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I followed them at a careful distance, only stepping into view of the temple’s broad front steps just as the two of them vanished through the huge arched door at the top. They’re inside now, asking for a blessing or insight from the godlen they’re dedicated to.
It doesn’t matter what they want. What’s important is that they see and hear me.
I square my shoulders and stride over to the steps.
Climbing them today in the bright autumn sunlight isn’t quite as unnerving as my first trip up these stairs through the thickening twilight. Not knowing if I’d be struck down the second I set foot inside. Not knowing what deviant magic was being carried out up in the tower.
I survived my initial venture, and as far as I know, no one’s trying to destroy the city right at this moment.
My boots tap across the smooth marble of the entrance hall. I’ve taken to wearing them with my dresses even though slippers are more the fashion.
I’d rather not end up anywhere without every knife I can have on me. You can’t conceal much weaponry in a slipper.
I could walk silently, but I want the worshippers inside to hear my approach. It seems as if Ster. Torstem has already mentioned me to at least one of his followers. I can hope these two will be curious about what I have to say to the gods.
A few other figures pass me on my way to the vast worship room. When I enter the space beneath the vast arching ceiling with its panes of stained glass, I see several people kneeling at the godlen’s alcoves or simply strolling through the room in silent contemplation.
Thankfully, Kosmel’s alcove is currently empty—other than the tall statue of the godlen himself.
I march over, letting my boots hit the floor a little harder than is strictly necessary. From the corner of my eye, I see one of the two bug club members—who’s crouched before Inganne, godlen of the arts and play, in the next alcove over—glance my way.
Good.
I sink to my knees by the base of the statue and look up at the marble-cloaked figure of the trickster godlen with his sly smile. The sight of the carved rat on his shoulder makes me want to grimace.
What does my self-appointed divine overseer make of the scourge sorcerers co-opting one of his symbols for their use? He’s been awfully quiet the past several days.
Casimir suggested that I should come here and open myself up to Kosmel, see if he’d offer more of his inscrutable commentary. Even here, with the multicolored light shining down on me from the painted glass above and an aura of divine power quivering through my nerves, my body balks at the idea.
The first time the godlen addressed me, I was nearly dead with my defenses crumbled. The second time, I invited him in out of pure desperation.
I’m not dying or desperate right now. I’m not sure there are any other circumstances where I’d welcome that imposing presence into my head.
It’s plenty crowded as it is.
What are you going to say?Julita whispers.You can’t mention anything too unsettling with all these other worshippers around.
As if I need to be reminded. But I’ve had time to contemplate my tactics while waiting for the chance to act.
I bow my head and pitch my voice so that it sounds low but still carries beyond the alcove. As if I’m trying to stay quiet but my emotion is getting the better of me.
I’m hardly yelling, but if anyone nearby pays attention, they’ll be able to make out my words.
“Kosmel, please guide me. How do I make them see that sometimes change is necessary? I know that’s what you’d want too.”
I lapse into a brief silence. No divine voice resonates through my bones, but if there’s a door inside me I’d need to crack open, I’m definitely holding it tightly shut.
I’d rather the godlen realizes I’mnotactually asking him these questions genuinely.
Maybe this is the last time I’ll have to put on a show. Stavros passed on word yesterday that Wendos was showing more improvement. Maybe he’ll wake up within the day and spill everything he knows, and the conspiracy will fall just like that.
Until that moment comes, I have to continue as if it won’t.
After a few moments, I speak up again. “Give me the fortitude to hold my ground when so much around me is wrong. Let them see how it could be better. Let us not cower in fear of the risks worth taking.”
Julita hums with an uneasy sort of amusement.Those do sound like the sort of sentiments Wendos would have approved of. And my brother would have whole-heartedly agreed with your point about risks worth taking.
I can hope I’ve earned a few points with any eavesdropping scourge sorcerers, then.
