Chapter Forty-Four
Forty-four
As the sea rose, so did the fear on the faces of the condemned.
They began to beg, to plea for mercy as they strained against the stone pillars.
Little good it did. Perhaps the followers of the Salt Goddess would have once been moved, but this was no exercise of justice.
This was as much an offering as an execution.
A hope that the Salt Goddess might know their devoted still believe, still wait for them to wake from the watery depths and rise to power once more.
—EXCERPT FROM THE OBSERVATIONAL NOTES OF THE HISTORIAN THEAN
FOR A LONG, LIQUID moment, Avery stares down at the dark shaft of the arrow. Then, he crumples, pitching forward, momentum tumbling him down the stairs until he lands with a meaty thump at our feet.
I cannot breathe. My lungs harden, solid as the stone around us, air refusing to move through them. Then I fall too, to his side, tearing at his hood. When I pull it back, dead eyes stare up at me.
But they are the eyes of a stranger.
Relief—crass and callous—floods through me.
I do not know this young man, his hair darker than Avery’s, skin paler, a slight build the only feature they share.
But I don’t get a chance to unravel the mystery of Avery’s absence.
Footsteps sound—lots of them. I look up at figures that now surround us: the Caerula, dozens of them, encircling us like an audience anticipating a show.
Which maybe they are. A handful carry lanterns, which cut through the dark and leave sharp shadows on the men’s faces.
Some are armed with blades, some with long spears like the fishermen on the docks, and the rest, crossbows, all of which are trained on us.
I feel Ramiro’s mean-as-hell grin before I see it. He stands at the back of the pack, filling in the space the unknown heretic occupied only seconds before.
Nolan’s fists tighten. “What have you done?”
Ramiro shrugs, unbothered. “Taken care of a pest.”
“You’ve destroyed our chance at finding the heretics!”
“You’re a fool to believe that. The Arbiter too. Neither of you understands Cyprene. He and his fancy soldiers can tear apart the city, search the cliffs. They won’t find what they are after, unless it’s an untimely death.”
I get to my feet, hands aching to reach for my sickles, though I keep them carefully at my side. “So why didn’t you share that information with him?”
“Because whatever you want, it doesn’t matter a rotten fish head to me,” he spits.
“And I don’t care whether you’re Tempestra-Innara’s prize puppies.
You came to my city, killed my men, and crossed me.
” His face darkens. “None of you understand where you are. These ‘heretics’ you’re after?
They always come back. Same way you Chosen always run back to Mommy when you can’t stand it anymore.
You have no place here, and the Goddess belongs exactly where they are—far away. ”
Nolan tightens, his jaw clenching. “Cyprene is under the rule of Tempestra-Innara.”
Ramiro laughs. “Devoted or heretic, Cyprene belongs to Cyprene. And with Arbiter Caius gone, well… Alas, your meeting tragically went wrong, the heretics turning on you. Oh, after he’s done mourning”—he says it sarcastically—“he may try to flush out the heretics, but once he loses a few men to the tunnels, I suspect he’ll cut his losses.
” He gestures. Chains appear. “You have my thanks for making this so easy, though. It’s fitting that your clandestine meeting would take place where the heretics could punish you in the old way. ”
Nolan and I draw our weapons. But the Caerula have the high ground. And a dozen crossbows, ready to make short work of us.
“None of that,” Ramiro grumbles. “Drop them.”
“Lys…” Nolan hisses.
I hear the question. But I already know the answer.
“Not much of a choice here.” Slowly, I lower my sickles to the stone.
Even slower, Nolan follows suit. There’s an ominous, almost musical slink of chains as the Caerula move in on us, more cautiously than in the cave.
Clearly, they’ve learned something. The ones with chains keep behind the ones with spears, who prod Nolan and me, herding us like animals.
I feel the chill mass of the stone pillars before my back hits one, waves already licking at their base with hungry impatience, as if they know how long it’s been since they were last fed.
“And here I thought immolation was the worst way to go.” I smirk at Nolan even as the pair of Caerula begin looping chains around us. “At least that would be quick.”
“Much quicker,” Nolan tosses back, which is how I know he’s caught on.
Flames explode from his palms, leaping onto the Caerula binding him, engulfing his cloak in an instant.
He screams and Nolan’s chains drop. Mine stay where they are, but the distraction is sufficient.
I jerk forward, yanking the Caerula with me.
She slams face-first into the stone and crumples.
Then I’m free too. I twist, barely avoid getting spitted by a spear, and grab its shaft.
One yank and its mine; I jam the butt end into the wielder’s face, feel bone crunch.
But I don’t need weapons, I need cover. I throw an arm around the man’s throat and pull him close as I brandish the spear in my other hand.
When I risk a glance over, Nolan has his own human shield, hands twisted in the man’s cloak.
“Fight me and you’ll end up burning like your friend.
” The “friend” was smart enough to break for the water.
Not smart enough to know it wouldn’t smother the divine flame quickly enough.
His screams sound for a few more agonizing seconds before the waves swallow him, cries and all.
“Same goes for you,” I whisper in my Caerula’s ear.
Now it’s a fight. The Caerula may have learned something from our last encounter, but it wasn’t enough. Nolan and I slowly walk our shields forward. Their companions, whey faced and unsure what to do, retreat.
Ramiro’s curses echo throughout the shrine. “What are you doing? Kill them!”
I laugh. Loudly, so Ramiro can hear it. “Should have told your archers to put a few bolts in us first. Well, live and learn. Or not. We’ll see how it goes.”
No one moves. It was a gamble, wagering that the Caerula actually gave a damn about their own, but like Ramiro said, Cyprene belongs to Cyprene. These people are compatriots. Neighbors. Friends.
At least, I hope.
