Page 60 of The Lost Reliquary

Of course it is.Don’t forget you’re still the devoted Potentiate.

“Service isn’t the same as competition,” I say, but inoffensively. “We all serve them in the end, and isn’t that what really matters? That we do it, and do it well, no matter where or in what capacity?” More quiet follows, and I start to wonder if I’ve gone too far. But I suppose if he rats on me, I can play the seasick card after all.

“We should want to serve as well as we possibly can,” he says finally. “Not simply adequately.”

“Sure, fine. Look how well that turned out for Fedic.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he got shuffled off to a half-rotten city where it was clear he was all but forgotten about. I saw the letters from Lumeris. However he served the Goddess, it wasn’t enough to keep him close. And that’s why the Renderers got him.” Not to mention who knows how many others over the years, once their blessing had faded and they’d failed to cultivate the right anchors and alliances.

A few silent heartbeats pass. “Maybe he should have worked harder to ascend the Priors’ ranks.”

“You consider lack of ambition a weakness too?”

“I consider it a failure to serve to the best of one’s abilities.”

Frustration fills me again. “How many Potentiates died during your time at the Cloister?”

“What?”

“You heard me. How many of our blood brethren never even made it to serve, because they were pushed too hard, or presented too much of a threat to their fellow Potentiates?”

Another retreat into quiet.

“How many times did one of the other Potentiates try to sabotage or even kill you?” I press. “How many times didyoutry to kill someone?”

“None.” The word comes quickly. Defensively. “I didn’t need to resort to hindering anyone else in order to prove myself.”

“Well, not until recently.” I’m tired suddenly, of the conversation, of the years of vicious conditioning that led to it. It thickens the air, pushes the walls in even closer. I stand, keeping my eyes off Nolan’s huddled form. “You’ve been sick long enough. I think it’s time to go see if the ship’s cook has any of that tea the other passenger mentioned.”

“Tch. Doing something nice for me, Lys? After I tried to kill you?”

“I’m doing something to hopefully keep you from continuing to soil our very small cabin with the nasty contents of your stomach.”

“If you were smart, you’d poison it.” His tone carries a hint of teasing humor.

“Didn’t say I wasn’t going to.”

There’s a sensation of escape the instant I step out of the cabin. And not only because there’s no vomit smell. I didn’t mean for the conversation to happen, but it did, and now I feel like I’ve shown Nolan something that maybe I shouldn’t have. Despite our truce, any honesty between us feels like a trap, set by our years in the Cloisters, ready to spring shut at the tiniest misstep. I can only hope to tread lightly long enough to find the reliquary.

After that, there will be no avoiding it.

Twenty-seven

The fall of the Salt Goddess, while a great battle, was almost quiet compared to the deaths of their siblings. The waves did not rage, the tides kept their schedules. It was only after—once days, weeks, months had passed—that the mark they left became conspicuously, gruesomely clear.

—FROMTHE DIVINE DEFEATS, BY THE NOTED HISTORIAN ANAIS (RESTRICTED TEXT)

IN THE GALLEY, THEcook is chopping vegetables into a large pot. He’s not alone—the balding passenger from the deck is there too, sitting quietly at one of the tables bolted to one wall, where the crew takes meals. He smiles widely when he spots me. “Special tea?”

“Special tea.” I crook an eyebrow at the cook.

“Yeah, I can brew you up a pot.” He’s surprisingly skinny for someone who handles food all day, but as weathered as a sailor should be. “Have a seat, you can wait.”

“Thank you.” I head for the other passenger, who gestures for me to join him, and slide onto the opposite bench.

“You’re an unfamiliar face on theSquid.” The man cradles a mug of coffee. He’s wearing at least a dozen rings, a mix of metals braided together. They glint and glitter as he taps his fingers on the pottery restlessly. Otherwise there is nothing notable about him, no clues to giveaway where he hails from from or what he’s doing here. “First time on board?”