Page 97 of The Dead Saint

“What comes after?”

The question was a knife to her heart. What would happen afterward? She had no idea. She would die, and then? Who knew. Those around her had believed the Saint would bring the dead back, rewarding his faithful with life. But Sorcha had begun to doubt what she’d been taught, eyes wide open to the faults within her world that she’d ignored for so long. She would have never seen the cracks in her life, the tenuous threads holding her religion together, if Adrian hadn’t appeared to drag her across the continent.

Did it matter what she believed now? No. Because what was coming would happen with or without her acceptance. It would all be easier if she didn’t fight it. There would be no running. There would be no dreaming beyond the end of the day. There would be no tomorrow, and it was pointless to pretend otherwise.

“Sorcha.” Adrian dropped his voice, his eyes wandering the landscape, both of them aware of being watched by the others. “What will happen in that tower?”

“I don’t know for certain,” she whispered, turning her face to the sky, enjoying the weak sunlight.

“Mount up,” Revenant said from the head of the group. “We’re moving out.”

Sorcha patted Epona. The mare dropped her nose to Sorcha’s hand and exhaled a warm breath in return. With another pat, she got in the saddle, wondering how long it would take to reach their destination. The tower was huge, and the landscape difficult to cross, even following the decaying road leading directly to it. They’d taken several detours already because of sinkholes and chasms that had opened over time. It could be one hour or five.

With a shudder, Sorcha urged Epona forward, and fell she into step beside Nox. It took everything she had to ignore the desire to reach for Adrian.

* * *

The line of horses and carts slowed as they approached the tower. The landscape was broken and steaming, the paved road rotting away. Cracks zig-zagged across it, the carts rattling and jumping as they crossed them. A fine sand blew back and forth, driven by the warm air currents. It collected on the bridles and in the folds of clothing, catching in Sorcha’s eyelashes and coating her skin. She kept her waterskin close, taking small sips to dislodge the grit gathering between her teeth.

He comes for you.

The Saint. The dead god. The head of her religion.

The creature in the valley had sounded pleased, as if it had waited its whole life to say those words. Had it been alive when the Saint first walked the earth? Had it seen the golden skeleton marching across the landscape with its own eyes? Those traveling with her would witness the miracle for themselves.

Soon.

Sorcha turned to the cart, seeking out the Saint. It was his voice beneath hers, weaving through her thoughts. Soon. A promise or a threat. It didn’t matter. He was right. It would be soon.

Prince Eine and Revenant reached the tower first, stepping into the deep shade thrown by the towering structure, the litter carrying the empress following. Sorcha hesitated before letting Epona carry her forward. There was something about the coolness the shadow offered that made her think of death.

“Someone needs to see to the horses and set up a temporary camp.” One of the prince’s advisors spoke, dusting his hands together to remove the red sand. “Put Prince Eine’s tent up near the road.”

Servants scurried back and forth, pulling rolls of canvas from a cart at the end of the line while others set up a tether for the horses. The women traveling with the empress climbed down from the litter, their crimson robes flapping in the breeze, veils taut against their faces. Sorcha was curious about them, but none returned her interest. They wore the colors of her order, so familiar and yet foreign somehow in this place, and she wished for any kind of connection.

“Bring the vessel to me,” Prince Eine shouted, his voice rising above the chatter.

Sorcha paused with one hand on Epona’s flank, absentmindedly patting her, as she opened the saddlebag and searched the contents. The prince could wait. She wanted something to eat and a rest, as the last few weeks full of stress hit her all at once. It was an ache in her bones, a tightness at the back of her throat. Adrian appeared beside her—dark eyes expressionless. She jumped, pulling back at his sudden appearance.

“Prince Eine would like to speak with you,” he said, his tone giving nothing away.

“I heard,” she said with a sigh, keeping her voice low. “What does he want now?”

Adrian didn’t respond. But it hadn’t been a question she’d expected a response to. Prince Eine wanted her to resurrect the Saint. That was the only reason they were in this place, and it was pointless to play dumb.

Together, they walked up the line to stand before the prince. Revenant was there, silent in the background but present in a way that made him impossible to ignore. Thompson and someone from the prince’s court were going over his maps while advisors and magicians moved around the prince in a flurry of activity. Sorcha paused before him as Adrian knelt in the dirt, head bowed and still beholden to the man who had taken everything from him and turned him into a monster the whole world feared.

“Right now, in this place, I will not require you to bend a knee to me,” Prince Eine said, glancing at Sorcha and away. “In this place, you’re the second most valuable person. The Saint and the vessel, my mother and myself. When this is finished, there will be no need for you to subjugate yourself. Stand, Wolf, until this whole process has been completed and we are on our way back to the Traveling City, I won’t demand you follow protocol.”

The steward’s face contorted with displeasure, and Sorcha let herself enjoy the small spark of joy. The man was a petty, nasty person. She ignored the look Adrian gave her as he stood, the prince’s words lingering in the air. When this is finished, there will be no need for you to subjugate yourself. Adrian’s why was as loud as any shout.

“Do you know what will be required of you inside?” Prince Eine gestured to the tower, indicating the open windows at the top.

Sorcha kept her gaze on his face. He was thinner than the last time she’d seen him in the Traveling City, his face a pale waxen color that resembled illness. Had he contracted whatever the empress had died from?

When she didn’t respond, he continued.

“You must enter the tower first,” Prince Eine directed. “Then we will follow with the relics.”

---