Chapter Forty-Three #2
The death of Tempestra-Innara would fracture the Devoted Lands either way, but free of the gods, it would settle into something new—something wholly human, if not entirely peaceful. But if new ones rose to power… I can’t help but picture a cycle started anew, playing out over and over.
Faith, in whatever form it comes in, persists… will outlive every single divine being that has ever walked this land.
And so, some deep part of me knows, will the sins of their devout.
New gods or old, there’s no knowing where the reality of either will land.
I refused to walk across the ice because I thought death would come regardless.
Instead, I was made a thrall to the Goddess.
To this day, I don’t know which was the worse outcome.
And here I am again, with a decision that feels as if it will end in some similar, damning result.
This should be an easy choice. And yet…
When we finally make our way to the shrine, the tide is rising instead of falling, the stone pillars fully exposed, waves slipping their way closer as dusk falls.
The sun sinks behind a low sky of clouds, muting what little color there is in the shrine, making it feel even more ancient.
And heavy too, as if the ghosts of who knows how many executions have seeped into the stone ceiling above us and are trying to bring it down.
Like at our last visit, we wait on the lowest tier, where the water will submerge our words, drown them like offerings.
Or would, if we were talking. Instead, Nolan stares quietly out across the bay, gaze hard but unfocused, toward…
well, that I can guess. The light. The Flame.
“You’ve barely said a word since Caius set sail.”
“I know.”
“Well, there’s two.”
He sighs. A moment stretches with careful consideration. “You know Caius is going to try to kill us, right? If we find the reliquary?”
“You’re sure?”
“You’re not? It was all there, beneath the conceit. The way he looked at us…” He pauses. “You were right.”
“Ooh, I do love it when you say that, but about what?”
“About the competition we’re forced into with one another…
the consequences of it.” He gazes back out at the water.
“I thought Caius served the Goddess above all else, and maybe he believes he does, but he wasted no time in trying to serve himself by coming here. And he has no interest in sharing success. He’ll turn his Thorn Guard on us at some point.
If we find the reliquary, he’ll present it as his prize.
And if we don’t… well, maybe he lets us live and lays the blame at our feet.
” When I don’t respond, he continues. “No ‘I told you so’?”
Oh, if only I felt like teasing. My chest tightens. Tempestra-Innara. Osiron. Caius. Nolan… I feel like a needle spinning around a compass, unable to orient.
“Not to draw unfair comparisons, but… weren’t you still planning something similar?” His silence returns, a sudden, brooding stillness. “We’d set terms in our deal,” I hurry to add. “Find the reliquary, then…”
“Yes… then we renegotiate.” The way he says it, I almost wish he were Caius, all ambitious transparency.
A minute passes. “Were you?” The question creeps out.
“Planning to turn on me once we got the reliquary, I mean? Or…” he continues, with even more caution, “is that particular part of our agreement no longer beneficial to either of us?”
My stomach manages to find a new way to twist, wringing out what little resolve had pooled there.
I turn away, as if considering it, afraid Nolan will spot the newly discovered truths in the purse of my mouth, the tightness of my eyes.
“I’d… like to think we’ve both learned it’s better to have someone watching your back than not. ”
“You’re not just saying that to keep me off guard?”
“Of course I am.” Keeping my voice light feels like trying to lift a dead cow. “In truth, I’m conspiring with Caius against you. We’ve fallen for each other, you see, and plan to live in Belspire’s castle together, with a pet drooling princess and ancient Arbiter to keep us company.”
Nolan’s features soften. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be dumped overboard at sea?”
Humor. My innards twinge again.
“A toss-up, really,” I say. “Okay, no renegotiation. Getting the reliquary back to Lumeris… that was always the job, and we were given it together.” A lump grows in my throat. “Tempestra-Innara can sort out who deserves what after that.”
Relief. He doesn’t even hide it.
“How do we handle Caius?” I say, before he can say anything that might further stir up what’s roiling in me.
“He’s handled… for now. But we need to find the reliquary and get off the island before he returns… if we even can at this point.”
His doubt hits me off guard. The way he’d pushed Caius, bought us time… I might know tonight’s meeting is futile, but from his bleak tone, it’s almost as if he does too.
“If there’s no hope, what are we even doing here?”
Nolan’s mouth turns up in a frail, amused smile. “Giving up isn’t an option, Lys. Failure might be, but not giving up.”
