Chapter Thirty-Four
Thirty-four
Neigh.
—MORTIMER
I’M SORRY ABOUT YOUR horse.” It stumbles out of Nolan as we leave the dawn-soaked beach behind.
“Thanks.” I sit behind him on Buttons, trying not to let fatigue and emptiness drag me forward.
I have never been so tired, not even when the Goddess’s armies drove me through the mountains and the snow.
Not even after I watched all those familiar faces go to their wet, icy deaths. “So how fucked do you think we are?”
He says nothing for a few heartbeats. “I don’t know. The Caerula didn’t get a good look at us, and Machias is dead, but we don’t know how much Tychus told him. Names, where we are lodging… We need to get back to the guesthouse, see if we can get to our gear before they do.”
“And after that?”
“We’ll figure something out.”
He doesn’t intend to give up. Even now, when we have, by his own words, nothing.
I should have expected it. Given the choice between staying here and completing our failure and retreating to Lumeris, Nolan’s choice is obvious.
But if we’ve added the Caerula to the list of people hunting us, it’s gonna be a lot harder to accomplish anything in Cyprene.
“So…” I say. “You want to be the next avatar.”
Nolan tenses—only a little, but our tight proximity makes it impossible to miss. At first, I think he’s not going to reply. He didn’t admit to it on the beach, no reason for him to do so now.
Then he takes a breath and holds it before letting go. “It’s… it’s not something I—or any of us—should desire. But a chance to be considered… that’s all I want.”
To be a puppet controlled by the Goddess.
Slowly consumed by them, until only the barest hints of what was truly Nolan is left.
No, he wouldn’t see it like that. An honor—that’s what being the Goddess’s avatar is to him.
Same as dying on a battlefield in their name.
The sacrifice of the pure devoted. And all I want to do is make that dream impossible.
The idea never bothered me much before, when I thought he was only angling for Executrix.
I don’t like that it does now. Something in me buckles, pushed past tolerance.
I lean forward, pressing my forehead into Nolan’s back.
He tightens before relaxing again. Says nothing.
I take a deep breath. He smells like sweat and blood and burning horse.
So fleshy. So human. I wonder if that sticks around. Do avatars have body odor?
“Okay.” Guilt wriggles in the pit of my stomach. “Good luck with that. Let me know if you need an Executrix. I know someone back at the Dawn Cloister who’d be interested in the job.”
Despite it all, he laughs. I can feel the echo of it in his ribs, reverberating against my guilt. I grit my teeth and straighten, not wanting to hear it.
We ride a bit more before he speaks again.
“I really am sorry about Mortimer.”
“Me too.”
“Really,” he presses. “I…”
“A horse,” I interject. “That’s all it was.”
“Not to you.”
I swallow. “Thank you for helping me cremate him.”
“Please don’t tell anyone we did that.”
“Sorry. I added it on my snitch list already.”
“Of course you did.”
Cyprene’s early risers are stirring by the time we make our way back.
We keep a sharp eye out for Caerula as we navigate the streets.
Or Nolan does. Fatigue—and probably the side effects of the balm—plays tricks on me.
My vision swims, then sharpens, then creates impossible tableaux.
I see Innara in a young woman bent over a fountain.
Mortimer in the horse drawing a cart of water barrels.
Even Avery, a hurried figure ducking into a doorway.
Phantoms all, raised by… what? Guilt? Frustration?
The narcotic effects of the divine? I can only hope it passes soon; I won’t be much good against an enemy if I’m not sure they are even there.
The Caerula may not have seen our faces, but they might recognize the cloak I’m wrapped in, which is still less conspicuous than clothing drenched in blood.
Nolan, mostly unspoiled, discarded his cloak.
The question now remains whether they know where we’re staying.
The answer is clear the moment we get close enough to see the Petrel, from the vantage of a nearby alley. Half a dozen Caerula linger outside it, and judging by the number of horses, there are more inside.
I curse. Probably a bit more than necessary, but I was really hoping to lie down in bed, even briefly. “Now what?”
“I’m not sure.” Nolan watches the gathering. “We could try to find somewhere else to hole up.”
“Or,” says a voice from just beyond the alley opening. “You could simply wait until they’ve gone.”
I peek around the wall, already recognizing the speaker: Rion. I’m not seeing things; Nolan’s reaction confirms he’s actually there. The two of us must be really exhausted to have missed him. Rion leans against the building, book under one arm, mug of coffee in hand, appearing quite put out.
