Page 77 of The Lost Reliquary

We enter the cliffs through a natural crack in the stone, narrow enough that it’s clear why we had to leave the horses behind. For a moment, an impenetrable darkness envelops us, too dense for even my sight. Then Tychus strikes a match and an oceanic wilderness bursts into existence. Some kind of natural petrified reef, I think at first. But it’s more carved stone, impossibly intricate, putting every other carving I’ve seen so far to shame. As Tychus lights a lamp, I run a finger over a faux coral appendage, feeling its detail, barely touched by age. Hundreds—no thousands—of hours of work went into this. It is an expression of devotion, one that persists despite the Salt Goddess’s death. It reminds me, suddenly, of what Rion said, about the marks the dead gods left behind. They go beyond the sepulchrae and their strange energies. Something like this carving may not evoke the same wonder, but it has a kind of power all the same. And as Tychus leads us deeper into the passage, I feel that power grow.

Dead or not, this is the territory of the Salt Goddess still.

The reefs turn to waves and foam, then to forests of seaweed. Finally, a bit of light teases in the distance. Nolan and I go on guard as we come to an arched doorway. He keeps his hood up, so I do the same.

But Tychus lowers his and moves lightly, almost jovial, as if we are meeting old friends for tea. “Here we are.”

We enter a round chamber filled with pillars. Like the tunnels, they are carved in seemingly impossible ways, reaching up to a stalactite-studded ceiling. I smell salt and the minerally tang of damp stone. The space is large enough that the light from a handful of hanging lamps doesn’t reach the outside walls, ringing us in deep, velvety shadows. But they do illuminate the stone table in the center of the space, at which a single man waits, hands folded, a patient but stern expression on his face.

Nolan slows his step ever so slightly. “Lys. It’s him.”

A whisper, barely. I search the man’s squared, amber face, trying to tie it to one of the Salt priests Nolan tried to sway, when I realize what he means: This is the heretic from Novena, the one we would have followed to Carsaire.

The one who knows where the reliquary is.

My hood hides theI told you sosmirk that hits my lips. But I can gloat later. And I will.

The heretic stands as we approach. “Right on time.”

Tychus grins. “Machias, friend, when am I ever late to good business?”

Machias doesn’t appear to share his enthusiasm for the transaction. “I would not call your usual fare ‘good.’?” He addresses Nolan and me. “The only reason I am here right now is because of what Tychus said you had to offer. Did you bring the product?”

I stifle a snort.Product.Sounds so much nicer thanjars of person.

“Of course,” says Nolan. In such a chamber, I expect the words to echo. Instead, they’re blunted, barely carrying.

“Show me.”

I wait for Nolan to nod, giving permission for me to reveal the Renderers’ wares. Taking a few steps closer, I pull the lacquer box out from beneath my cloak. I slip the lid open and remove a single vial. In the low light, the tincture is nearly black. I tilt it so a hint of burgundy shows.

“It’s real,” chatters Tychus. “I sampled it… just to be sure. It’s real and it isquality. Not something dug out of some ancient musty grave.”

Machias clearly isn’t sold by Tychus’s endorsement alone. His eyes narrow as he moves around the stone table, hand rising as if to reach for the tincture. I pull back. “Eyes only for now, friend.”

He stops. Stares silently at the box as I replace the vial, hand dropping back to his side. “I don’t make it a habit to deal with strangers. Who are you?”

“Someone hoping to make a good deal,” Nolan replies calmly.

“Show me your faces.”

An order. Not a request.

“I would prefer to preserve some anonymity,” Nolan counters as I return to his side. “At least, until we get to know each other a little better.”

The heretic lifts his chin with resolve. “Suspicion is well warranted, given the circumstances. If only all parties present had been smart enough to do the same.” He raises a hand. “Tychus, you utter fool. What have you brought here?”

Nolan and I trade an uneasy glance. But before we can do anything else, a new voice speaks.

“One thing I will never understand…”

Tychus tenses. Oh, something is wrong.

“… is how opportunities like this always fall into your slimy little lap.”

Verywrong.

Dark figures appear from behind the pillars. Hope flares. If Machias brought more of his fellow heretics, the reliquary could be closer than we think, maybe within these very caves. But that optimism sputters out almost immediately; while the broad, bald man who steps into the circle of light is unfamiliar, his uniform isn’t.