Chapter Seventeen
Seventeen
No, I’m the smart one.
—JEZIAH
IDIOT THAT I AM, I fall.
Surprise smothers any cry as the great pit swallows me, and the world turns black.
Only the sensation of air on my skin tells me I’m falling.
Instinctively, I twist. My fingers brush something.
Then they grab, desperate and uncaring. Skin scrapes from my palms, but I slow, feel something break, and fall again.
Grab.
Snap.
Fall.
Grab.
This time I stop. My hands grip dry, rough tendrils—the vines, or their roots. I have been saved from death by the remnants of the Green God’s defeat. My heart slams against my rib cage. Then I flush, cheeks burning as if touched by the Goddess’s flame itself.
Nolan tried to kill me.
That son of a divine bitch tried to kill me.
I swallow the nastiest curses I know, every one of which tries to punch its way into my throat.
Anger follows in a flood. I let it. Better rage than the humiliation welling up behind it.
I adjust my grip, clinging to the mass of bizarre plants like the salvation it is, and look up.
The night sky is a beacon in the oppressive dark.
I scan it for Nolan—for his silhouette, a hint of movement, anything.
If he’s still there, my circumstances haven’t improved much, even though there’s no way he can see me this far down.
Still I wait. And wait. When several minutes pass and I see nothing, I relax a little.
That absolute piece of—
Quiet, pious, obedient Nolan. Who was so dedicated to the task assigned to us by the Goddess, and so willing to abide by their decision about Executrix. Who stood up for me against a Bellator and the Arbiters.
Who bought me a pastry in Belspire.
I want to scream. But at myself, for being such a tremendous sack of pure gullibility.
All this time, I thought I was the one with the secret plan, and now it turns out he was scheming too, waiting until we had a real lead on the reliquary and then taking the first opportunity to get rid of me.
Or maybe he’s been looking for a way to do this since we started out—to cut my throat in my sleep, or poison my dinner.
Admittedly, a bottomless chasm is eloquent compared to those, with the added benefit of zero evidence. Gotta give him that.
It’s only one of several things I want to give him right now. The other two are, thankfully, still strapped in their holders on my back. But my sickles aren’t going to do me any good from the inside of a pit.
I start to climb.
It’s slow going, navigating the sinister tangle in utter darkness, careful to only take hold of roots that will bear my weight.
There seems no rhyme or reason to that—some thick roots break away at my touch, while thinner ones feel as strong as iron chains.
I have to stop to rest more than I like; my limbs begin to burn with the exertion.
But with aching slowness, the edge of the pit grows closer.
Night has shifted to the watery gray of dawn by the time I reach a spot where I can pull myself out.
Arms quivering, fingers almost numb, I wrench one last time and roll to safety on the ground outside the pit.
There, I simply stare at the sky, chest heaving.
For some reason—probably the attempted murder—I think of Morgan.
She would have liked Nolan. Probably would have planned to kill him while he did the same for her, if circumstances had conspired to pair them up on this little adventure instead.
A funny story I’ll have to tell her someday. Maybe she’ll even laugh.
But first, I’m going to find Nolan and show him what his entrails look like, the Goddess’s orders be damned.
I am still trembling as I get to my feet and take stock of my circumstances.
Sickles—check. The plump purse of money hidden in my coat—check.
But when it comes to other supplies, I’m shit out of luck.
Hours have passed. Nolan is long gone. And if I don’t want to risk being spotted by the heretics, I need to move too.
The forest—it’s where Nolan would have headed. But when I get back to where we tied up the horses, there’s nothing. The bastard took Mortimer too.
I was already going to kill him.
Now I’m going to make it hurt.
By the time true dawn breaks, all I can think about is putting my hands around Nolan’s neck, pressing my thumbs into the soft parts of his throat, and choking the life out of him.
The growing stiffness in my arms would make that a trick at the moment, but I indulge the fantasy nonetheless.
The sun is high by the time I make it back to the main road that passes by Novena, any hope of catching up long gone.
But I know where he’s headed, which keeps my step motivated.
That and thinking about what I’m going to do to him.
But I’m moving too slow on foot. I need to find a new horse, and quick.
Seething hours pass. I stop to drink from a stream and relieve myself. I pick a few wild raspberries from a thorny briar, then immediately spit them out. They are sour and mealy, which I suspect I can thank the Green God for. Then I walk some more.
Eventually, I realize something: I am alone.
Truly, entirely alone for the first time in as long as I can remember.
Even at the Cloisters, when there was no one immediately around, another Potentiate or instructor or attendant was never far.
Not like this. I don’t know where the nearest soul is exactly, but it’s nowhere near me.
Everyone in Lumeris thinks I’m with Nolan, seeking out the reliquary. Nolan thinks I am dead.
