AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Then you know very little about power, Lore.”
“And you do?”
“More than you.” With the sun lighting the glass ceiling behind him, his hair looked more red than gold. “Showing the Kirytheans your power won’t cow them. It will just make them think of ways to take it for themselves.”
“Good thing they can’t, then.” She had to squint to glare at him, but she did it anyway. “Only Bastian and I can channel Spiritum. And Bastian would never give up to the Empire.”
Another rustling laugh behind them. Anton hung in his bloody bower of roses and ivy, his head tilted up. The leaves by his mouth feathered, the rose growing through his scarred and empty eye socket bobbed back and forth.
“You are so eager to think less of what you are,” the former Priest Exalted murmured, when his painful mirth subsided. “This plan may not have been His first, but I see now how He moves the pieces.” He shook his head, as much as he was able. A thorn dragged across his cheek, pulled it open into gaping red meat. “You will bend to Him, daughter of the dark. You always do.”
Lore swallowed. “Does he say things like that often, too?”
“No.” Gabe took her elbow and steered her away from the thorn-riddled priest, back out into the greenhouse. “That’s new.”
Gabe led her back into the Church, back through the serpentine corridors and into the small door that led to the confessional. They’d only been gone a few minutes, but Lore still poked her head through the heavy velvet curtain warily, making sure the bloodcoat hadn’t gotten curious.
The confessional room was empty, as always, refracted light from the rose window illuminating the dust motes floating over unoccupied pews. No bloodcoat. She breathed another prayer of thanks for whatever strange notion had made Bastian ask for Lore’s privacy.
Lore turned back to Gabe, let the curtain fall behind her. He stood closer than she thought, and she took an unconscious step backward, her heel catching on the curtain’s hem.
She tripped; he caught her elbow. He’d touched her there before, steering her out of the garden, but it seemed weightier, now. More tactile, like being in this room, away from any threat of prying eyes, somehow roughened his calluses and amped his heat.
“I want to help,” Lore said, because the moment begged for something to break it, and words were the safest option. “We can make Bastian see reason. This doesn’t have to be a war.”
“He made it part of a war when he brought in Kirythea,” Gabe said darkly. But he still didn’t let go of her elbow. “Quite literally.”
Lore shook her head. “We can’t think like that. We can’t afford to, Gabe. There’s too much at stake.”
“You are at stake.” His grip tightened on her arm, pulling her subtly closer. “You came here because those dreams are scaring you. Dreams you have after channeling. And you know he won’t let you stop.”
She’d wondered before what Gabe still believed about her power, what it would turn her into. She supposed this was a kind of answer. “I can take care of myself.”
“You have demonstrated over and over again that you absolutely cannot.” Gabe tugged her forward again, just a bit, and it felt like something inevitable, inching closer, gaining unstoppable momentum. “When it comes to him, you fold every time. You want to talk about things we can’t afford? We can’t afford a weakness, and he’s yours. Always has been.”
He was too close, his eyes trained on her mouth. They hovered on the precipice of something, here, just waiting to see who would step over the edge first.
“You think he’s my only one?” Lore murmured.
He stared, a muscle twitching in his jaw, the tendons in his neck tight enough to snap. She wanted him to touch her, wanted to close the tiny distance between them. Wanted to run the finger wearing Bastian’s ring along his collarbone.
But she didn’t. He didn’t, either.
“So who else knows about this?” she asked, crossing her arms. “That you think Bastian is getting out of control?” Her thoughts grasped at that moment a few nights ago, when she’d found Amelia Demonde in the atrium, talking about Bastian and Apollius. “And is there any chance Amelia Demonde has been talking to Anton?”
“What?” Shock made the word slice through the humid room. “No one knows where Anton is but you and me, Lore. Even Malcolm doesn’t know his location, just that he’s alive.”
Yet another secret to hold between them.
Gabe shook his head. “Where in all the myriad hells did you get Amelia Demonde from?”
“I saw her in the atrium the other night. Talking some religious nonsense. Sounded a lot like the kind of thing Anton is fond of throwing out.”
“Amelia used to come to Anton for counseling. She was very… devout.” But the way he said it made it sound distasteful. “She wanted to draw as close to Apollius as possible. Anton instructed her in the Tracts.” He ran a weary hand down his face. “But she thinks he’s dead, just like everyone else does. Her family was part of Anton’s sect, but she’s harmless. The only person we have to worry about right now is Bastian.”
“Something is affecting him,” she said quietly. “He’s not acting like himself.”
Gabe gave her an incredulous look. “He seems perfectly like himself to me. Selfish and careless. Except now it’s a problem for the whole damn country, not just us.”
