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Cirian carried me away from the camp and into the darkness of the woods for some time, the sound of his steady breathing and my stifled grunts of pain the only noise to break up the eerie silence that surrounded us. I dared not speak till I knew it was safe to. Then again, even if we weren’t fleeing for our lives, what would I say? I knew not whether the man who carried me considered me friend or foe. The last time we’d seen each other, he’d seemed hellbent on ridding the world of my existence, but there was an airiness in the way he looked now compared to then. Like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“What exactly were you doing out there, Toto?”

Cirian’s deep voice rumbled against my body, sending chills across my skin like a cool breeze.

“Renata found me,” I answered, taking the calculated risk of telling the truth. “The captain of Mother’s militia. She was leading the assault but got sidetracked trying to get me to safety.”

“And did you wish to leave?”

His tone wasn’t accusatory but more so curious.

I’d have to decide which way to lean. Had Cirian been a part of the assault against the Rebellion? It seemed strange that the Church would have sent someone like him into the fray unless negotiations were in order. And I knew how Mother felt about negotiations. So, did that mean the rumors Lorelei Orion had thrown in his face were true, and he was there alongside the Rebellion? Would that be enough to change his thinking of me being brought back to life by a Reviled?

“Toto? Are you still with me?”

“No,” I answered. “I wasn’t trying to escape, I mean. I was waiting for someone.”

“Ah, yes. Your Reviled friend.”

His stoic features remained unchanged in the dim moonlight, much to my chagrin. He’d always been difficult to read, now even more so in adulthood. So, I decided to change tactics and ask some questions of my own.

“We’re a long way from the Cradle. What exactly were you doing in a rebel camp, Cirian?”

“Me?” Cirian questioned, his pace slowing. “Haven’t you heard the rumors? I was there to speak with Rudderkin, of course.”

Relief washed over me like a wave. Maybe Cirian wasn’t there to kill me after all. At least, not at this very moment.

“Didn’t get a chance to make the meeting, though,” he continued. The circles under his eyes were purplish and bruise-like, especially in the dim light. His skin seemed tight, pulling across the sharp angles of his face like a drum. “Your mother saw to that nicely.”

“So, you’re part of the Rebellion too?” I asked, wanting to be certain.

“In a sense,” Cirian replied, coming to a stop. “Lynette said your mind was fractured. It’s a shame, really. Just when you decided to become interesting, you flush all that away and dig yourself an early grave.”

I deflated with a sigh. “Thank you for reminding me. Gods, I long for the day that I can feel like a complete person again and not this tattered mess.” I winced as Cirian stepped over a log, jostling one of the deeper wounds in my shoulder.

Cirian was silent as we went, his brow furrowed.

“Have I said something?” I asked, confused.

“No one ever feels entirely whole, Tobias. You may not remember it now, but even with your memories in order, I would imagine you’d feel the same.”

“Isn’t that a cheery thought?” I asked, shifting in his arms once more. The throbbing in my ankle was impossible to ignore, but I did my best. “As if I don’t have enough to look forward to.”

“Enough with the bravery,” said Cirian, walking a few paces to the base of a large oak tree and gently setting me against the trunk. Once I was out of his arms, I noticed just how much blood coated Cirian’s pale clothing.

“Gods, are you alright?” I asked, leaning forward enough to earn another wince.

Cirian looked down at his tunic, his lips parting with a grin. “This is your blood, Toto. I’m afraid I escaped rather unscathed.”

That certainly did explain my lightheadedness. I swayed at that moment, falling back against the abrasive bark.

“Easy,” Cirian coaxed me, long fingers drifting down my leg till they brushed against my swollen ankle. “Don’t worry. I’m going to make it all better, Toto.”

I rolled my eyes, muttering a string of curses under my breath at this infuriating man. Cirian’s hands began to glow with a pulsating aura of blue light, not unlike the color of thread woven through his tunic. A groan built in my throat as the pain in my ankle dulled, and a strange sensation crawled up my leg as tendons popped into their proper place. I felt function return to my foot in a swell of relief.

Once Cirian seemed satisfied with the work on my ankle, his hands drifted upward toward the wounds across my chest that still oozed dark blood. With the steady confidence of a battle-worn healer, Cirian tore open my shirt, letting the fabric fall in pieces to the ground and leaving my torso exposed to the cool night air. Again, Cirian’s warm hands found my flesh, knitting together wounds one after the other till only the bloodstains remained.

