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As I set down my boots and straighten out the loose pants of my underskirt, I drop my voice to the faintest murmur. “Quite the mess I’ve gotten into now.”
Julita’s voice doesn’t lift with a wry remark. It occurs to me that her presence has dwindled to only the slightest tingle in the back of my head.
Of course. She’s always been uncomfortable witnessing any sexual intimacy between me and the men she once considered hers.
I can’t restrain a wince at the thought. I told her I was cooling things off on her behalf, and then I went and did the exact opposite just hours later.
She probably pulled back into the blankness beyond my awareness as soon as she saw that I wasn’t going to reject Stavros’s attentions. Maybe as soon as she realized he was offering them at all, consciously or not.
I’m entirely alone.
The knowledge weighs on me as I shimmy the underskirt on over my legs and then reach behind me to tighten the laces of my gown.
I can’t go back to Stavros, not after what just happened between us. I can’t reach out to Alek or Casimir—even if it wouldn’t put them in danger for me to openly seek them out, I wouldn’t know where to find them beyond the general area of the dorms.
I couldn’t even signal them to a meeting room. I left my locket behind in the pouch of my belt.
As I slip on my boots, I find I’m missing a different sort of weight. I removed my thigh sheaths with their knives when I was stripping down for sleep a few hours ago and didn’t manage to catch them up in my hasty grab for my discarded clothes. They’re lying on the floor in Stavros’s bedroom right now, no doubt.
I have my favorite blade in my left boot, and that’s all.
It’s served me well enough on its own plenty of times. But remembering that doesn’t stop a sense of gloom from washing over me.
I straighten up, fastening my cloak around my neck, and attempt to take stock. My assessment only leaves me more depressed.
I let desire get to my head and all but fucked a man who wanted to see me hung just a week or two ago. I drove away the one person who’s been by my side more than anyone through this entire ordeal—not that Julita’s had a whole lot of choice in the matter.
And now I’m adrift in this college where I don’t even belong, with nowhere to sleep, nothing to do, and no one to turn to while the most dangerous part of my association with the scourge sorcerers looms on the horizon.
Blast it all from sea to sky.
I hug myself against the tightening of my chest, and my mind latches on to the possibility that there is still one figure left I could appeal to. The one who insisted I stick on this path.
Girding myself, I ease out into the hall.
The Domi’s common areas are dim, the sconces put out. The streaks of moonlight through the windows at either end of the hall offer just enough illumination for me to find my way to the stairwell and out into the courtyard.
I pull my cloak’s hood up over my head, but as usual, the guards don’t raise any concerns about my leaving the security of the college. I guess it only really matters whether the people cominginhave the right to.
The streets of the inner wards are nearly as quiet as the campus, although voices filter from a pub at the far end of the large square outside the temple. The temple’s lanterns are still burning, of course, welcoming worshippers through the broad doorway at all hours.
The huge worship room feels even vaster draped in the dense shadows of the night. I halt on the threshold, momentarily overwhelmed.
I’ve approached Kosmel’s statue enough times that I could head straight toward it blindfolded. But my gaze catches for a moment on the voluptuous marble form of Ardone at the other side of the domed room, her perfectly proportioned body poised in a come-hither stance, her full lips curled in a seductive smile.
Maybe I should be asking the godlen of love and sensuality for advice this time.
The thought has barely passed through my mind when I’d swear the statue winks at me.
My pulse hitches. I stare at Ardone’s beautiful carved face, but none of her features shift again in the shadows.
It could have been a trick of the light. Or it could be one of those subtle ways the gods like to communicate with us.
I’m not sure which I’d prefer.
I tear my gaze away and stride over to Kosmel’s cloaked form. The lanterns’ glow turns the trickster godlen’s smirk crueler than it’s appeared before.
Kneeling by the base of his statue, I bow my head. I pitch my voice as low as when I spoke to Julita, wary of any devouts or fellow worshippers who might be lurking beyond my view.
