Page 67 of The Dead Saint

Each day, they ventured farther south. Away from the Empire of the White Snake and the lands it was so greedily consuming. Away from the fallen city she loved. Now they were crossing into the fallen cities and civilizations of the south. The roads they traveled, once grand, were now covered in vegetation of all kinds—ancient trees, thorny brush, a late fall wildflowers now frostbitten from the cold nights.

She’d read enough history to know those cities and kingdoms had squabbled over land and water rights—greedy fingers stretching and grasping for what wasn’t theirs. It had happened hundreds of years ago, and out of that chaos, the Saint had been born. He came from a time of political upheaval. A god in the form of a man, walking among the mortals with a promise of peace and plenty.

But the Saint had been betrayed. A trusted member of the order had cut him down, and the Saint’s death shook the entire world. Then he’d been reborn. The golden skeleton of the Crimson Cult had walked the earth until he’d chosen to rest. There had been so much war, and as hard as he’d tried to unite the kingdoms, it had been impossible. He’d left them, promising to return if he was truly needed, and his remains had been broken up and hidden.

It was strange to realize she would be seeing all these places for herself. Locations that many of the members of Aureum Sanctus had never seen. Would anything recognizable remain? She’d read so many histories of the continent as a child. The great cities of Hadad, Cilo, and Takhmaspa had sounded rich and vibrant. Each one much larger than the Golden Citadel, which she’d never thought possible. The Citadel had seemed to be its own planet when she was small.

But soon, they would cross out of the places known so well by the living to those places left to the dead.

* * *

At night, he lay awake, listening to her breathe and thinking about his past and everything that had come before—everything that had yet to happen. He had never had a future before, never desired anything other than the path he walked. Battle and blood. Death and another city to take. He lived for this life. But now, he could live for her instead.

The Tomeis watched them closely, observing with mouths pressed thin, swift glances. Revenant always stared with his hooded eyes—attention sharp as knives. They felt the change. Feared it. If Adrian displeased Prince Eine, they would all pay the price.

Adrian couldn’t abandon them to that. He couldn’t choose a woman over the men he’d fought beside and sworn to protect. They’d walked through hell, expanding the Empire of the White Snake, and survived it all because of each other.

Kisses in the dark didn’t change the way the world worked.

* * *

“I’m going with you this time,” Adrian said.

A narrow, rocky track led down into a mile-wide sinkhole before them. All around the landscape was jagged groupings of boulders scattered throughout shoulder-high thin scrub in shades of olive and sage. Sharp grasses clung to the sandy soil, and small, orange-striped lizards and soft brown rodents scurried from hiding place to hiding place. When anyone touched the plants, they gave off an astringent, sharp scent that reminded Sorcha of medicine. Mountains rose in the distance—faintly blue and topped with snow—stoic and patient. Soon enough, they would be riding into them.

The sinkhole brimmed with bare winter trees—trunks and branches reaching for the sky—the canopy even with the surrounding landscape. The variety was so at odds with the surroundings, as if a giant had picked a hole in the earth and planted a forest from a lushly distant location.

Domenico and Thompson had been scouting ahead when they came across it—shouting with surprise and triumph. Now the horses were unsaddled and resting, and the men were gathering wood for a small campfire. Everyone was grateful for a moment to stop and cook a hot meal. Adrian stood with his back to Sorcha, working to untangle a knot on his saddlebag.

“You can’t,” Sorcha said.

He didn’t respond. Sorcha glanced at the others, avoiding Revenant’s ever-present hateful glare.

“What if they won’t give it to me because you’re there?” Sorcha kept her voice low, working to keep all emotion from it. But her frustration crept in, coloring each word, evident in the sharp angles of her body. She felt prickly and stretched all over at the thought of Adrian being beside her as she retrieved the relic.

“Then you can try again after we get back.”

“What if this is the only chance we get?”

“There are other relics to find.”

Sorcha gestured to herself—her flesh, the map.

“There are others,” Adrian insisted.

She knew he was right. But, it made her uneasy to have him come with her. It would show the men how their relationship had changed. Not that they needed any more proof. To them, Adrian had changed the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

“That way,” Thompson said, indicating the direction roughly to their left. “Down into the valley as near as I can tell.”

“You can’t give me any more than that?” Adrian asked, nodding at the map.

“Respectfully, sir.” Thompson cleared his throat, his brows going up. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll stand by it now. This map makes very little sense. I’ve compared it with a map created ten years ago and one created over a hundred years ago, so I can only make an educated guess.”

Domenico cleared his throat. “It’s not only about the topography. There are magical elements at play.”

“I understand the limitations,” Adrian said with a nod. “I’m still asking.”

“Then my answer stands,” Thompson said, gesturing at the sunken wood. “It appears to be that way.”

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