Page 132 of The Lost Reliquary

Osiron smirks placidly. “Miss me, little sister?”

If I weren’t bleeding out, I would have almost enjoyed the deepening bewilderment on Tempestra-Innara’s face.

“This is impossible. We killed you. Centuries ago, we destroyed you.”

“You certainly tried. And while I was never as powerful as you and the others, I called you into existence. I was capable of making you believe you’d removed me from it too.”

Despite that explanation, the perplexed air in the Cathedral persists. At least until Avery’s voice cuts in, crowing with reverence: “Osiron returns!”

That does it. The spell over the spectators breaks. There are cries of surprise. Of disbelief.

I feel Nolan go as still as death. There’s fresh betrayal in his eyes as he realizes that I knew. His mouth opens, but before he can say anything, the Cathedral doors slam shut again.

“You thought you destroyed me,” the Whisperer says. “I sent an assassin after you. Now, I can no longer hide, and neither can you. No more feints, no more games, Tempestra. This time, one of us is going to get it right.” Something begins to flow from Osiron—water, I think at first, until it reaches the arches and begins to rise. And spread. Within seconds, stone webbing covers every archway, closing off the galleries above—with my blood brethren behind it—as well as every avenue for retreat.

It’s impressive, but against Tempestra’s consuming fire? I almost expect the Goddess to laugh. But they have not moved, and I sense, in whatever lingering connection we still have, unease.Fear.

I understand. Avery wasn’t too late; he intentionally interrupted the ritual. Already fading, Innara’s flesh has been weakened further by their own power’s destruction of it during its transition to me. Now is the time to strike a fatal blow.

Nolan understands too, lowering me to the ground and reaching for his sword.

Though it hurts like hell, I grab his arm. “Don’t.” I say it quietly, as if anyone is paying attention to us. “You don’t have to.”

The furrows in his brow deepen. “You’re wrong.” Good old dependable Nolan. Loyal to the end. Then his expression softens. “Stay alive, Lys.”

Then he’s gone, and I’m staring up at the damn ceiling, nearly crippled while the most epic showdown in well over a century is about to begin.

Figures.

Suddenly, Avery appears. His hands hook under my arms and lift, dragging me away from the growing commotion. If Osiron got Avery into the Cathedral, there must be other heretics here too, ready to fight, as absolutely futile as that seems. Nolan could cut a dozen of them down on his own. And yet… Osiron didn’t come off like a deity about to fight a losing battle…

Dammit.This is no time to be on my back. I push past the pain, rising into a sitting position. Avery helps me with the rest; a moment later, I am on my feet, even if it feels like I’ve left half my blood on the floor. But I’m standing, ready, and—

Face-to-face with the blank red masks of the Cineri.

“I’m not dead yet,” I blurt. Ridiculous, but the only reason I can think of for them to have made their way to the front of the Cathedral, to me, instead of rushing to the Goddess’s aid.

“No, you’re not,” says Avery. Then: “Now, quickly!”

He’s not speaking to me. The Cineri tear off their masks, revealing faces filled with resolve. With purpose. But it’s not until I see the vials in their hands that I see where Osiron’s blow is really coming from.

That lying bastard. The Green God’s blood was supposed to be all that was left, the last of the… No, wait. It was the last of Arcadius’s blood.That’swhat Osiron said. They never specified further.

One by one the heretics drink, blood darkening their lips before they rush past Avery and me, the change already coming over them.

Avery leans me against the wall. We are still closer to the apse than I like, the boundary of golden bones only a few arm lengths away, but partially sheltered by a thick column.

“Your boss could have been a little clearer about how many intact reliquaries he found over the years,” I say bitterly. Exactly how many more exist is a question I’m rather curious about, but survival first, details later. I can’t see clearly past the column, to whatever is happening between the devoted and their deities. The Goddess is weakened, yes, but… “It’s not enough… What if they aren’t enough?”

“Thenyouwill be.” Avery’s palm opens to reveal another vial. “With a little help from the Storm Goddess.”

At first, I can only blink. Then, a laugh, cracking up out of my throat,bringing with it the taste of blood and bile. “Vengeance has a sense of humor, I guess.”

“Did you really think we’d let you die for no reason?”

I recall Emmaus’s wounds, and how they healed so quickly. “Same plan, different execution?”

“Not the word I’d use, given the circumstances.” Avery presses the vial into my hands. “Now, quickly, before—”