Page 54 of The Dead Saint

“It will last only a little while,” he said. “Your time is limited. Keep your mouth closed, keep this gift of water inside you. If you lose it—if you let new water in—you will drown.”

Sorcha nodded as she bent down and pulled at her skirts, ripping until the underskirts plopped to the floor. The things she’d put on to keep her from freezing were now half-frozen with chilly water trapped between skin and fabric. She took it all off except for the final thin layer of cotton, transparent with water, plastered to her like a second skin. She almost removed that too but stopped. Nakedness didn’t bother her, it never had, but a small twinge of modesty hit her at the base of her spine.

It didn’t matter that Adrian might have seen more than enough in the Mapmaker’s room or that she’d never thought much about walking around nude in her private chambers. She didn’t want Revenant’s eyes on her. Even if the only thing between her flesh and his gaze was a transparent film of cotton, it was better than nothing.

Sorcha nudged the bundle of wet clothes with her foot. She wouldn’t be back for these and didn’t need the creature’s confirmation to know it was true. She would never see this room again. The creature would dispose of them, or maybe they’d stay right there on the floor until they rotted. But either way, she wouldn’t be back for them.

But there were other clothes. There was a trunk full of them in a tent on the shore.

A gift.

A bribe.

Another way to bind her to the Empire of the White Snake and Prince Eine.

The cool taste of water still filled her mouth as she contemplated the opening in the cave floor. She would leap, drop into the depths, and swim until she found what she needed. Not wanted. She had no desire for it. She needed it to keep living, needed it like breath and blood.

Sorcha lifted a foot, hovering over the opening, heart pounding.

“How guilty will you feel when millions are dead?”

Lacus’s voice stopped her, low this time, a soft shushing of falling pebbles. It didn’t matter what she wanted or how she would feel when it was all said and done. Her desires had no part in any of this. The journey was not hers to choose. She could only hope that she survived it all once it was over.

Without answering, she dropped into the water. It was warm—as warm as bath water. Sorcha fell like a leaf from a tree, drifting in slow motion. Down and down into the sparkling depths. All around, the water was clear, but nothing was visible. Far overhead, the surface rippled and light shone down in beams. She sank through shimmering and dancing light, the thin cotton of her chemise rippling around her.

It was impossible to know how much distance she’d covered. It felt like an age had passed—an eternity spent contemplating the way water bent the light. Then the view beneath her began to change.

A rocky floor began to take shape, the texture similar to the rocky shore above, blurred with distance but coming into focus. It wasn’t a flat bottom, not littered with rocks and plants, not the bottom she would have expected to find buried beneath a sea of water.

It was a city.

Elaborate spires and domes took shape below her—arched windows and graceful buildings. There were streets, narrow and wide, overgrown with water plants of blue and green, and splashes of purple flowers. The buildings were a similar color, a mottled blue and green, smooth as glass and reflective. If the water could be drained and the sun brought to this shadowy blue place, the city could have been inhabited in a few days, bustling before the water had fully run away.

Sorcha pressed her lips tight, terrified of letting any water in, knowing she would never be able to reach the surface before her breath ran out. She looked up at the towers rising around her, her view all spires and distant sunshine.

They were passing her now, all curved and beautiful lines, flowing flowers, and animals carved into the blue-green surfaces. But these flora and fauna belonged to another time and place. A few were familiar, but others were new and foreign; strange snarling faces and shapes. They were the creatures of myths and legends.

Down and down she went, shadows gathering as she dropped into the heart of the city. But even here, between the tall buildings, there was a little light. A faint glow emanated from the stones, as if they were lit from within, shielding an iridescent flame.

The road she stood on would have been wide enough for several carts and horses. It swayed and moved with water plants now, the vegetation coming up to her knees. Delicate purple flowers on pale stalks waved in the gentle current, variegated leaves brushing against her bare legs.

Sorcha pushed forward and the plants parted for her, swaying and dipping away. A flash of movement caught her attention, and she turned, searching slowly. A huge domed building topped with a reaching spire, half-hidden by the buildings and rooflines, was immediately to her right. That had to be where the relic was.

She never would have imagined that there would be so many sacred places left to decay, never intended to be found.

The Saint hidden with the hope there would be no resurrection.

Not right now, she thought. Sorcha needed to find the relic without letting herself get distracted by worry or doubt. Or too much curiosity about this place. But her mind overflowed with questions. Everything she’d ever thought she’d known. None of it was as it seemed.

Pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth, she held on to the hint of sweetness from the water Lacus had given her. For a moment, her thoughts drifted to Adrian, the Wolf who had been calling to her like a lover. But as monstrous as he behaved, he showed gentleness with her. She didn’t have time for that right now either.

Sorcha pushed off the ground, reaching and pulling herself forward, turning the corner of a building and coming out into a much wider boulevard. The temple was at the end, massive and imposing. The road rose up to meet it, with wide stairs leading to a set of open double doors. They were covered in plant life, and a faint glow came from within.

Pausing, Sorcha looked around, studying the way she’d come. The buildings were empty, slowly crumbling, but glass was still in the windows and shut doors. The houses and shops reached up and up, several stories tall. The slow decay made her wonder how long it had been here. How long had it been submerged?

In the shadows between two buildings, she caught movement again. Her heart dropped, skin tingling, and a cry of surprise lodged in her throat.

There was nothing. Only waving water weeds, light filtering down from above, the buzzing silence filling her ears. She shoved down the scream and swam toward the open doors of the temple, throwing glances behind her as she did.

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