Immobilized as I was, I watched Cirian as he worked, transfixed by the intensity of the man’s focus. Cirian had always been strikingly handsome, with an arrogance that often lent itself to pulchritude. But in close proximity, under the constant attention of his umber eyes, I felt a stirring that rattled me at my core.

Maybe the blood loss had rendered me witless.

“That should hold you together,” announced Cirian, wiping the bloom of sweat from his brow with a deep exhale. He stood once more, looming over me like another of the dark forest’s trees.

A stiff breeze passed over us, an overwhelming shiver creeping over me as I longed for the warmth of the shirt that lay in tatters on the ground. Cirian reached up to his neck, loosening the fastenings of his tunic before removing it. He held it out to me with a smirk that bordered lewdness.

“What is that for?” I asked.

“To stop your shivering,” Cirian explained, the sheen of his pale skin capturing what little light shone through the cover of tree branches. “I wouldn’t want you to catch your death.”

I snorted an unexpected laugh. “Was that a joke, Cirian? Here I had I thought for so many years you were incapable of humor.” Taking the offered garment, I pulled it around my exposed shoulders, reveling in the residual warmth. Fresh juniper filled my nostrils, but I resisted the urge to bring the fabric closer to take in more of the heavenly scent.

“A simple oversight, I assure you,” said Cirian with a chuckle. “Besides, it’s covered in your blood. I think it only fair it belongs to you now.” He offered me a hand, a mirthful smirk playing across his lips.

After quick contemplation, I took it, the tall man lifting me to my feet with ease. The only lingering discomfort was a strange numbness in my foot, but otherwise, I felt right as rain. Even the splitting headache that had come upon me when I tried to wield my magic had subsided.

Was it just another symptom of my fracturing?

“Are you ready to push on?”

Cirian watched me closely, his fingers still wrapped around my hand.

I nodded in response. “Where are we going, exactly?”

“A sanctuary for the time being. I’ll have to make contact with Rudderkin once things have calmed down. Then we can get you back to your sister.”

“And Bastien.”

Cirian’s hand dropped away, his demeanor cooling. “Yes, and your necromancer. Let’s hope he hasn’t moved onto another cold body by the time you two can reunite.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Cirian, I would argue you sounded like a jilted lover.”

Cirian didn’t respond to the accusation, instead muttering something under his breath, and a small orb of blue light burst into the space above his open palm. He held out his hand, illuminating the path forward. “Shall we?”

I let the details of his reaction sink in. Was this something more than just the normal animosity between Hallowed and Reviled?

Having no other option, I agreed, following Cirian as he led us back onto a trail. The woods surrounding us from all sides were deathly quiet, our steps swallowed by the heavy cover of leaves and hanging moss. The night’s chill had even silenced the insects, so instead of dwelling on the awkward silence, I asked the question blooming in my mind.

“What is it about the Reviled that bothers you so?”

Cirian didn’t look back at me, his gaze trained ahead. For a brief moment, I thought he hadn’t heard my inquiry, but then he spoke, words skipping over the soft earth like stones along the surface of a pond. “If you’re referring to the Church’s stance, I’m afraid it’s a long story. One that isn’t as cut and dry as the history books make it out to be.”

I hastened my steps, coming alongside Cirian, marveling at the deep shadows the orb of light cast across his face. He really was striking to look at. Like a piece of artwork, chilling at first impression but warmed the longer you stared.

“Perhaps you could explain it to me then since we’ve nothing naught else to discuss. Who better to help me understand than the future leader of the Hallowed himself?”

The edge of Cirian’s mouth twitched, and once again, I found myself wondering if I’d pushed too far, but it wasn’t long before he spoke again. “Up until a hundred and fifty years ago, the Hallowed and Reviled belonged to the same community of Magi, known as the Revered. We both worshiped the Source for its gifts and recognized our place among the Magi as spiritual leaders and healers.”

“A hundred and fifty years?” I echoed. “Forgive my addled mind, but I was under the impression the schism went back centuries.”

Cirian shook his head. “That is a false narrative disseminated through the Church. As is the reason for the schism. They would have you believe the Reviled to be unholy wretches without a rational thought amongst the lot. That they sought to defy the very nature of the Source and violate its most sacred beliefs, and these perversions led the late Cardinal to banish them from the cities of Magi. But that is not the truth of the matter. See, the fracturing of the Revered was not started internally, but brought about by outsiders.”

“Who would wish for such a thing?”

