Chapter Thirty-Two
Thirty-two
After the Salt Goddess fell, their face was struck from the smallest shrine to the great, towering visages that watched over the city.
But the rest of Cyprene’s stonework was left untouched.
It was said that even those who conspired to see divinity removed from our world could not stomach doing the same to such profound artistry.
—REFLECTIONS OF THE HISTORIAN XERSUS
MORTIMER DANCES BENEATH ME, as restless as I am to get moving. I pat his neck to calm him, half wishing I had someone to do the same.
“What do you think?” I ponder aloud. “Even odds that whoever Tychus is taking us to meet will try to kill us instead of dealing?”
Nolan tugs the hood of his cloak lower, as if we’re not right outside the Petrel and already known to those within. “What would you put the odds at of them succeeding?”
“Oh, I’ll be fine.”
He tosses me an unamused look as I tap the hilt of one sickle.
If he’s unarmed, I’m the Salt Goddess reborn, but carrying his sword wasn’t exactly an option.
Before he can retort, Tychus appears. He, too, is cloaked and hooded, which tells its own story; clearly the less we are noticed tonight, the better.
“A fine night for a ride,” I say.
Tychus dips his head in greeting, briefly drawing back his hood. “Oh, moonlight on the white cliffs is a sight no one forgets. Absolutely stunning. Breathtaking, even.”
“Where are we heading?” Nolan prompts, clearly impatient.
Tychus replies with a cryptic smile, leaving Nolan and me no choice but to embrace our blind faith of him.
Anonymous and unspeaking, we travel through the city neighborhoods, drawing closer and closer to the surrounding cliffs.
The areas near their foot feel different—older, more private.
Not a place for visitors. But we move past these sections too, leaving Cyprene behind, following a path that wanders along the island’s bay.
Through the clumpy trees to our left, I spot glimpses of sprawling beaches, the sand as light as snow in the rising moonlight.
Always, the cliffs remain at our right, becoming no less dotted with statues as we move farther from Cyprene.
There are tunnels and pathways into the stone here too, fewer in number but still easy to spot. And a few, I’m sure, that aren’t.
After an hour or so, Tychus leads us into a small clearing at the base of a jagged cliff. “We’ll have to leave the horses here.”
“This seems like an odd place to do business.” Nolan dismounts and hands his reins to me. “Even our kind.”
I scan our surroundings warily as I secure Mortimer and Buttons to a tree.
There are too many places to hide, too many shadows to swallow a threat.
Mortimer seems to sense that too, shifting restlessly.
I run a hand down the length of his nose then press my forehead to his to settle him. “I agree, buddy.”
“Some transactions require extra privacy,” says Tychus. “And even though the interested party is known to deal in the items you offer, they do so with a particular level of caution. Surely, you can’t object to that?”
“No.” I can just see an amiable smile beneath Nolan’s shadowed hood. “Of course not.”
He’s nervous too. Of course, it’s impossible to ignore our years of training. Every bit of me is screaming Beware! as we head for the cliffs on foot. Not to mention a good dose of common sense. I stay ready for anything, and the slight tenseness in Nolan’s stride tells me he’s doing the same.
We enter the cliffs through a natural crack in the stone, narrow enough that it’s clear why we had to leave the horses behind.
For a moment, an impenetrable darkness envelops us, too dense for even my sight.
Then Tychus strikes a match and an oceanic wilderness bursts into existence.
Some kind of natural petrified reef, I think at first. But it’s more carved stone, impossibly intricate, putting every other carving I’ve seen so far to shame.
As Tychus lights a lamp, I run a finger over a faux coral appendage, feeling its detail, barely touched by age.
Hundreds—no thousands—of hours of work went into this.
It is an expression of devotion, one that persists despite the Salt Goddess’s death.
It reminds me, suddenly, of what Rion said, about the marks the dead gods left behind.
They go beyond the sepulchrae and their strange energies.
Something like this carving may not evoke the same wonder, but it has a kind of power all the same.
And as Tychus leads us deeper into the passage, I feel that power grow.
Dead or not, this is the territory of the Salt Goddess still.
The reefs turn to waves and foam, then to forests of seaweed. Finally, a bit of light teases in the distance. Nolan and I go on guard as we come to an arched doorway. He keeps his hood up, so I do the same.
But Tychus lowers his and moves lightly, almost jovial, as if we are meeting old friends for tea. “Here we are.”
