Page 44 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
“And then?” asks Harman.
“That’s all she needs,” Wadestaff comments. “After that, she can use the queen card. She’s the rightful monarch of Trova. The dryads will have to at least hear her out.”
I weigh his advice. The crime lord might know something about power and negotiation, but I’m much more confident about getting the dryads to heal Ana than getting them to give us answers about Caledon. TheAgathyrians feel a sacred duty to heal anyone who’s ailing. They donotfeel a duty to share any secrets as to how their magic works.
It’s partly why they so rarely let foreigners across their borders. They lend us healers, and in return we stay away from their territories and out of their business. But that doesn’t matter right now. As long as they help Ana, I don’t care what else they tell us.
“Alright,” Harman says. “Shall we talk assignments then? I’m assuming Prince Leonidas will be accompanying Morgana to Agathyre. But who fancies going to Elmere and killing the regent?”
Damia smiles and raises her hand. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter 14
Sophos
It’s a rare, cloudy day in Qimorna when the Grand Bearer summons me. I’ve been waiting for this, though I confess it’s taken longer than I expected. Someone has postponed delivering the message, likely fearing the consequences.
When I step into the high temple’s forum, I see they were right to be afraid.
His Grace is standing with his back to me, gazing upon a bust of Ethira. As I round the edge of the reflecting pool, I see more of the crumpled figure at his feet. A cleric lies half on the cold marble, half slumped in the water. Her head bobs slightly, hair drifting like seaweed in the ripples. A trail of blood turns the pool pink around her.
I continue walking forward, not allowing myself to pause or even react. It’s what I’ve trained myself to do—though admittedly it was easier back when I believed wholeheartedly in the Grand Bearer’s righteousness. At one time, I would have assumed draining the life from this cleric was a necessary task—one that cleansed her soul and kept the Temple pure of those less dedicated than I.
Now, I’m not so certain. That doubt eats at me like maggots at a corpse, diminishing me piece by piece even as I stay outwardly calm and focused.
“Did something happen, Your Grace?” I ask quietly as I come to stand before him.
“Yes,something happened,” he says. “Morgana Angevire is gone. Taken by those disgusting fae creatures. Stolen frommycity.” His voice stays soft, calm, but when he rounds on me, his eyes are burning and teeth exposed in a snarl. He’s as angry as I’ve ever seen him, and while he’s still keeping most of it tamped down, that he would show even this much has me rattled. I’ve never seen anything get to him like this.
“I want to know how those animals slipped into the city unnoticed, how they bypassed the guards. Someone has to pay.”
I glance down at the dead cleric. Clearly, shedidpay, but I suspect His Grace took her life before she had a chance to give him the answers he wanted. I pray to the gods he never knows the truth of some of them.
“I’m afraid I don’t know how this could have happened, Your Grace.” I bow my head, willing him to accept my contrition. “In fact, I wasn’t even in the city when the fae struck. These past few days, I’ve been traveling, attending to the matters we discussed a week ago.”
I risk the lie, knowing what it would cost me if he discovered it. But everyone who saw me in the building that day—the hidden prison where Morgana Angevire was kept—is either dead now or loyal to me.
For all his wisdom, His Grace has blind spots. It’s been my job to compensate for them—to be his eyes where he struggles to see. And one of the things he’s never quite grasped was the hierarchy of loyalty within the Temple. Everyone is loyal to him, of course. That goes without saying. But that loyalty is not always at the verytopof the list.
Most people, at their core, are loyal first to themselves—and their own self-preservation.
Before I visited Morgana Angevire in her cell, I collected information on every cleric serving on duty. Secrets of theirs that if revealed would cause them to be instantly cleansed by the Temple. I knew I could trust their silence after that—His Grace’s intolerance for disobedience is absolute, and even if they exposed me, they likely wouldn’t earn a pardon for themselves. We’d both end up on the executioner’s block. Speaking up isn’t worth the risk.
His Grace is still flushed with frustration, but he eyes the package in my hand with interest.
“And were you successful on your travels?” he asks.
“The clerics in the royal territories have been briefed, Your Grace. They’re ready for the regent’s coronation. And as for this…”
I hold up the object, bound in cloth, and offer it to him.
Some of the rage drains from his face, an eagerness entering his eyes.
“You’ve done well, Sophos,” he says, taking it from me and unwrapping the thick cloth coverings. They fall away, and he lifts free the heavy, curved scythe I’ve had transported from the most northern reaches of Trova.
“It was buried beneath the ice,” I say as the Grand Bearer marvels at it, admiring the blue binding around the handle and the red rubies set into the hilt. “It took five aquari to get it loose.”
The blade catches light, and the refraction illuminates His Grace’s eyes. Something in them, so dark and hungry, makes me look away.
