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“Me? Oh, I have buckets of faith.” His smile widened, pleased to incense the Heir. “I just put it where it should be.”
Beyond the city ridge, lightning veined through the storm clouds, purple white. It illuminated them both for a moment, their shadows flashing against the castle walls.
“In Corayne?” Isadere murmured after the crack of thunder subsided.
“She is the only hope the realm has,” he said plainly. “So I’d be foolish not to.”
The simple logic took Isadere off guard, then they frowned. “I see your point,” they said. “I suppose I feel the same.”
They lapsed into silence, watching the storm roll down the valley, the lightning shifting farther and farther away. It crackled and roared, a force like no other.
“Do you think the gods are watching?” he breathed. Charlie watched the sky with wide eyes, not daring to blink lest he miss another flash in the clouds.
He expected some blustering speech about the goddess Lasreen, her infallibility, her presence in all things. And perhaps an accusation of blasphemy to round things out.
Instead, Isadere whispered, “I don’t know.”
Charlie tore his eyes from the storm, incredulous.
“How could they look away?” he asked, his voice rising with his frustration. “If this is to be the end of Allward?”
Isadere only stared back at him, their confusion all the more irritating. Charlie bit hard, teeth grinding, even as he cursed the gods in every language he knew.
“How can they remain silent?” he hissed, balling a fist at his side.
How can they let this happen? If they are real—how can they let us fall?
“I don’t know,” Isadere said again. To his surprise, they took him by the shoulder. Their touch was surprisingly gentle, and kind. “Perhaps you should take a little of your faith and give it to the gods.”
Charlie scowled, thinking of churches and altars, stained glass, coins in the offering plates. Ink on parchment, chanted prayers. Scripture. And silence. Never an answer. Not even a whisper or the lightest touch.
“I will when they earn it,” he muttered, angrier than he knew himself to be.
Isadere’s fingers tightened.
“Then it is not faith anymore,” they said.
A warm flush washed over his cheeks. Charlie chewed his lip, reluctant to give the Heir an inch. As politely as he could, Charlie extricated himself from the Heir’s grasp.
“I see your point,” he finally ground out, echoing their words a moment before. “We are not warriors, you and I,” he added, eyeing the Heir’s fine furs and their smooth, soft hands.
The Heir made a low sound, barely cousin to a laugh. “And yet we find ourselves in the middle of the greatest war this realm has ever seen. It must be for something, shouldn’t it?”
“I must think so,” Charlie answered. “I must think there is some reason for me to still be here. That there is something yet I can do, small as it may be.”
“Or perhaps it is done already, our parts played,” the Heir said serenely, their eyes going back to the landscape and the distant lightning.
Charlie followed their gaze. The sky took on a purple tinge as night wore slowly toward dawn. The first rays of sun would not appear forhours, if they broke through the clouds at all.
“The mirror truly showed you nothing?” he murmured, incredulous.
Isadere sighed low, showing a rare glimpse of their frustration.
“I did not say it showed me nothing,” they replied. “I said it showed me shadows and darkness.” Something flickered in their gaze, their dark brows knitting together with concern. “And deep places, spiraling downward through blackness. And at the bottom, a dim red light.”
The image made Charlie shiver.
“What else?” he breathed.
