9
“The Regiment demands that everyone abide by a set of general moral principles. It believes in the existence of the one true Savior, who is thought to preside at the center of all morality. All that is good comes from Him; all that is bad exists only as a deviation from His will.”
The Regiment agent is between Gabriel and me in an instant. I bristle as our eyes lock. I doubt he’ll physically harm me—at least, not yet—but I know there are other ways he can make me suffer.
“You’re related to a diabolist?” I fling the question past him, addressing Gabriel. I’m too shocked for tact. “How?”
Gabriel flicks his wrist at the agent—an order to stand down. I relax incrementally as the man steps back, retreating to the edge of the room once more.
“There is no holy explanation for the existence of diabolists,” Gabriel says a moment later. Every line of his face is taut with something like…panic? “Regiment scholars have been studying the phenomenon for quite some time. It appears to be congenital, but not hereditary.”
Despite everything, interest ripples through me; the work of Regiment scholars is kept largely under wraps. “Like a mutation.”
“Possibly. There are very few people who know all of this, Talin.”
It’s not a very subtle warning. I incline my head at the agent. “I can see he knows.”
“Hengst has pledged himself to me for life. He’s more than a simple Regiment employee.”
“Is that what I am? A simple employee?”
“Of course not. But a sinner has little understanding of true loyalty.”
I keep my gaze steady, trying not to dwell on why that stings. I’m not loyal—at least not in the way Gabriel wants. Still, an unwelcome stab of jealousy spears through me. “Even if that were true, I have no one else to tell.”
“I know you don’t,” he allows, rising to his feet and coming to stand before me.
His proximity sends a jolt across my skin—not quite attraction, but definite awareness.
He lifts one hand to cup my cheek, stroking my face with his thumb.
My breath catches. I force myself to stay still, meeting his imploring gaze as his cool fingers whisper over my skin.
It’s possessive, that touch, and only adds to his unspoken threat.
I don’t know why I so desperately want to lean into it.
“You can trust me.” My voice is hoarse.
Gabriel frowns, and I wonder if he’s listening at all. His fingers dig into my cheek, no longer leaving any room to misinterpret the action. You’re mine, those nails say.
“I can’t trust anyone but the Savior. Not with utter certainty, at least. Do you know what happened to the last person who merely suspected a connection between myself and the Warden?”
“No.” My voice is quiet. Wary.
“Really? You can’t even begin to guess?”
I work my jaw, disgust and panic unraveling in my stomach. At his pointed look, I’m beginning to develop an idea, though I don’t put words to it. I want to hear him admit what I already suspect.
“I got you to kill them, Talin.”
My sigh is borne of resignation more than relief or horror. I shutter my eyes, attempting to ground myself before replying. “Who will you get to kill me, then? Yannick? Darva?”
Gabriel lets his hand drop from my face. “The last thing I want is to have you killed. I took you in because I saw your potential. I saw the force of your desire to live, and I knew it would serve me well.”
Because you could use it against me? I think bitterly. Every compliment he gives me, every reason he offers to justify my importance, has to do with my utility. I want to hear him admit it’s more than that. “And now? Is everything I’ve done for you not evidence enough that I won’t betray you?”
“You don’t understand the danger my brother poses.”
“Then make me understand.” Despite what Gabriel says, I know he doesn’t want me dead. He cares about me in his own twisted, delusional way, and he resents himself for that fact. After all, I’m nothing next to the Prophet. My worth is negligible.
And yet.
I see his hesitation. In the end, though, he bites out, “Slade killed our mother.”
I’m taken aback to learn the Warden indeed gave me his real name. “Why?”
Gabriel takes up pacing again. “Why does a man like him do anything? He murdered her in cold blood. Squeezed the life out of her with his bare hands, then buried her in the backyard of our childhood home. Until that day, I hadn’t known a person could hold so much evil. So much rage.”
I shift my weight, suddenly uneasy. Because I know.
I understand what it is to feel anger throughout your whole body, the ferocity of it making you capable of things you might not have otherwise done.
I know what it is to feel overwhelmed by violence that has nowhere to go, and how it can burst out of you like fury given form.
I am not like the Warden. But I am not unlike him, either.
“I hoped he could be saved,” Gabriel continues quietly.
“Even as a child, though, he sinned without guilt or recompense. The Bloodrot didn’t touch him.
