“No longer serving anyone,” Hefertus grunted.
“And your book, hmm? By Light of the Divine, Moon Into Moon. What is this?”
“I think it’s a book of air elementals of the High Snow Desert,” Hefertus said easily.
Sir Sorken snorted loudly. “Very fitting, Prince. How did you choose it?”
Hefertus shrugged. He hardly seemed to notice Brindle still growling in his grip. “I asked the God to choose for me and this book fell off the shelf into my hand.” He paused. “Why did you call yours a grimoire?”
“Because that is what it is, Sir Hefertus. A grimoire. Dedicated to the calling up of strong demons.”
Hefertus flinched backward, his eyes narrowing. “Are you having fun at my expense?”
“Never. Give the dog to my golem. He’ll mind him while the Beggar pleads her case. If she doesn’t come back, then we’ll decide what to do with it. Wringing its neck might be best, given the circumstances.”
Suture grabbed Brindle in a huge bearhug and began to stride toward the corridor as the dog tried to lick his rag-and-bone face.
“Come, Sir Hefertus. Let’s go see if the door is open or shut. If it’s open, we’ll brew tea. If it’s shut, we’ll come back and tease the others for taking so long.”
I gripped the lip of my platform as tightly as I could. What would happen when I could no longer see Brindle. Would I hear him still?
He still owed me an answer about what an arcanery was.
A place dedicated to the worship of demons, of course, he said in my mind and my blood ran cold. But you knew that. Or suspected it. You knew there was no way this place could be of the God. You know that the evils playing out here weren’t accidents. Didn’t you?
I did.
But why make so grand a place for this? It seemed to be made for a single purpose and could accommodate no more than a dozen. Why the sublime carving and glorious decoration? Why the beauty everywhere?
Is it beauty, my girl? Is it even there? Or is it a trick of the mind, like seeing your faces on the faces of the statues? Mayhap the beauty you imagine is made in your dreaming. Mayhap this place is nothing but a crumbling grave of bones and horrible traps.
His voice was growing fainter as he was carried away.
But why build an arcanery at all? Why build a house of worship where so few worshippers would ever set foot?
Who ever said an arcanery was a house of worship? You silly little snack. You foolish meal. How do you worship the God?
By devoting myself to him and doing as he commands.
That’s a weak, petty worship. Worship is giving yourself entirely over to something. And sometimes it turns into creation. After all, don’t you mortals consider the act of love a kind of worship? And does it not create?
But demons couldn’t create. That was one of the tenets of the faith. They could only twist what was already created.
Unless you are the hands of the devil.
And his voice faded past hearing, leaving me trembling as I realized what he was saying.
We were completing trials and tasks, solving puzzles, making offerings, confessing sins. What were all those things added up together? He was right that there was worship being done. But more than that, it felt as though we were brewing something. Something made from many parts like the stews they made along the southern shores, full to the edges with spices, meats of such varied sources that it was best not inquire, and more types of vegetation than I’d ever dreamed could exist. I had asked one street vendor what her secret ingredient was after she offered us a half a bowl for free.
“There are eighty-six secret ingredients and the last one is love,” she’d cackled toothlessly.
What were we brewing here with our many ingredients and the fear and greed we’d brought with us to this place?
I looked down at my hands. They looked clean enough. And yet my mind insisted they were stained. Stained by deeds done unknowingly.
Did it make a difference if I kept doing them now that I knew? Did that somehow make me more guilty?
The world felt as though it was moving in slow motion. That what had come before might not be as it had seemed but rather conjured by my own mind as part of a trap to hook me and drag me into the most evil of deeds terrified me. Could I trust my own senses at all?