I don’t like the new note in his voice, one that sounds less like defeat and more like honesty.
It echoes, sinking into the depths of me, mingles there with the guilt growing like mold.
I’ve never been truthful with Nolan. But after everything, somehow, there’s a part of me that wants to be.
We both started this endeavor so determined, so sure of our direction.
And now?
Now I have the chance to upend the world, just not in the way I thought. And Nolan seems more and more like a sword left in the dirt, growing dulled and pitted. He hasn’t had a chance at success since we first stepped onto this island.
“It’s not failure.” A half truth. A tainted one. “Sometimes… sometimes you can do everything as right as you possibly can and it still doesn’t turn out the way you want.”
Finding the reliquary. Becoming Executrix… or avatar. I don’t need to specify what I mean. All must seem nearly impossible to him now. Nolan might not be giving up, but there’s a part of him that’s giving in.
“Okay, new plan: If we make it back, we blame Caius for everything. It’s what he deserves for butting in where he wasn’t wanted.”
A laugh. Quick, but true. “I guess there’s that. And…” He takes a deep breath. “And the Goddess’s favor isn’t necessary to serve them, no matter where one might end up.”
It certainly helps, though. “Look on the bright side: If anyone is going to get shipped off to waste away in some forgotten corner of the Lands, it will be me.” I lean back. “Hey, maybe I’ll even get tossed back to Cyprene.”
“Maybe both of us will be sent here.”
“Would that be so bad?” I mean for it to lighten the mood, but as soon as it leaves my lips, I want to take it back. Not because of any lie.
Because there’s a taste of truth.
And maybe Nolan senses that too. He turns fully toward me, almost luminescent in the low, dusty light of evening.
“I mean, I know it would be bad,” I say quickly. “The Goddess’s light—”
“Still reaches here, as faint as it is.” A flash of longing crosses his face, there and gone, replaced by something else. Understanding. Acceptance. “Low service is still service. A service that is a punishment is still service.”
With anyone else in the world I’d be calling bullshit.
But not Nolan. For all his lies and manipulations, there’s one truth about him that has remained immutable—Nolan wants to serve.
Whether as avatar in Lumeris or pariah in Cyprene, his dedication to Tempestra-Innara is pure, absolute.
So absolute that jealousy rises in me suddenly.
It steals the moisture from my mouth, puts a lump in my throat, simply from the ease of it.
Nolan hasn’t spent his life filled with hate, fueled and burned by it at the same time.
He hasn’t felt the cold touch of hope followed by the discovery that success would be an entirely different—and unimaginable—creature than expected.
Nolan aspired, yes, but the fall from that attempted climb has always been cushioned by the simple comfort that to serve Tempestra-Innara is enough for him.
“And maybe,” he continues, face turning away. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with some company.”
The lump grows. What if this was enough?
Cyprene isn’t freedom, but it’s freer than anything else I’ve ever known.
Would suffering here, so far from the Goddess’s light, be any worse than suffering closer to it?
Would I end up as desperate as Fedic, or could I make peace with the longing?
Is there somewhere between accepting I can’t escape what the Goddess made me and destroying them and the whole of their world?
Low service is still service. Can an undesirable life still be a fulfilling one?
My gaze creeps back to Nolan.
And what circumstances could bridge those two things?
We don’t need to do this. I don’t need to do this.
Osiron’s battle with Tempestra-Innara may be inevitable, but it doesn’t have to be mine.
I’ve been seeing my choice as two extremes: suffer beneath the Goddess or serve Osiron by helping usher in their new-world vision.
But Cyprene is proof that there could be another option.
That I could find a corner of existence where I might find less than I dreamed of, but more than I’ve ever had.
The idea is like picking at a wound, peeling away at skin and scab, unsure whether infection lies below.
But I don’t get a chance to find out. Nolan starts suddenly, turning toward the figure that has appeared on the steps above us.
Dark has fully fallen, and Avery, fully cloaked, has the appearance of a misplaced shadow.
Before we join him, Nolan and I share a silent acknowledgment that whatever is going to happen, it happens now.
No more delays.
No more chances.
We turn back to Avery, Nolan raising a hand in greeting.
But before either of them can say anything, Avery bucks forward, as if punched from behind. He catches himself at the top step. Then, he looks down, cloak shifting aside just enough to reveal the point of the arrow sticking through his chest.