“They were making the common room unbearable.” He doesn’t turn our way as he speaks, giving away nothing. “Exciting night, was it?”
I snort, keeping to the shadows. “Not the word I’d use.”
“I’d ask what you did to fall afoul of them,” Rion says, “but plenty of folks manage the same, and besides, it’s none of my business.”
Nolan shifts nervously, and I realize it’s intentional, that he’s slipped back into his merchant character. “It wasn’t so much us as a gentleman we’d become acquainted with,” he lies smoothly. “Seems like the Caerula had reached the end of their patience with him.”
“Ah. The end end?”
“Unfortunately.” Nolan waits a respectful beat. “We can’t stay here. If they are searching the Petrel, they must have been told we’re staying here.”
“They’re searching all the guesthouses.” Rion calmly sips his coffee.
“Been working their way through them for hours, after two recently arrived strangers. There was a pair like that, but they returned sometime late last night, hastily packed before sneaking out, leaving their bill unpaid to boot. At least, that’s what Hiram told them. ”
I’m amazed I still have the energy to be surprised. “And why would he do that?”
Rion gives an amused snort. “Ramiro and the Caerula have as many enemies as friends in this city. Most of the time they aren’t smart enough to realize which it is they’re talking to.
Oh, sure, they’ll make a show of interrogating folks, but by now they think you took the first boat out on the morning tide.
” He straightens. “Ah, here we are. Good riddance, you bothersome bastards.”
I relax a little as Caerula appear from out of the Petrel. Even more so when they ride off, disappearing into the web of streets. Only then do we file out of the alley.
Rion takes us in. “An exciting night indeed. Are you injured?”
“It looks worse than it is.” Only half a lie. Thanks to the salve, my shoulder will heal even faster than normal, though every movement brings a stab of pain. “Nothing some rest won’t take care of.”
“C’mon,” says Rion. “We’ll sneak you in through the back.”
I am thankful even as the bone-deep weariness crests over me again.
It’s more than fatigue, more than grief—calling the flame left me drained.
It used me like a fuel, which, in a way, I guess I am.
I want to be back in my room. No, I want to kick Nolan out of his and take a long soak in his tub. Then I want to sleep.
“They tried to rob us. Killed one of our horses and injured Lys.” Nolan sounds perfectly indignant as we make our way around the guesthouse, with a brief stop at the stables.
The empty stall hits like a second arrow, though I’m too wrung out for more tears.
“How can they call themselves the Goddess’s justice when they comport themselves like common brigands? ”
“Common brigands find themselves in positions of power more often than we’d all like to admit.” Rion leads us into the kitchens.
Hiram is there. He nods at us.
Nolan pulls out his purse and hands over a frankly obscene amount of money. “To cover the bill we skipped out on. And whatever bill we run up from this point on.”
Hiram simply nods again. Easy to buy silence from a man who tends toward it, I guess.
As soon as the door to Nolan’s suite is closed and locked, I collapse into one of the overstuffed chairs. Nolan remains on his feet, though. He’s back on edge, pacing from one end of the room to the other.
“The Caerula may be convinced we’ve fled, but we need to avoid them going forward. And find another way to the heretics. If Tychus was able to get to Machias, there must be other ways to connect with them.”
“Sure, yeah.” I close my eyes. “Can we figure that out after I have a little time to recover from major blood loss?”
His footsteps cease. I sense his considering gaze, which is laced with impatience again, now that we’re somewhere safe.
Or as safe as we’ll get for now. I expect to be chastised, for him to tell me we need a new plan right here and now.
I wait for the Nolan that showed himself on the beach to reappear.
Instead: “Yes. Okay. You should get cleaned up, and that arrow wound still needs to be stitched and bandaged.”
I crack one eye. “Run me a bath in that fancy tub?”
Pushing my luck, for sure, but he heads into the bathroom.
The sound of running water follows. First helping with Mortimer, now this.
Two kindnesses—small ones, but more than I’m used to from a fellow Potentiate.
A new sense of discomfort spreads, thick with suspicion and unease.
Our truce has been a mutually beneficial thing. That I can manage.
What’s harder to get comfortable with is the idea of Nolan being genuinely nice to me.
The next thing I know, it’s morning… again.
I jolt back to consciousness, blinded by the light streaming through the window, and reach instinctively for the sickles that aren’t there. Pain flares in my shoulder.
Where—?