Page 74 of The Dead Saint

Adrian finally called a halt, and they set up camp, pitching the simplest form of their tents—narrow and low to the ground, quick to go up and come down. Magnus and Bran had built a fire and were cooking while Cas and Domenico had begun to dig for water.

There was none above ground here, but if they dug down far enough, the hole would begin to fill. They pulled bucket after bucket out, painstakingly straining and boiling it. The horses drank first after it had cooled—guzzling noisily—and then the men.

Adrian gave his water to Sorcha, and she accepted silently, lips pursed around whatever sharp word she wished to use. It didn’t matter. She could have said whatever she wanted, and he wouldn’t have cared.

He hoped there would be cleaner water to be found ahead—anything that didn’t leave his mouth gritty even after being strained and boiled. Their dry provisions were running low, but so far, they’d been able to supplement them with hunting.

It was hard to know how much longer they would last. But hopefully, he wouldn’t have to move them to strict rationing. As disciplined as the Tomeis were, and as many times as they’d been forced to travel and fight on quarter rations, it was something none of them enjoyed. He was positive Sorcha would enjoy it even less. She might even come to miss the gummy porridge if they were starving.

Thompson and Domenico were studying the maps near the fire—avoiding the flames and the rotating roasting rabbits. Firelight danced over the parchment, the ink seeming to move with the flicker of flames, as if it might leap from the page to return to the source.

“We’re here,” Thompson said, pointing to a nondescript location.

“And the next relic is there,” Domenico said, pointing to what appeared to be a marsh or bog of some kind.

“It’s very close,” Thompson continued. “Less than a day if we ride hard. We’d be there tomorrow afternoon.”

“From there?” Adrian asked.

“The mountains. There’s a temple of some kind. It’s clearly marked, well known. The Androphagoi.” Thompson looked from Domenico to Adrian. “It has a reputation.”

“The cannibal temple,” Domenico nodded.

“I’ve heard about it,” Adrian said. “Are the stories true?”

“Who can say?” Domenico shrugged. “I’ve never been. But from what I know of the woman’s cult, I don’t doubt it.”

“I met a soldier who had been through there,” Thompson said. “He told me they walled priests into cells so they could slowly starve and live their last days worshipping that god of theirs.”

It would be a slow and painful death—starving and dying of thirst, knowing relief was just beyond an impassable wall. Did the sounds from the rest of the temple reach them there? What would it be like to have nothing but the sound of your own body slowly eating itself alive?

“Which piece is at the temple?” Adrian asked.

Thompson turned the map around so Adrian could see it clearly, tapping the temple’s location. A skull. Adrian nodded once. How many other pieces had Prince Eine been able to collect? How complete did the skeleton need to be for resurrection? Or would Adrian and Sorcha be sent back into the world to find the others? But he doubted that would happen. The empress was dying—her time was running out even as they sat around the fire—and the prince would make a resurrection happen with or without each relic.

“Show me this one.” Adrian tapped the other map, waiting as Thompson unfurled it and held it open.

He compared it to the cult’s map, noting the distance between relics. The distance between the mountains and the wastelands. Volcanoes rose along a distant coast, smoke artfully drawn. The rumored Red Tower would be there, somewhere along a broken road.

“Don’t those death worshippers know there are literally hundreds of other colors?” Thompson sneered. “Everything. Red. It’s an obsession.”

“It’s part of the religion,” Domenico said.

“They’re fools,” Thompsons said.

Domenico snorted. “Just because you have no faith doesn’t mean they’re fools. We’ve all seen enough to know that nothing is what it seems in this life.”

“Faith and reality are two different things,” Thompson scoffed. “If their god is real, I don’t worship him. And I won’t, even if the prince demands it. Do you think he will?” Thompson’s eyes found Adrian’s.

“I can’t give you an answer for that,” Adrian replied.

“He will make it our new religion,” Domenico said softly, eyes on Sorcha’s map. He reached forward, tapping the skull. “If this dead god heals the empress, wouldn’t you make it your religion?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Thompson said.

They were quiet for a moment, contemplating what lay ahead.

Thompson sighed, rolling up the maps. “When do we leave?”

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