24
“One of the Regiment’s foundational beliefs lay in the promotion of the aforementioned traditional values.
Industrial and technological advancements, they insisted, had corrupted modern society.
This type of progress therefore reverted to a group of legislators well-versed in such things.
This group would later expand to form a core part of the institution proper: the Regiment scientists. ”
I toss and turn much of the night, and not just because I’m in a house full of diabolists.
I can’t stop thinking about Slade’s new ultimatum.
I can’t stop thinking about him in general.
I’m no longer certain my feelings are only an effect of his unnatural allure.
Emeric and Ceri are diabolists too, and although they’re indisputably beautiful, I don’t feel the same kind of pull when I’m around them.
Is it because they don’t want me to? Is it something that can be turned on and off?
I’m sick, I suspect, for being attracted to Slade after all the times he’s threatened me. Worst of all, I know exactly why I can’t help it.
He touches me like we’re both human.
When I finally drag myself downstairs the next morning, I’m relieved that Slade is nowhere to be seen.
Ceri is alone in the kitchen, clinking dishes together and cheerfully humming something that sounds like a funeral dirge.
Her hair is twisted into a knot on top of her head, and she’s dressed in a whimsical, ankle-length blue dress.
“Talin!” she spins around as I enter the room, somehow hearing my near-silent steps. Her voice is too bright as she waves a spatula in greeting. “How’s your arm feeling?”
“Fine,” I reply. Truthfully, I haven’t given it much thought. The injury is the least of my worries.
“Are you hungry? Slade said you like eggs and toast.”
“That might have been hopeful thinking on his part, given that those are two of the only foods he has in his house.”
Ceri’s smile falters, the spatula seeming to droop. “But do you like them?”
“Sure,” I grumble, because I’m never going to be picky when it comes to free food. The fact that Slade made any claims about my preferences, though, is absurd.
“He also said you would be angry with me.”
Well, that explains the overly sunny demeanor. “Why would I be angry?”
Her expression is sheepish. “I thought I was being funny, sending him to your room last night. He told me you weren’t amused.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I take a bite without tasting anything, hoping Ceri doesn’t notice the heat in my cheeks.
Did she or Emeric see Slade enter my bedroom last night?
Did they notice how much time passed before he left again?
It’s not like it matters. I’m a grown woman.
Still, I don’t want either of them getting the wrong idea.
Ceri looks relieved. I wondered if she actually cares whether I’m upset, or if it’s Slade she doesn’t want to anger.
I cast my gaze around the room, taking in the wide windows and floral backsplash, trying to look anywhere but at her.
The way she watches me eat is unnerving, as if she’s awaiting my verdict.
“It’s good,” I say when I can stand it no longer. And it is—the bread is fresh, the eggs mixed with some kind of green herb. “Thanks.”
She brings her hands together with a loud clap. “Excellent. Emeric and Slade have gone for a walk—I think they’re still hashing things out. I thought I could give you a tour of the house.” Her teeth are perfect, bright enough to rival the sunlight streaming in behind her.
I push my food around on my plate, grinding my teeth in irritation.
We didn’t come here for Slade to hash things out.
We’re here to refine our half-baked plan.
If crossing the bridge goes as smoothly as Gabriel promised, we still have to navigate the Congregation festivities.
“I think I can find my way around without a tour,” I tell Ceri.
The words come out too blunt, and her face drops.
“But we can do it if you want,” I concede grudgingly.
No sooner have I spoken then a thought occurs to me: Letting Ceri show me around the house is the perfect way to search for a phone.
If I can contact Gabriel, I can ask where he wants me to deliver Slade once we arrive in the Reaches.
And once I know where to deliver Slade, we’ll know exactly where not to accost Gabriel.
Hell. This plan just keeps getting more complicated. I don’t know how I’m going to pull it off, but I’ll be damned if I start second-guessing myself now.
“Excellent.” Ceri appears genuinely pleased as she dries her hands on a tea towel. “It’s too bad you weren’t up just a little bit earlier. Slade was telling us how you used to work for the Prophet—”
I choke on a piece of crust. “He what?”
Her green eyes are wide, alarmed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I manage, accepting the water she hands me. “I’m just surprised Slade told you that.”
“He trusts us. And so can you. Emeric and I would never judge someone for being a hired sinner, even if you were employed by Gabriel. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of in order to survive.