Cirian looked at me, a quizzical expression bending his brow. “There were plenty who wished to topple the Church, I’m sure. But the prevailing theory is that these usurpers infiltrated the Revered, serving in our communities as members of the Church of the Source, spreading lies and conspiracy amongst the factions. By the time the late Cardinal realized what was happening, it was too late to stop the inevitable.”

“What sort of lies?”

“The Revered were blessed as a people with many gifts by the Source. We can knit flesh as if it were fabric. Expel toxins from the body with a simple incantation. Commune directly with the Source without being driven mad. But there were those amongst us who had more powerful gifts, still. Those who could tamper with the very balance of life and death.”

“The Reviled.”

He nodded, attention falling back to the path ahead. “Before the schism, none of them were called as such. They bore symbols on their flesh—” he trailed a finger along his forearm from wrist to elbow— “that marked them as divine. They were the most respected members of our society at one time, some of which were Elders who had manipulated the flow of time to live nearly a millennium. Powerful projectionists who could send their souls through the ether to the afterlife and destinations beyond. And necromancers who could stay the very hand of Death.”

I shivered once more, pulling the garment around my shoulders closer, though it had nothing to do with the night’s chill. No wonder Bastien had gone to such lengths to hide the swirling markings on his arms. They would have given him away at a glance.

“The other Revered became jealous of those with more power than themselves. And with the outsider’s influence, the fires of their animosity were flamed to the point of revolt. They crusaded against the families now labeled as Reviled, claiming them heretics amongst believers.” Cirian paused for a moment, his pensive expression deepening. “The others were quick to believe such lies, if only because they saw it as an excuse to act on their basest of desires. The Reviled were rounded up and expelled from the Magi cities. Those who refused to flee were made examples of. The history books neglect to cover those torturous executions, but the Church still holds records. I’ve seen them with my own eyes. You can imagine the difficulty of executing someone who has sway over Death. The results were nearly always… gruesome.”

My stomach lurched, and I exhaled a shaky breath. Had Bastien’s family met the same gruesome end? Was he descended from one of these Elders?

“After that, they disappeared, most going into hiding out in mortal societies. Now, here we are, a hundred and fifty years later, and the animosity towards the Reviled has only increased. Parents scare their little ones with stories of necromancers who dance with the dead, and any remaining Reviled dare not show their face, lest a mob show up at their doorstep demanding blood. It’s…archaic.”

“Then why allow it to continue?” I asked, nearly tripping over a tangle of roots as I struggled to match Cirian’s long strides. “Why not ask the Cardinal to intervene and set things right?”

Cirian glanced over his shoulder, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You think it so simple to shift the minds of thousands? Ah, but I suppose for an Adored, it would be. You can merely bend others to your will. The rest of us have to rely on subtler tactics to get what we want, Tobias.”

I bristled at the use of my actual name. It sounded strange on Cirian’s tongue. “And what is that you want, exactly?”

He halted, his shoulders slacking as he rested a hand against the trunk of a gnarled oak tree. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

I hovered a few feet away, drinking in the sadness that clung to Cirian’s words. Maybe he felt the same pressures as Lynette, being in line to inherit great power yet beholden to the expectations of those who asked you to wield it. Did the weight resting on their shoulders feel like shackles? For once, I was grateful for my lowly status as an Adored male, if only for the freedom it provided me.

“We’re nearly there,” Cirian said after a moment.

“Where exactly is ‘there?’”

“I told you. A sanctuary. A safe place where we can rest and make arrangements.” He turned to me, his dark eyes soaking in the eerie glow of the orb in his hand. “I’ll keep you safe, Toto. I swear it.”

And in that moment, under his gaze, I fully believed him.

* * *

The sanctuary was off a dirt road, not far from the edge of the woods. The sounds of night returned as we stepped out from the cover of the dense foliage, starlight washing us in a pale glow as we made our way to the derelict A-frame building. Faded and dirty stained glass hung above the entrance, splintered in multiple places with spiderweb-like cracks that only added to their intricate designs. Two heavy, wooden doors adorned the front of the building, far sturdier than I anticipated them being as I pushed on one. It swung open with a creak, but before I could cross the threshold, Cirian grabbed onto the fabric bundled around my shoulders, keeping me from moving forward any further.

