Page 53 of The Dead Saint

“I walked the earth with him,” Lacus began, his tone bittersweet—no longer avalanches and landslides. “We traveled thousands of miles, and I saw how it all fell before him—trees bending, water ceasing to flow. I saw the sun go dark and the moon fail to rise. The death of everything, even among those he claimed as his own. You would call him back? Give him a place in the world that is finally free of him?”

“I don’t have a choice,” Sorcha whispered.

“Another lie. You are ignoring your choice in favor of something else. There is always a choice.”

“There’s no choice for me.”

The prince would kill her if she failed. He would kill her if she succeeded. If the ritual of the Saint’s rebirth didn’t kill her first.

Lacus turned, coming for her, moving more quickly than she would have thought possible. He reached for her, his stony fingers on her throat—gentle pressure but the promise of a viselike grip.

“Would you like to die here?” The creature’s breath washed across her face—cold water and damp stone. “There is a man on my shore that speaks your name like a lover. He is calling for you. I can hear him even now. I could kill him too.”

Sorcha shook her head. Calling for me? Lover? Adrian’s expressionless face flashed in her mind—his bottomless gaze, the hint of a rarely seen smile. His hands on her body, arms going around her, the solidness of him at her back. The warmth of his stare when he thought she wasn’t aware. The uneasiness she’d caused between himself and his men—his brothers-in-arms.

“If you want me gone, give me the relic and let me go.”She swallowed, the hand around her throat twitching.

Lacus studied her, strange eyes crawling over her features, a grating rumbling growing from somewhere deep within his body. Then he released her, stepping back with a sound close to a sigh, and nodded.

“A test. A fight. I will give you nothing freely.”

“I understand,” she said.

“The bone is not here.”

Cold overtook Sorcha, chattering through her teeth down to her fingers and toes. If it wasn’t here, where else would they have to travel? Would they be able to find this new place on a map?

“Where is it?”

“I put it where no one would find it, Oracle.” Lacus stared at her—his eyes unreadable, unfathomable—a gaze unlike anything else she’d ever experienced. “Not even those who would want to bring him back.”

“Can you retrieve it?” she asked.

“If you want the relic,” he said, “you have to retrieve it on your own.”

She nodded.

He pointed to the hole in the floor. “Through there.”

“And then what?” she asked.

“You find it.”

“You won’t tell me anything else?”

“Why would I?” he asked. “I don’t share your desire to resurrect the Saint. I will not help you bring about the end of the world.”

“How do you know it will be the end?” Sorcha studied the film of water between his fingers—the nothingness of it and what it promised.

“How do you know it won’t be?” he responded with a shrug.

“I think,” she said, words coming carefully, each one formed with thought and intention, “it will be the end for me.”

Lacus shrugged with the sound of grinding stones, a rumble that echoed through the small cavern and shivered up her spine.

Lacus gestured for her to step forward. He made a ring with a bulky thumb and finger. A sheer, thin film of water shimmered there—caught like a sheen of soap in a wash bucket. “Open your mouth, Oracle,” he rumbled.

Sorcha did as he instructed, fighting to stay in place and not flinch away as he leaned toward her and blew on the film in his fingers. A bubble formed, small and perfect, and heavy with clear water. A shimmer twirled gently in the center—a tiny whirlwind. It broke on her tongue, and cool water filled her mouth, tasting sweet and cold enough to freeze her throat as she swallowed.

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