If only I could be. Lystrata, Potentiate of the Dawn Cloister, would, from here on forth, be lost forever in the bottomless pit of holy wrath, never to be seen again.
But it wouldn’t be long before the pull would be unbearable.
Even now, the invisible threads that stitch me to Tempestra-Innara give an occasional beckoning tug, spin the temptation to return to the Cathedral using Nolan’s betrayal as an excuse.
Which makes me even angrier. No matter where I go, a cage goes with me.
There are only two avenues of escape, and they both end in death. Either Tempestra-Innara’s, or mine.
And the latter is much more likely if I don’t catch Nolan.
Late afternoon, I hear the sound of a horse approaching.
There’s still distance between us, so I stop, listening closely to the jingle of tack and hoofbeats.
It’s definitely not Nolan, but it’s someone with a horse.
And, even better, someone alone. I wait.
Eventually, a figure on a dun gelding appears around a bend in the road. He slows as he spots me.
I give him a bright smile. “Hi there.”
“Hello.” He eyes me with suspicion, which he is right to do.
I do the same, hiding it beneath a mask of friendly coyness.
A young man, brown haired and slight, with a deep tan complexion that tells me that either he came from the southern coasts or his parents did.
Freckles spot his cheeks, making him appear younger than he is.
But the most interesting thing about him is his clothing: He’s wearing a cleric’s cassock.
Not a Cleric of the Blood, obviously, or even a town cleric, but one of the traveling devoted who spread the word of Tempestra-Innara to places not large enough to support their own local shrines and clergy, generally referred to as mud clerics.
He blinks at me. “Are you in some sort of trouble, miss?”
My smile nearly cracks. A second surprise: I know that voice. I didn’t see the face attached to it, but there’s no mistaking it—this is the calm, reasoning young man from the secret meeting in Novena.
A heretic. And a cleric.
I almost laugh at the dark irony of it. Turns out I’m not the only traitor in the Goddess’s Orders. It seems impossible—this underfed mud cleric going up against Tempestra-Innara? I can’t decide if this is good luck or ill, but I can work with it.
“Trouble?” I make a show of thinking, considering my surroundings. “Not at this particular moment. But given that my horse got spooked and ran on me last night, taking all of my food and supplies with it, I can’t be certain that situation will hold much longer.”
The young man nods, as if acknowledging my made-up story, but there’s still suspicion in his eyes. “You were traveling through this area alone?”
“Sure was.” I draw one of my sickles and let it spin with a bit of flair before gripping the handle and giving him a wink.
“I know how to take care of myself. A far bit better than a horse, apparently. I was on my way north to find work.” The lies come easy.
“I thought it would be smart to take a shortcut. Turns out I was wrong.”
This seems to loosen him. “Yes, that’s bad luck on your part.”
“Where are you headed, if you don’t mind me asking?”
He shrugs. “Nowhere in particular. Or, more specifically, wherever the word of the Goddess might be needed, and welcome.”
“Huh.” I return my sickle to its holster.
“Well, are you in the market for a bodyguard on the way to nowhere in particular? Sure, most folks know better than to touch the clergy, but you never know when you might cross paths with a desperate brigand or two. I’ve got a special going right now: full service, unparalleled protection for a spot on your horse, and a bit of food if you have it to spare. ”
At first, he looks unsure, but it’s clear he’s low in his Order—poor—and unlikely to be carrying any weapons larger than a cooking knife. “I have faith in the Goddess’s protection.”
“Sure, but maybe they sent me to be that protection.” I break out my most winning smile.
“And if you doubt that, just know that I could have easily ambushed you, cut your throat, and stolen your horse without breaking a sweat. No one would ever find your body. I’m simply that good.
” It would be a lie to say a part of me isn’t considering it, but I speak with what I hope is a sufficiently joking tone.
He laughs. Guess I got it right.
“I serve the Goddess,” he says. “And to serve them is to serve their followers. I’ll take you up on your offer. Galeas is about three days from here. Maybe you can pick up some work and make your way from there?”
“Sounds like you’ve got yourself a bodyguard.
” And I’ve got myself a ride. Maybe I can catch up with Nolan after all.
But, more importantly, I’ll have time with this heretical cleric.
He seems as low among his coconspirators as he is among the Goddess’s clergy, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t another tidbit or two to glean from him about the reliquary.
Or, at the very least, what kind of meddling he’s doing within the holy order.
“May the Flame warm you and find you even worthier than you clearly are, er—?”
“Avery.” He bows slightly in the saddle. “Of the Goddess’s humble clergy.”
And secret enemy of them as well. “Avery. Gotcha. And I’m Lys. Of the side of the road where you found me.”