Beneath us, our platform begins to sway and the sound of stone on stone rings as the statues throw themselves at our refuge.
I lift my hand up, press the cut in my thumb to her vessel, and squeeze a drop into her cup. Friend or not, I am indeed her rival. Her enemy. Because friendship with me is ruin to any woman.
Her cup glows bright, confirming that.
And as sudden as the sneaking dawn, silence falls. My breath saws in my lungs. Victoriana lets out a vulnerable, trembling exhale that melts me straight to the core. Hefertus’s organ lets out a last gasp and all is still.
“Well,” Sir Sorken calls out in his usual cheerful tone. “I suppose that’s done it, then.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Vagabond Paladin
“I have to see to the Majester,” Adalbrand gasped out. “I … my desire for revenge is a slap in the face of the God.”
“You can’t possibly mean that,” I said stupidly. Of course he meant it. Of course it was true. It just didn’t feel true when I’d seen the Majester murder the Inquisitor with my own eyes. The pale-haired warrior had done nothing to him. Worse, he’d been trapped under the statue’s rubble, unable to defend himself. A more ignominious deed could hardly be designed.
Pain was etched across Adalbrand’s face.
“We forgive. It’s who we are.” He swallowed roughly. “Or at least it’s who we should be.” He looked down, seeing something I didn’t. “It’s who we should be,” he repeated, as if convincing himself, and then he looked me over with a critical squint. “I’ll be back for your arm. You’re safe here, yes?”
He reached for me as if he would cup my face, winced, and then spun with a muttered curse and was gone, hurtling down the steps from this terrible platform and into the wreckage below.
I gathered in a long breath.
Well then. That was very Adalbrand of him. Very chivalrous knight. I gave his back a long, dry look. And what about me? Was my lack of chivalry an offense to the God? I hoped not. I would not offend the one who had given me a second chance.
I also wasn’t about to go haring off to the rescue of Sir Sword-in-the-Throat.
Pain still radiated hot and jagged from my broken arm. If Adalbrand couldn’t heal it, I’d need to set it. It felt wrong in every way. I’d had worse but I knew this kind of pain was more than a warning. If I didn’t tend the arm properly I’d lose it … or worse.
I was about to follow him, but a scraping sound arrested me, long and terrible like the wail of a dying soul. The fallen statues slowly stood.
Great. Just really excellent. I swallowed down a lump in my throat and jutted out my chin.
I could fight them again. I could. But I’d rather not. Already they’d scored their claws through the flesh of my soul. And this arm would be a problem.
I was still bracing myself for a second attack when they began to recede toward the walls with excruciating slowness. I let out a puff of breath.
No more fighting today, then. Good.
What had been a beautiful room of wonders was a smashed, bloody mess. That the urgency of the attack was over did not take away the bitter sting of the treacheries committed here. We’d turned on each other. We’d killed.
And for what.
I turned to the worst of it. Brindle.
Broken on the ground. He’d be defenseless against even slowly retreating statues.
I leapt from the platform, misjudging the height slightly, and stumbled awkwardly when I hit the ground. Bursts of black clouded out my vision as the raw ends of my broken bone jarred against each other. My sword was still drawn. There was no blood on it. I’d destroyed only statues, thank you. Not like that God-forsaken Majester.
Saints and Angels, was Adalbrand really going to fuss over him?
I should have sheathed the sword before leaping, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I sheathed it now before I started to run.
I’d missed whatever had taken Brindle out in the fight. Something had hit him hard — the flat of a stone blade, I’d thought — and sent him careening through the air to smash into the floor. There had been blood and he’d wobbled, and then his pelvis had collapsed under him and those … those … those demon-loving, unethical, rotten-hearted, selfish paladins had tried to kill him.
They’d wanted blood. They hadn’t cared whose it was. Even a dog’s. I wasn’t sure I could forgive them the way Adalbrand could.