He was undeterred by threats of hell and punishment.
Everything is a game to my brother. Some people, I’ve come to believe, are destined for darkness.
Are born with it already festering in their bones. ”
I’m fully aware that I’m only getting this story because Gabriel has already resigned himself to my death. Absurdly, I feel nothing save icy indifference. “Then what happened?”
“He went on a rampage. I’m sure you remember it.”
I may have been sheltered from fearmongering headlines, but I remember Vicar Johannes’s warnings about a diabolist on the loose. A creature of hell with the devil’s charm, who could lift truths from your tongue and make you want to sin more. Just another story—or so I’d thought.
Then I remember how the sermons changed as a Prophet rose.
“Yes,” I say. The word seems to scratch against my throat, escaping as a growl. “I remember.”
Gabriel circles the place where I stand, trapping me in his tightening orbit.
With his tar-black hair, cutting gaze, and midnight suit, he looks more like the devil than the Savior’s supposed mouthpiece.
“Perhaps I did not deal him death, but I got rid of my brother in the best way I knew how. I allowed him to shape the Trench into his own personal underworld where the worst among us could congregate. And there he sits to this day, a self-anointed god in a rotten empire.”
I don’t miss the way Gabriel skips over the details. I almost ask—demand to know how he nearly killed a diabolist—but his face hardens again.
“Now,” he says. “My agents will accompany you out to my vehicle.”
The words ignite my desperation. I need to prove that my newfound knowledge makes me indispensable rather than a liability. Fear is a mounting pressure in my throat, and in that moment, I do something I’ve never done before.
I touch him first.
I reach for his elbow as he turns for the door, my gloved fingers skimming his silk jacket. My grasp is light but insistent, and he freezes in place, his expression shocked. The agent behind us lurches forward, awaiting instruction.
I wait for anger to darken Gabriel’s features. For him to demand I release him at once. Instead, the corners of his mouth twitch in a way that hints at indecision.
“Talin.” His voice is a warning, but his gaze is a challenge.
“Please,” I whisper. I tighten my grip and pull him closer. I hope to hell I haven’t misjudged things, or this is going to go very, very badly. “You don’t have to do this to me, Gabriel. You make the rules.”
“Yes,” he says, throat shifting. “And I follow those which I set out for myself. You know far too much, my lamb.”
He covers my hand with his own, removing it from his arm.
Despite his show of uncompromising self-control, though, I can see the effort it takes.
His inner turmoil is scrawled across his face.
It’s a dark thing. Not a harmless lust, but a violent hunger.
He doesn’t want to lose me—his prized possession—and what’s more, he wants me in a way men like him aren’t supposed to.
Suddenly I know what my move needs to be.
You don’t understand the danger my brother poses.
“Let me prove myself to you,” I say. “Let me help you destroy the Warden.”
Gabriel’s brows draw together, his expression taking on a hint of scorn. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“You wanted me to look into the rumors of the Solemn Apostles because you’re worried it’s a front.
” I speak quickly, knowing I don’t have long to present my case.
“You’re afraid that what you’re actually facing is dissent.
A group of people lacking faith either in the Regiment or in you.
And that would be a problem, wouldn’t it?
The youngest Regiment leader to date—a prophet, no less—who loses the trust of the population? ”
“Talin.” Gabriel makes my name an admonition, but I press on.
“Imagine what would happen if they discovered the last diabolist was still alive. If the Warden really was using me to send you a message, maybe it means he’s no longer content to stay in the shadows.
Maybe he finally intends to retaliate. You need him gone for good this time, Gabriel, or he could ruin you.
” I harden my gaze. “You think I need to die because of this knowledge. But what if you let me use it to help you?”
I’m worried I’ve laid it on too thick, but something shifts in Gabriel’s face. The gears are turning behind his deepwater eyes.
“I have no doubt my brother intends to retaliate,” he says, the words measured. “But you will not be the one I place in his path.”
“It’s my job to do this type of thing.”
“What are you suggesting?”
He’s indulging me. We both know it. Nonetheless, I can’t believe he asked my opinion so directly. It’s evidence that I was right about his fears. Nothing matters more than perception, and Gabriel will do anything to uphold one of complete power and holiness.
“You said that if the Warden had wanted to kill me, I’d be dead.”
One eyebrow lifts. “Correct.”