Page 33 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
He just shakes his head.
“I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t see what happened to them, but I suspected that magic powerful enough to transport me that far would’ve set off a serious blast when it released. I was inside the spell, so I was protected, but it seemed likely to me the others…weren’t. Even if I didn’t see the aftermath myself, I can’t imagine it was pleasant. “Did any of them survive?”
Harman’s too weighed down to speak for a moment. Alastor’s gaze is fixed to his face, and I can’t read the fae’s expression. Then the blond catches me looking, and he glances quickly away.
“Speaking of the Temple’s victims,” I say grimly. “Do you know where Lafia is?”
“She was resting, but I think Mal showed her downstairs so she could get some late lunch,” Alastor says.
“An interesting girl,” Harman says. “I haven’t managed to speak to her properly yet, but with her knowledge of the Temple’s inner workings, she could be a great asset.”
“I guess that’s up to Lafia,” I say. I respect Harman and all he gives for the cause, but it can make him single-minded at times. “The poor girl’s only just escaped Qimorna with her life. She’ll probably need some time to decide what she wants to do next.”
Harman gives me a reluctant nod, and I head down toward the dining room Heda keeps for the rebels. Inside, I immediately spot Lafia eating at the end of a table. Thefarend. There’s about a dozen other men and women in the dining room, but none of them are sitting anywhere near her. She sits alone and isolated, shoulders hunched over as some of the others throw her wary looks.
I recognize one of them as Cettar. He made it clear when we first arrived in Tread that he didn’t trust the fae, so I’m not surprised he’s suspicious of an ex-cleric too. When I pass by him, he mutters to his friends about letting traitors into their midst. I throw him a withering look but decide not to engage.
Lafia looks up as I approach, her face lightening with relief.
“Morgana,” she says, rising.
“There’s something I didn’t get to do before, in Qimorna,” I say, holding out my arms. Lafia steps forward into them, letting me pull her into an embrace. She looks more grateful than I expect when I release her. “There,” I continue. “It seems weird to have known you all those weeks without so much as a hug. How are you doing?”
“Alright,” she says, glancing around at the others. Given her background, this must all seem very strange to her.
“That dryad-looking man gave me some medicine for my bruises,” she says. “But honestly, it’s been so long since I had anything but the floor to sleep on, I was tossing and turning all last night. I kept feeling like I was sinking through the mattress.”
“You’ll get used to it again,” I say.
A cough comes from behind us, and I glance back to see Cettar eyeing us both.
“Being the Temple’s prisoner changed you more than I thought, if you’re embracing the enemy,” he says to me.
I look around me. “Sorry, I don’t see any enemies here. Only a girl who stood up the Temple all on her own, without the support of any friends or a rebel group behind her. How well doyouthink you’d hold up in one of Qimorna’s cells?”
I stare Cettar down until he looks away. With a satisfied nod, I turn back to Lafia.
“That was awesome,” she murmurs to me, her eyes wide.
I shrug. Maybe my reaction strikes her as unusual after being brought upin the Temple, where the default is blind obedience. My willingness to stand up for myself—and her—must seem shocking.
“Listen, Lafia,” I say, sitting down with her. “The Hand of Ralus will learn to trust you eventually, and their leader is a good man. But that doesn’t mean you have to stay here if you don’t want to.”
Her mouth turns down at the corners. “Where else can I go? I haven’t seen my family since I was six, and I’m supposed to be dead to them.”
“There are places out of the Temple’s reach, even in Trova. And there’s Filusia too. I can find you a safe place there. Officially, Filusia is only barred from accepting solari refugees.” I want to be as honest as I can with her. “The Hand are fighting a good fight, but their lives aren’t easy. As you probably know, the Temple is always trying to stamp them out.”
She lays her arms in her lap, holding her elbows.
“My life has never been easy,” she points out. “The longer I was in those cells, and the more I talked to you, the more I realized just how much the Temple has taken from me.” She looks around at the rebels, watching the way they’re laughing and talking with each other in the cozy light of the inn.
“I know it will still be hard here, but at least I’ll have chosen it, and I’ll be working to fix something I know is wrong.” She straightens, shaking her head. “The Temple of Ethira is built on lies. Maybe the ideas behind it were good once, but the whole institution’s been poisoned. It has to be stopped. The only way to set things right and truly serve the gods is to take it all apart and to start again.”
I remember what Lafia told me about growing up in Bastion. How every moment, morning until dusk, was about praying and reciting rules and being reminded to follow orders. She talked about how the children were brutally punished if they stepped a toe out of line or showed the slightest doubt or hesitation in their obedience. They were made to stand for hours in freezing cold rooms or to hold their hands to fires as punishments, all in the name of making them better, more righteous clerics.
I think of the room in Bastion where they mutilate the acolytes. Sterilizing them so they can never have children, when they’re still just childrenthemselves. My hand goes to my stomach as I recall the same blades slicing into my flesh over and over again.
