“Maxius,” the fair-haired laurel warned, his steady voice cutting through Iagor’s squealing protests. The laurel levelled his gaze at Max. “We are in theGrand Templum, or have you so soon forgotten?”
“Duoloo. Duoloo. Duoloo.”
Hugging her knees, the small heathen beside him rocked, her battered arms looped around her calves, dress shredded. Beneath the dust, her skin was mottled, blooms of black and purple bursting like flowers. She peeked out from behind a curtain of dark hair, her eyes swollen and weeping. The look of her was enough to make me wince. I offered a smile, knowing all too well the unique pain of a fist, how tender her muscles and bones must be after such a beating.
“Duoloo. Duoloo. Duoloo,” she repeated, softer this time, the words distinctly un-Thromarrian.
I cleared my throat. “What she said,” I agreed, nodding and letting my head rest on the damp wall behind. “Duo-loosionaltothink any of that matters now, my friend. This be no holy house, but a knacker’s. Do not be fooled into thinking the gods have spared us our fate just yet.”
Hammers. Dust. Ash.
Shuddering, I drew in a breath through my nose, regretting it almost immediately as the char of fat and cloy of bodies wormed its way down my throat.
“Grand Templum or no, Roderiq,” Maxius continued, ignoring the woman. “He’ll know I’ve blasphemed all the same. I agree with thefair-faced pup…” I gave a lazy wave in acknowledgment. “The Blood God would not absolve us of our due.”
“It must have been Him,” Roderiq whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “Perhaps a gift…a mercy.”
It was a mercy my eyes were closed so he was spared their roll to the back of my head.
“Roderiq,” Maxius rumbled, his deep voice sharp. “Did what happened to the restlooklike mercy to you?”
“Nay…” Roderiq sighed, breath rattling. “It did not.”
Silence joined the tallow in the air, Iagor’s wheezing the only respite from the sizzle of fat.
“Do you fancy she could be blessed? The grey laurel?”
My eyes shot open, and they landed on Roderiq. Blood spilled onto my tongue, teeth digging into the split on my lip. I sucked at it, enjoying the sting, anything to keep my mind from the image of her slung like a sack of grain over the Butcher’s shoulder, carted off to gods only knew where. I wiggled my fingers, feeling the ghost of her there. So fucking close—always so fucking close.
“You think herblessed?” Maxius asked, scoffing. “How many cycles have I known thee, Roderiq? And nothing from your tongue has been quite so moon-calved as that. Why bless a woman when ‘tis known He prefers them silent? Crumbling atower, kindling a tree to nothing…that is a blessing beyond the power of any druid alive. ‘Tis the work of a god, not man.”
“Woman,” I corrected before I could think better of it. “The work of a woman.”
“Duoloo. Duoloo. Duoloo.”
Clearing my throat, I schooled my face, licking each lip clean of blood. “Dear laurels,” I tutted, keeping my voice steadier than I felt. “What is the templum built of?”
“Our unyielding faith in the Blood God’s might and power,” Iagor roared, pounding his chest.
“Ovidian rock,” Maxius corrected, side-eying the toothless dolt between us.
“And what is Ovidus?” I pressed.
“The Heart of Thromarra. The Blood God’s sanctified—”
“A volcano,” Roderiq breathed, interrupting Iagor, his blue eyes widening.
“A volcano,” I affirmed. “A volcano that has not emptied its belly in an age.” Even Iagor’s walnut brain churned, his tongue poking from the corner of his drooling mouth. “So yes, she could be blessed.”Ashara, I urged to yell.Ashara! “Or…” I willed my heart to calm. “Maybe, just maybe, the earth trembled and the sky fell because of what lurks below, the rivers of rock and fire beneath our feet. Maybe the Blood God had nought to do with any of it.” Relaxing my shoulders, I picked at a seam in my breeches. “Worry not about a plague turning your blood to stone, brothers and sister.” I shot a glance at the heathen, who was no longer rocking. “But rather a heat so great it’ll scorch it to steam. Perhaps we are due a different sort of reckoning.” I returned my eyes to the heathen, her irises like pits beneath the swelling of her lids.
“Duoloo,”she mimed without speaking, eyes locked on mine.
“But what of the tree?” Maxius asked, leaning forward around Iagor, still rapt and chewing his tongue, a vein popping in his temple.
“It burnt.” I shrugged. “It’s possible its roots were above an Ovidian crevice.”
“Hmm.” Roderiq’s elbows rested on his knees, pale skin peeking from beneath the tears in his shirt.
“Duoloo. Duoloo. Duoloo.”
