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“I’d never ask you to call me Mother,” the Night Priestess said. Her eyes closed. “Not after… but my name is Lilia.”
None of the Night Sisters used names. They all called one another Sister, their individuality folded up and hidden in the vastness of their mission. How long had it been since this woman used her name?
Lore didn’t know what to say. Sweat pricked at the back of her neck, even as a cold, seeping chill wound its way all down her spine.
“If you run, there might be a chance,” her mother—Lilia—continued. “The powers are sharpened by closeness, and now that you’re here, the others will begin to awaken. If you go, you can be saved. You can all be saved.”
“So you don’t want me dead,” Lore said, her lips numb. “But you still want me gone. Away and alone.” A short noise burst from her throat, something she couldn’t categorize into any specific emotion. “You can’t stand the thought of me having anything.”
A tear squeezed itself out of Lilia’s still-closed eyes. “I deserve your anger,” she said, her voice measured and even. “And I don’t deserve your trust. But Lore, I promise, everything I have done has been for good reasons.”
“But those reasons were never me,” Lore replied. “Maybe you thought they were good, but I’m your daughter. Were they good enough to kill me?”
“I saved you.”
“You abandoned me.” She could have yelled it. She meant to. But when the words left Lore’s mouth, they were simple and matter-of-fact. “I was a child, and you sent me away, all alone to a world you knew I had little chance of surviving. So was that really saving me, or just making sure your hands were kept clean?” Lore stepped forward like a predator, fog curling around her, all the night’s dark at her heels. “You would have killed me three weeks ago, for a god who you don’t know exists. And now that it seems you were wrong, you change your mind?” Another step forward. Lilia took a tiny, cringing one back. “Tell me it was for the greater good. I dare you.”
“Hello?”
The voice came from behind the well, the part of the garden backed up against the walls of the Church.
Gabe.
Both of them froze. The Night Priestess looked terrified; Bastian had never filed the paperwork that made the Buried Watch an official part of the Church again. They still, officially, didn’t exist, and if Gabe found one of them in the stone garden, it was not likely to go well.
“Don’t tell him,” her mother whispered, the mist making her movements ghostlike as she turned back to the open well and mounted the stairs. There was no other invective, no other plea. Just a mother to a daughter.
And damn her, even after everything she’d just said, Lore knew she wouldn’t.
Lilia stopped halfway sunk into the dark and looked up at Lore. “If you change your mind,” she said, “I’ll help you. Drop a rose into the well.”
Then she was gone.
Gabe stalked into Lore’s view a heartbeat later, mist swirling around him like the hem of a cloak. He held a gas-flame lantern in one tattooed hand, swinging reckless light around the quiet garden, bouncing off his pendant. The well was still open, and he frowned at it, not even noticing Lore yet. “I was certain we closed that.” There was a tired edge to his voice; Lore wondered if he’d slept at all.
She also wondered if she should bolt. Slip backward into the fog, hope her pale dressing gown camouflaged her as she made her way to the gate, into the Citadel, to her bed in Bastian’s apartment. The place she hadn’t really chosen, but had ended up, Gabe’s actions forcing a decision she wasn’t yet sure how to make. Didn’t want to make.
The lantern light swung again as Gabe looked up from the well, splashing yellow glow across Lore’s face. It was bright, and she cringed away, the movement sending curls of fog around her face.
“Lore?”
Shit.
She’d wanted to have a real conversation with Gabe for so long, wanted to ask him how he was doing, wanted to rage at him, wanted to hold him. But now she didn’t know what to do. They just stared at each other across the stone flowers.
“I…” Gabe trailed off, rubbed a hand beneath his eye patch. “Why are you here?”
It sounded both plaintive and accusatory at once. Lore drew herself up, glowering. “Couldn’t sleep. Took a walk.”
His one eye glanced at the embroidery across her chest, his jaw ticking like he could read it clearly in the dim light. “Long way to walk, from the Sainted King’s quarters.”
He had no right to sound like that. As if she were the one who’d somehow betrayed him. Whatever spark had once been between them was long since snuffed out, smothered by what he’d done. Lore wasn’t one to trust easily, and when it was gone, it was gone.
Yet here she was. Still caring. Still wishing they could find their way to friendship again, even if they could never have anything else. She wanted one piece of him, at least.
“I needed some fresh air,” she responded, and didn’t match his vitriol.
Gabe noticed. He deflated, shoulders sinking, his head turning away so all she saw was the shadow of his patch. When he spoke next, it was low, earnest. “Has he been good to you?”
