group of Apostles, fine. But dissenters will sometimes try to camouflage themselves as something they’re not.”
That last part, at least, feels directed at me. I suspect he’s long been able to tell I don’t quite subscribe to his beliefs, the same way I’d never subscribed to those of the Apostles. Since I’m good at my job, he doesn’t raise the issue. Usually.
His words are an obvious dismissal, and Yannick and Darva turn to leave. When I make to follow, however, Gabriel gestures for an agent to block my path. The uniformed man glares down at me with disdain.
“Talin,” Gabriel says softly. “Stay another moment?”
A chill runs down my spine, but I dip my head, avoiding Yannick and Darva’s searching gazes as they pass.
The moment I’m alone with the Prophet and his security, the air turns electric.
My anger and Gabriel’s displeasure collide to permeate the room.
I anticipate he’ll speak first, but he doesn’t, continuing to watch me as if waiting for the same.
His face is expectant, lines bracketing his slightly downturned mouth.
Long fingers interlace beneath that pointed chin as he angles forward in his chair.
Fuck it.
“He had a baby.” It’s not how I intended to start, but the words burst out of me. I fight to keep my voice steady, even though I want to slam a fist down on the Prophet’s desk.
Gabriel frowns. “Who?”
“Malte Pietersen.” It’s uncomfortable, speaking the dead man’s name aloud. I know how it feels to lose a father. I lost mine long before his actual death.
“Talin.” Gabriel says my name yet again, this time with overexaggerated patience. “I can’t allow a former employee to spread Regiment secrets simply because he decided to reproduce. He’s not the first person you’ve killed with a child, and he won’t be the last.”
Logically I know that must be true, but I don’t usually hear my mark’s family screaming over their bloodied corpse.
“You know how I feel about murder,” Gabriel goes on, arranging his expression into one of regret, “and I’m well aware of the cost. I only request it of you if there’s no other option.
In this case, there wasn’t. It’s an unfortunate set of circumstances, but we can’t change what’s already done.
So sit with me, and together we’ll say a prayer for Pietersen’s loved ones. ”
For a long moment I can only stare at him.
If I move, if I speak, I don’t trust myself to keep the overwhelming desire for violence at bay.
I want to scream that prayer means nothing.
It changes nothing, just as he’s already pointed out.
The deed is done, and the idea of praying for a dead man’s baby is laughable when we’re the reason he’s dead in the first place.
It’s like stabbing someone and offering them a bandage as they bleed out.
But years of working for Gabriel means I excel at disconnecting, and I settle into the chair across from him without another word.