We enter a round chamber filled with pillars.
Like the tunnels, they are carved in seemingly impossible ways, reaching up to a stalactite-studded ceiling.
I smell salt and the minerally tang of damp stone.
The space is large enough that the light from a handful of hanging lamps doesn’t reach the outside walls, ringing us in deep, velvety shadows.
But they do illuminate the stone table in the center of the space, at which a single man waits, hands folded, a patient but stern expression on his face.
Nolan slows his step ever so slightly. “Lys. It’s him.”
A whisper, barely. I search the man’s squared, amber face, trying to tie it to one of the Salt priests Nolan tried to sway, when I realize what he means: This is the heretic from Novena, the one we would have followed to Carsaire.
The one who knows where the reliquary is.
My hood hides the I told you so smirk that hits my lips. But I can gloat later. And I will.
The heretic stands as we approach. “Right on time.”
Tychus grins. “Machias, friend, when am I ever late to good business?”
Machias doesn’t appear to share his enthusiasm for the transaction. “I would not call your usual fare ‘good.’ ” He addresses Nolan and me. “The only reason I am here right now is because of what Tychus said you had to offer. Did you bring the product?”
I stifle a snort. Product. Sounds so much nicer than jars of person.
“Of course,” says Nolan. In such a chamber, I expect the words to echo. Instead, they’re blunted, barely carrying.
“Show me.”
I wait for Nolan to nod, giving permission for me to reveal the Renderers’ wares. Taking a few steps closer, I pull the lacquer box out from beneath my cloak. I slip the lid open and remove a single vial. In the low light, the tincture is nearly black. I tilt it so a hint of burgundy shows.
“It’s real,” chatters Tychus. “I sampled it… just to be sure. It’s real and it is quality. Not something dug out of some ancient musty grave.”
Machias clearly isn’t sold by Tychus’s endorsement alone. His eyes narrow as he moves around the stone table, hand rising as if to reach for the tincture. I pull back. “Eyes only for now, friend.”
He stops. Stares silently at the box as I replace the vial, hand dropping back to his side. “I don’t make it a habit to deal with strangers. Who are you?”
“Someone hoping to make a good deal,” Nolan replies calmly.
“Show me your faces.”
An order. Not a request.
“I would prefer to preserve some anonymity,” Nolan counters as I return to his side. “At least, until we get to know each other a little better.”
The heretic lifts his chin with resolve. “Suspicion is well warranted, given the circumstances. If only all parties present had been smart enough to do the same.” He raises a hand. “Tychus, you utter fool. What have you brought here?”
Nolan and I trade an uneasy glance. But before we can do anything else, a new voice speaks.
“One thing I will never understand…”
Tychus tenses. Oh, something is wrong.
“… is how opportunities like this always fall into your slimy little lap.”
Very wrong.
Dark figures appear from behind the pillars.
Hope flares. If Machias brought more of his fellow heretics, the reliquary could be closer than we think, maybe within these very caves.
But that optimism sputters out almost immediately; while the broad, bald man who steps into the circle of light is unfamiliar, his uniform isn’t.
Caerula.
Paling, Tychus takes a fearful step back. “Ramiro, what are—”
“Shut up,” says the man, Ramiro. “It real?”
Machias nods slowly. “I believe so. But—”
“Oh, Tychus,” croons Ramiro, not waiting for Machias to finish. “Tch, tch, tch… you should know better. Should have come to me as soon as you found out what your new friend had. But instead… well, greed always gets the best of you, doesn’t it?”
Tychus throws up his hands. “Ramiro, wait, this is different. He said he could get more… Once I’d confirmed with Machias that was the truth, the first thing I would have done was make sure you were cut in—”
“Shut,” Ramiro snaps, “your mouth.” Tychus obeys.
“If I want your runny horseshit, I’ll ask for it.
It’s bad enough you’re back in the city at all, but this?
Oh, I know. You think all your ‘friends’ here will keep your secrets no matter how often you exaggerate or fail to deliver.
Maybe you’ve managed something worthwhile this time, but you’ve already long overspent that coin. ”
“Excuse me,” Nolan interjects, entirely collected despite the unraveling situation.
“We came here to conduct business. While I recognize you have your issues with Tychus, there’s no reason they should extend to us.
If your organization receives its due in transactions like this, I’m sure we can work something out. ”
Machias shakes his head. “He’s lying.”
Ramiro frowns. “You said it was real.”