We gain more ground. Nolan scoops up his sword, and I speedily discard my spear for a sickle, then slip it into its holder before grabbing the other. Our meat-shields whimper but know better than to resist.
“Not willing to make sacrifices, Ramiro?” It sounds like a taunt, but Nolan is stalling, giving us time to press our way up the steps. The Caerula tighten as they recede, making it even harder for the archers to risk a shot.
“You’re prolonging this. There’s nowhere to go but through us.” Ramiro is right, but at least he sounds pissed about it.
“Lys.” Nolan speaks low as we reach the last, highest tier of the shrine, where the crowd of Caerula block any further advance. “We’re probably not going to get out of this.”
“I know.” I lock eyes with him. Wink. “But it will be fun to try.”
In unison, we shove our shields into their companions and attack.
There are shouts, a clatter of footsteps, the thwap of crossbows loosing their arrows.
Nolan and I go for the lantern carriers first. I duck a sword swing as my first target panics, dropping his light in a scrambling attempt to draw his weapon.
It shatters. He goes tumbling as I barrel into him, arcing my blade at the next-closest light bearer.
This one is more steadfast, and catches my sickle across her throat for that bravery.
Blood flows.
Darkness descends.
For the Caerula, at least. I can still see well enough.
Some of the Caerula try to attack as chaos erupts, others to flee, but Nolan takes out another lantern, and what little light is left creates more confusion than clarity.
Shadows flutter like oversized bats as I disembowel one, take three fingers off another.
Nolan sends someone flying off the end of a stone tier—not a fatal fall, but the landing should take the fight out of them.
Moments later, the last of the lanterns winks out.
Beneath the shadowed overhang, the Caerula can’t tell friend from foe.
“Kill them!” I don’t see Ramiro but I hear him. “Kill anything that comes at you!”
His panic makes me smile. Makes me seethe, calling to those dark depths within.
What answers grows like a flame—an inferno.
And for the first time, I sense it in Nolan too.
Blood singing to blood. Our divinity, as strong as it will ever be, rising to meet this trial and not giving it a single fucking inch.
When we move, our training mirrors itself.
Our techniques, our strikes, all born from the same place, following the same rhythm.
There are dozens of Caerula, the whole of Ramiro’s forces for sure.
I don’t care. He could have brought a hundred.
A thousand. I don’t even flinch when a line of pain scrapes up my back, or when something pierces the meat of my arm.
We fight on, the salty spray of the waves now deliciously bloody, wolves cutting through a foolish flock.
Then, suddenly, I have a chance to breathe. A hand clamps down on my arm. I raise my sickle to strike—
Nolan.
He points.
The cliff path is open, clear.
We run.
The way is narrow, and Nolan falls in behind me, stone to one side of us, air and a long fall on the other.
There’s no telling if the Caerula know we’re gone, but they’ll figure it out soon enough, relight their lanterns, be on our heels.
The unevenness of the path slows us, but we have a head start. We’ll be able to lose them in the city.
The path curves, and a figure appears. Before I can react, it hurls something with a force that knocks me off my feet.
I collide with the stone cliff and fall to the ground, tangled in netting; its thin, tight strands slice into my skin.
I twist, getting a glimpse of the attacker as Nolan leaps over me to confront them: Ramiro, not looking so scared now.
No, there’s a bright sheen of desperation in his eyes, in the flush of his cheeks.
One hand holds the other end of the net that has ensnared me.
The other, an empty vial.
The Renderer blood tincture we left behind in the caves.
He’s downed the whole lot, pupils practically bursting with the flood of temporary divinity racing through his veins.
In the instant it takes me to realize what he’s done, Ramiro drops the vial and draws a slick, curved sword.
I anticipate a swing of that weapon. So, apparently, does Nolan.
Instead, Ramiro jerks on his end of the net…
the net that Nolan is half on top of. We both go flying, Ramiro’s strength augmented in a way that makes us like weak children in comparison.
The breath slams from my lungs as I hit the ground again.
Gasping, I manage to twist one wrist, feel my bindings loosen as my sickle cuts through the netting.
Nearby, metal screams against metal. Nolan is down on one knee, blocking Ramiro’s blade with his own, muscles of his neck taut as he struggles to regain his footing.
When Ramiro takes a half step back to steady himself, Nolan manages to do so, but an instant later the Caerula is swinging again, over and over, driving Nolan back toward the shrine.
I saw at the net, seemingly endless strands tangled around my legs.
Finally, it falls away. I scramble up, yanking my sickles free.
Ramiro is behind me now, down the path, fixated entirely on Nolan.
Good sense screams to get away, escape. Then, the Caerula leader strikes a beastly blow that sends Nolan’s sword flying over the cliff.
Ramiro crows, a brutal, primitive sound—viciously human, but honed to an edge by the divine.
He raises his blade again. Under that murderous arm, something comes over Nolan, neither fear nor anticipation, but from the space between them.
His eyes lock with mine, mouth forming one word.
Run.
But I don’t. I can’t. I strike, arcing my sickle at Ramiro’s exposed back, feeling the connection of the cut, the split of flesh.
It might as well be a scratch. Ramiro heaves himself to one side and kicks, boot catching me in the chest. A rib, maybe two, cracks and I’m on my back again.
Coppery blood coats my tongue. But the dark flame inside me flares again.
I’m not dying here, like this, felled by some cut-rate divinity-laced bully. And neither is Nolan.
I push into the pain, gather it to me, making it to my knees in time to see Nolan pull a dagger from who knows where and lunge at Ramiro. It sinks into the Caerula’s side but doesn’t slow him at all. With a force like an oak tree felled by a storm, his arm whips out.
Time slows—creaking, fracturing—as Nolan goes airborne.
Then, it breaks as he arcs through the night, and over the side of the cliff.