AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Guilt knocked on her ribs like doors, slipping in and making a permanent home.
Gabe seemed to have the same thought she did. His mouth firmed to a hard line. “We don’t know who will get Caeliar’s power.”
“So far we’ve been lucky, relatively,” Malcolm said. “We’re all on the same side. Who knows if that pattern will hold?”
It made her think of moon shadows and Bastian’s tense shoulders, when they’d first arrived in Courdigne and she made him admit what was happening. We’re on the same side, aren’t we?
They were. But that side wasn’t winning.
“It has to be someone in the Citadel,” she said. “Every other god has been someone close to me. People who have relationships to me like Nyxara had with the other gods.” Lore laughed, hoarse and thin. “At least, I assume so, since there are barely any fucking myths still around for us to read.”
Gabe nodded. “So we keep an eye on the other courtiers. Anyone you’ve spent time with.”
“And then what?”
He had no answer. None of them did.
Alie’s fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on her forearm as she stared at the prophecy, like she could make the words change shape and become answers instead. “We should talk to Anton.”
Two pairs and one lone eye swinging to her, all wide.
She shrugged. “He’s the one who heard this prophecy, right?” Her hand cut to the glass like it held a spider instead of paper. “Maybe he remembers more than he wrote down.”
“I agree. We need all the answers we can get.” Even if they made no difference. Lore tried not to think of that. All the answers in the world meant nothing if there was no loophole to get them out of this.
“He’s mad,” Malcolm said. “Extremely mad, madder than when he was the Priest Exalted.”
“Having a rosebush grown through you will do that,” Gabe growled.
“And has he said anything lucid since, Your Holiness?” Venom in Malcolm’s tone. “I know you’ve been speaking to him regularly. What wisdom has he imparted? Or has he just raved?”
Gabe didn’t respond, but the flame behind him climbed higher.
“I don’t see what other choice we have,” Alie said, frosty. The room seemed to go colder, like winter wind pushed at its edges, but maybe that was Lore’s imagination. “Who else are we supposed to ask?”
Malcolm threw up his hands. “The man doesn’t have enough mind left to tell us anything useful, and even if he did, how would we know he isn’t lying?”
“We wouldn’t.” Lore tapped her temple with a rueful half smile. “But the goddess in my head probably would.”
“And you’re willing to trust Her?” Gabe’s voice was a low rumble.
“I don’t have much choice, do I?” Lore replied.
“A theme appears,” Malcolm muttered darkly. “Fine. We’ll talk to the mad priest.”
The plan was made as they walked back through the damp stone hallways beneath the Church, as they made their way back up the narrow, rarely used stairs with Gabe’s un-guttering torch lighting their way.
At midnight, when the sun was gone and Nyxara was loudest in Lore’s head, she and Gabe would sneak out to the Presque Mort’s garden, to the greenhouse where Anton’s ravaged body was rooted. They’d hear what the priest had to say, measure it against Nyxara, and tomorrow morning, the four of them would meet in the confessional room to extract what sense from it they could.
“What about Bastian?” Even as she asked, Lore knew what the answer would be. What it’d have to be. “Shouldn’t he be involved? Apollius is weak at night, he could come with us and get some answers.”
She brought up the rear of their procession, and thus saw the other three exchange furtive looks. They weren’t even trying to be subtle. “That isn’t a good idea,” said Malcolm, the unofficial spokesman. “Not if he’s as far gone as you say.”
All of them had a god’s influence, now, and Lore wanted to call them hypocrites. But Malcolm was right. Bastian was the furthest gone. Still. “It’s different at night—”
“No.” Gabe’s answer was a cudgel, beating out any further questioning. Even as he said it, though, he wilted.
The thought of Bastian shackled to Apollius seemed to weigh on him as heavily as it did on her.