If Slade says you’re trustworthy, then that’s good enough for me.
He may not seem it,” bemusement tugs at her lips, “but he’s very careful. ”
I almost frown at that. Because the thing is, Slade doesn’t trust me. He’s made that fact very clear.
“How did you start working for Gabriel?” Ceri prompts me when I don’t reply.
A prickle of defensiveness creeps up my spine. I study Ceri’s expectant face for a long time, then sigh. “Gabriel offered me a job as a hired sinner after my family died. I didn’t have any better options, so I said yes. It’s that simple.”
She nods slowly. “Did you know that I used to be a hired sinner?”
“No.” This time I do frown. “But you’re a diabolist. Didn’t anyone notice that you never contracted the Bloodrot?”
“I wasn’t always a diabolist.”
The way she says it is so casual, so matter-of-fact, that it takes a moment to register. When it does, the earth seems to drop out from beneath my feet. I struggle to form words. “You weren’t?”
“Not until I fell in love with one.”
“Emeric,” I supply and am stunned when Ceri shakes her head.
“No. Emeric is my greatest love, but he wasn’t my first.” Seeing my confusion, she goes on. “I became a hired sinner at a very young age. My family immigrated from Brevania, and both my parents had succumbed to the Bloodrot by the time I was sixteen.”
I don’t know much about Brevania, given the Regiment’s commitment to isolation—only that we rely on the neighboring country for steel, and that their most devout citizens often emigrate to Sundbourg out of some misbelief that proximity to the Prophet will save them.
“And you still became a sinner?” I ask, unable to help it. “Even after watching them die?”
“I figured my only option was to follow in their footsteps. I did one-off jobs for a few years, and then I mainly dabbled in sex work.” Ceri casts me a sidelong glance, obviously anticipating judgment, but I only shrug.
“It’s as valid a job as any other.”
My response appears to relieve her, and she presses on.
“One night I was hired by a young diabolist. He tried to take confession from me, but some of us are naturally less susceptible to manipulation than others. When I figured out what he was, I promised I wouldn’t tell a soul.
We struck up a deal: I would confess to him regularly in exchange for payment.
I fell hard and fast.” The shape of Ceri’s mouth is grim.
“He convinced me I should become like him, and I was more than happy to oblige.”
“What happened?” I’m listening raptly; my words come out hushed.
“Do you know how one becomes a diabolist?”
I shake my head.
“Better not to. It’s a horrific process. Violent, even. I wish I had known.”
I’ve set down my fork, my breakfast forgotten. The edge of the counter digs into my ribs as I lean across it toward Ceri. Eagerness is a heat beneath my skin. “Tell me.”
She looks vaguely apprehensive, but does. “The Bloodrot isn’t always the end. If someone helps you survive it—and trust me, it’s better to die—what comes next is the Bloodlust. At that point, you’re barely a person. But if you survive that, you’ll become a diabolist.”
My surroundings take on a tinge of unreality. Hope and disbelief war in my chest, tightening my lungs. “And you did. Survive, I mean.” I can’t tell whether Ceri notices the gravity her admission holds for me.
“I did,” she says. “Then I discovered that Augustus—the man I’d given my human life for—never truly loved me. He was building an army, and I was the first of his soldiers.”
I collapse back in my chair, furrowing my brow. “What do you mean?”
“The number of diabolists has dwindled drastically over time, and he was driven to make more. He claimed he wanted the Regiment to fear us again, rather than the other way around. I was just a means to that end.”
I don’t reply immediately. I’m still trying to digest it—the fact that the only way to escape the affliction ruining my life is to…
let it. I wasn’t stupid, naive, for having hope.
Maybe it’s not inevitable that I’ll meet death face down in a gutter, gripped by madness.
Most stunningly, though, is the fact that Slade wasn’t lying.
I can become like him. Assuming I survive.
More importantly, assuming he survives. I can’t do any of this without him. How am I going to get him and Gabriel in the same room and ensure he walks away? And if he does, what happens next? I don’t know where I fit into the aftermath.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Ceri finally, pushing the thoughts away.
She lifts a shoulder. “It worked out. I didn’t know what else to do, and I no longer cared if I lived or died, so I decided to warn the Regiment. I went to visit a local chaplain who was providing counsel.” A small grin steals across her face. “It was Emeric, of course.”
“And the man who transformed you?”