It is not. There is something about this that glows like the light that surrounds my brothers when we pray. There is some mystery here that salves wounds and binds broken souls.
I do not question it. I thank the God it exists and melt into the relief that has not been my companion in more than a decade, and into the warmth I never thought I’d feel again, and I try to thank her with how I kiss her. I try to say all the things I don’t dare allow to touch my lips. I try to make promises I may never be free to keep.
There’s a thump and we spring apart, gasping.
“You can’t wait in the darkness forever, Beggar girl,” Sir Coriand’s voice rings out. “Eventually, you will have to come to your senses and play. Or, if you are very unlucky, one of us will solve this riddle soon, and turn the room, and you will be trapped forever in this empty, yawning tomb.”
“Did I hear correctly, Engineer?” I call back. “Did you murder the Majester General?”
There’s a silence that is just a breath too long.
Sir Coriand’s voice is far too familiar when he replies. “You’re back, Poisoned Saint. What a relief! Your friend Hefertus has been worried about you.”
“I’m surprised he’s not here,” I say in a light tone. “I would have expected loyalty from my old friend.”
“Oh, you know the Princes,” Sir Coriand says lightly. “Lacking common sense. Besides, the Beggar is just like her beast. She stands over you and growls. Did she tell you she leapt from her own island to join you on yours? A brave thing to do, if foolhardy. Maybe you can do the same for her. Make the sacrifice, light the candle, and put it and a book on the altar, and you can come eat the soup that Cleft has brewed for us. It’s mushroom. The golems collected a lovely crop of morels before we were all brought down here. We’d nearly forgotten about them in the excitement. I think you’ll find it aromatic, hmm?”
It has never surprised me that the blackest of souls have the lightest of voices. They carry no burden for no conscience weighs them down. Some might think that a blessing. I know it is not. My own father flew high and light, free of consequence or shame, until he was burned by the sun and crashed to the depths. I should pity him, but I do not find it in me to feel warmth for a man who treated my mother as he did.
I wonder when Sir Coriand will crash.
“I won’t join you,” Victoriana calls out. “You know that.”
“Convince her, Poisoned Saint. A day and a night have passed and we have but a single day and night left on the clock. What do you think might happen when time runs out and our doom comes after us?”
“No less than we deserve,” Victoriana mutters.
“I heard that, Beggar. Think what you will, but you are no Saint, and even if you were, I would not care what you thought.”
And then he is gone, his footsteps stomping away across the stone, and we’re left in silence again.
“They come every hour by my estimate,” Victoriana said quietly. “I think they are growing frantic. They aren’t sure if the puzzle isn’t being solved because they have the wrong answer or because I won’t join their game.”
I pause. “They are going to lock us both in here? With me helpless and you dissenting?”
She laughs darkly. “They have killed three paladins and another died for their secrets. What do they care about adding two more?”
“And you think these murders were all done by Sir Coriand?”
“The Majester kept talking about a voice telling him what to do. I thought he meant a demon, or that he was crazy. But what if he was talking about a literal voice? What if it was the Engineers calling down to him in the chaos?”
That was plausible. “And the Seer? The Engineers stayed up top.”
“As far as we knew. What would have kept them from sneaking down when no one was watching?”
I grunt. Those are solid points.
“Then we have to decide,” I say. “Eventually they will crack the code and they will spin the walls again, and we will be trapped in here while they move inevitably to what must be the last trial.”
She’s nodding, a look of determination on her face. I must choose my words with care.
“We can stay here and die on principle.”
Her eyes take on a dangerous gleam. She doesn’t like the “or” dangling in the air. I say it anyway.
“Or.”
I wait for her to master her anger, and only when she cocks one eyebrow do I continue.
