He waggled his finger, and the space fell silent. Then, he pointed to the great dome overhead.
“Do not be fooled into thinking we are as deserving of recompense as our Great Father, for His due is matched to what we have taken. Such an exchange is profane. It reeks of gluttedoffal and the taint of pride. For what man dares to claim parity with a god?None.Isn’t that right, little ones?”
Encouraged by the sisters, the children shook their heads, their rosy cheeks wobbling, wisps of hair bobbing around them like clouds. The one clinging to the High Druid’s chest peeled herself from his chainmail, her pink face crisscrossed with the indents of his veil. At the snapping of his large fingers, the sister rushed back up the dais to reclaim her. My eyes were no longer on her, or the children who should be far, far away from here, but fixed upon the man of mesh angled towards me, haunting the steps as he preached from up high.
I longed to wash his words from my ears. I was tired, so verytiredof the Blood God’s love. Perhaps His hate would be kinder. I glanced up at Lycandor, his helm fixed upon his father, unwavering and steady.
“No. He demands much,muchmore. Above all, from those who have shunned His devotion and turned their backs to His love.” My own writhed, the scars ofHislove twining like snakes.
“But first, a penance,” he announced. “A penance for the sins of this night.”
I tried to mirror the same detached stillness as Lycandor beside me, his knee no longer twitching. I couldn’t help it though, the small smile that tugged at my lips at the memory of Pietr’s crotch, blooming like a rose. In that moment, it most certainly felt like devotion…the right sort.
“This sister”—the Druid of Dendra motioned to the one at the foot of the dais, knelt on the marble, bound by an acolyte’s belt—“pledged to the Blood God in a vow more sacred than marriage, hath served Him mostunfaithfully.”
Booing, mockery, and chants shook the ground. The sanctum was absent of pity, full instead of the scrunched, reddened faces of monks and acolytes: the stomp of their boots, the curl of their fists, their demands forrecompense.
The sisters, though. The sisters made no gestures or jabs, their hands knotted, lips pulled in thin, tight lines.
“This sister aided the laurel responsible.”
My stomach panged, knowing he spoke about me.
“Enabling the death and torture of her most cherished brethren.” His draped head loomed over her from his spot on the steps, and he opened his arms, fingers splayed wide. “Druid Vetrius, bring forth the evidence.”
A squeeze to my elbow, then his hand dipped to his breeches, removing something from the depths of his pocket. A scrunched, small square of parchment.
I lunged for it, but he was quicker. Shackled by his fingers, he thrust my arms down, clamping them to my sides. Murmurings buzzed in the air, like a thousand fruit flies whirring over our heads.
“Enough,” he commanded, the word just able to breach the links of his veil. “Or I will have to have the acolytes restrain you.”
Baring my teeth, I sneered up at him, heart leering over the small ledge it had perched itself on, my hope dwindling ever lower. He presented Demetri’s letter to an acolyte, who, with a quick bow, ferried it to the dais.
The High Druid accepted it with pinched fingers, as if presented with a dead rat, shaking out its folds and stretching it wide.
“I will find you. Hold on a little longer. We will take wing, or else plummet together. I shall slay them all, for thee.”Demetri’s words were hideous in his mouth, each more warped than the last. But the final ones…
“Lies.” My voice was soft, the sound still enough to draw heads. “Lies!” I repeated, bellowing this time. Lycandor’s arms criss-crossed around me as he squeezed, urging me still.
I glanced at Demetri, shaking the hair from my face. His hickories were not on me, though. No, they were stuck to theback of the sister, as if he had not heard the false confession at all. His mouth was open, jaw swinging loose, his bottom lip shaking.
“With her hands,” the High Druid roared, motioning to the sister at his feet. “She sculpted her betrayal: unlocking doors, smuggling provisions, exchanging heresies between the laurels.” He shook the square of parchment before bringing it to the live flame of a candelabra. Its edges curled, singing brown, black, and red as Demetri’s promise smoked to nought but ash.
The plate of food—the bread, the fruit, the meat—turned to spoil in the depths of my stomach.
I thrashed against Lycandor, his body as hard as the First’s, and what was spoiled turned rancid.
“With her eyes”—he jabbed at the part of his veil beneath which his own likely blazed—“she bore witness to treason, yet did nothing to hinder its path. With her ears…”
The shuffle of chainmail heralded each of his steps as he descended the stairs. An inky shadow against the pale grey of her gown, he approached her. Demetri gaped, his arms limp against the acolytes’ hold.
“Present her to the sanctum, Your Eminence.” Lycandor’s rumble rolled over my shoulder to spill on the marble, its swell enough to smother all else. I followed the sound, my heart edging ever closer to topple from its small height. “So all may better come to know the face of one who feigned to be a rock of devotion, yet is the spider beneath it.”
In lieu of my heart, a taper in my chest smoked: hot, hot, hot. I recalled the swat on his chest as the sister stood in the door, the familiarity of it, the comfortability in their exchange.
They turned her at his request, the nod of hisfatherenough to will them so.
A terrified, rounded face scanned the sanctum, her brown eyes shifting over the sea of faces, resting only when they foundDemetri. Woken from his reverie, the shape of him thrashed, all elbows and knees as he fought the acolytes’ grasps with every breath of his strength. She shook her head, her small mouth downturned.
