Page 125 of The Lost Reliquary

No hint of meaning behind that sound, no anger or hurt in their features. Only an understanding I don’t like. It’s too passive, too cryptic. The desire to beg them for their thoughts rises like an ember escaping a fireplace, only to extinguish as their fingers lightly trail down my cheek again. I am lulled.

“Rest, daughter,” the Goddess says, still ignorant of the one thing I hold back. Of that crucial sliver of knowledge anchoring my sanity. I begin to feel warm. “We want you strong. Sleep and rest, and later we will talk again.”

The warmth grows, turns into a soft, silky darkness. A blanket that spreads over me and pushes me down, down, into a dreamless sleep.

The next time I wake, I have a larger, but less divine, audience: the Goddess’s senior Chosen, as ghoulish as when I last saw them; Caius, sour as anyone can be; Prior Petronilla, stoic in a way that I definitely, absolutely do not like.

And Nolan.

The only one not watching me like the caged animal I am.

I sit up. “Good morning.” I’m probably a sight, hair messy fromsleep, still a little shaky from my deprived deliverance back to the Cathedral. “Or good afternoon? Evening? Whichever applies.”

Prior Petronilla’s stoicism wavers, and she sighs. Guess she hasn’t missed me.

“Potentiate Lystrata.” The Senior Arbiter speaks first, voice raised and measured, as if this is a very official occasion. The designation throws me at first. I didn’t think I warranted being called a Potentiate anymore. “You have been accused of heresy, blasphemy, and treason.”

Ah, a trial. Or as much of one as I’ll probably get. That explains the formality.

“I’ll save you some time.” I go to the bars, wrap my hands around the cold iron. “Guilty of all charges. Super guilty, even.”

The Arbiter’s lips thin with annoyance. Caius makes a small sound of disgust. Nolan still doesn’t look at me.

“No one asked for a plea,” the Senior Arbiter continues. “Your guilt has already been confirmed by Arbiter Caius and Potentiate Nolan. You assisted the heretics in their plots to assassinate Tempestra-Innara, actions that are unfounded.Unprecedented.”

“So why the party?”

“Lystrata…” Prior Petronilla’s voice is strangely pleading. “For the love of all that is… Please stay quiet for once.”

I scoff. “Don’t worry, I’ll be quiet forever pretty soon. So how about it? When’s my execution?”

The atmosphere in the room shifts to even more uncomfortable, impressive given the level it started at. Caius goes so rigid that if I were able to land a punch, I wager he’d shatter like glass.

The High Cleric of the Blood steps forward. “You are not to be executed.”

Prior Petronilla gets her wish. I am silent.

“As I said, we have spoken with Arbiter Caius,” the Senior Arbiter continues. “He has told us about his judgement of you, and that your love for the Goddess runs as deep as your…” He falters, as if unable to comprehend the next part. “As your hate.”

My fingers tighten around the bars. “Moot point.”

“Not to our blood mother,” says the High Cleric of the Blood. “Intheir justice, mercy, and unfathomable wisdom, they have passed sentence on you.”

I feel the familiar prickle of divinity again. The Bellator Prime moves quickly to open the chamber door, admitting Tempestra-Innara. Sans soup this time.

Everyone bows their head in deference. I don’t bother, not anymore. “Finally, the bitch in charge. What’s this about me not being executed?”

It’s pure spite at this point, but I puff a little at the ripple of utter horror that goes through the room in response to my brazen address. Tempestra-Innara doesn’t react, though. My blood brethren part obediently to let them pass, a patient smile on their face. I don’t shrink under it, but it’s harder than I’d like to keep my muscles from trembling.

“Such fire,” they say. “You’ve always had it, of course.”

I bite the inside of my lip. Not to silence myself. To steady.

“Youallhave a fire in you,” the Goddess continues gently. “A flame that must be cultivated, guided, shaped. But not all flames are as easily molded as others. Isn’t that right, daughter?”

“You can’t mold flames,” I spit, confused and impatient. If I’m not to be executed, then what, exactly, is going on?

“Lys,” says the Goddess. “You have betrayed me. But I forgive you, because I know your love, your devotion, is true.”