“Just a moment, Toto,” he whispered, pulling gently to guide me out of the way. Once the doorway was clear, Cirian held out a hand, his palm pressing flat against an invisible barrier where the door had been. Taking in a deep breath, Cirian muttered a string of words under his breath, the air quickly taking on the distinct smell of ozone as a crackling ripped through the quiet, followed by the sound of splintering glass. Shimmering waves of magic rippled over the space around Cirian’s hand, then peeled away like tattered strips of paper held to a flame. Once he was satisfied, Cirian nodded in my direction, taking a cautious step inside.

It was not lost on me the peculiar scenario I found myself in. It was true that I had known Cirian since childhood, having interacted with him dozens of times throughout the years at social functions, sparring sessions, and meetings held at Chateau Greene—at least, those were the moments I could recall—but that was well before I had shown up to the Cradle, flaunting my recently revivified self to the man who was tasked with leading the witch hunt for all things necromantic. And now I found myself alone with him, in a secluded place, miles away from anyone or anything. What were the odds Cirian allowed me to live through the night? As I lingered in the doorway, I weighed the options of risking it in the woods and making a run for it now.

Cirian glanced over his shoulder, already halfway down the aisle of the sanctuary.

“Are you coming, Toto?”

I had to decide quickly. Even Cirian would have a difficult time locating me if I was fast enough to disappear into the thicket. But what would I do once I was on my own? I had no magic—at least none I could use without debilitating side effects—and no other means of finding Bastien. If he had even made it out of the camp alive. A sinking dread bloomed in my stomach at the idea. Maybe Mother had been successful in her ploy, and the Rebellion had been stamped out in one fell swoop?

That would mean Lynette….

Cirian face appeared in the doorway, a quizzical expression twisting his brow. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but I assure you that you’ll be much safer in here than out there.”

Perhaps I could just ask him outright? He’d always been painfully honest in the times I could recall. Why would that have changed now?

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, remaining planted in place. “Why are you keeping me safe?”

“Would you prefer I left you to the wolves?” Cirian asked, bemused.

“I want to know you’re not going to slit my throat while I sleep.”

Cirian laughed at that, his chuckle sharp and harsh. “Toto, dear, if I wanted you dead, I could have left you bleeding out in that field of wildflowers. Have I not done enough to earn at least a smidgen of trust?”

“I’ve had a very long and trying day,” I said, running a hand through my matted curls. “So, you’ll have to forgive me for my cautious behavior. You did threaten my life not twelve hours ago, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Cirian leaned a broad shoulder against the frame of the door, expanding his chest with a deep breath. I tried valiantly to ignore the way the lithe muscle of his bicep bunched as he crossed his arms. “What else was I supposed to do, Toto? You waltzed into the Cradle with that heavy Veil, thinking that I wouldn’t be able to smell the death that lingered on you. Really, you’d have better luck hiding from starving hounds after rolling around in yesterday’s scraps.”

I took an instinctive step back, inhaling deeply. If I smelled of death, then it must not have been an aroma with which I was familiar.

“I wasn’t exactly given time to bathe,” I said, face warming at the implication. “And I was dead for three days before Bastien got to me—I do not need to defend myself to you.”

“Peace, Toto,” Cirian managed through his hearty laughter. “The necromancer’s magic doesn’t leave you rank. But that’s exactly what I could smell on you. His scent. His magic running through your veins. It made me—” he stopped, something flickering in his dark eyes that set me on edge. “He should have known better than to bring you there. If I hadn’t reacted in the appropriate manner, I would have drawn even more suspicion. You can imagine that Sancha doesn’t exactly support my involvement with the Rebellion, so I must keep up the charade on all fronts.”

“And threatening our lives was you acting on your best behavior?”

His eyes narrowed. “When I am acting as the Acolyte of the Church, then yes, occasionally it is. You’re not exactly one to stand on the moral high ground, Toto. Or have you conveniently forgotten the number of lives you’ve ruined in the name of your mother?”

I flinched at his words.

“I’m sorry,” Cirian amended, his tone softening. “There’s little room for me to judge. My hands are far from clean. We do what we must to survive.”

At that moment, for the first time, I was glad for the memories taken from me, if only to avoid the phantoms of those Cirian referred to. I knew I couldn’t hide from them forever, that if I survived the coming days, I would have to face the reality of who I was. The lives I had destroyed.

My stomach turned at the thought.

“Come inside,” Cirian said gently, stepping aside to make room. “You’re exhausted, and I swear on the Source that no harm will come to you under this roof.”

I looked once again at the dark trail leading away from the man with fathomless eyes, and for more reasons than one, I finally conceded and stepped into the sanctuary.