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A furrow forms in Petra’s brow. “You know that I honestly don’t blame you for what happened in Regica, don’t you? That was all Lothar’s doing. I’ve told you I understand that.”
I can’t keep holding her gaze. My eyes dip so I’m staring vaguely at Toast’s mane. “It was still me there. My power opened the doors for him. My magic murdered loyal guards. But I won’t let anything like that happen again. And whatever you need from me, you’ll have it.”
Petra is silent for long enough that I start to think the conversation is over. Then she speaks even more quietly than before. “It’s a difficult balance, isn’t it? Knowing how to act and how far to go in any direction… I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought back to that night when my first instinct was to pull Klaudia and Jacos away from the violence. Maybe if I’d tried, I could have stopped the bleeding…”
Her voice peters out.
I barely manage to stop myself from gaping at her. “Lothar and his sorcerer would have slaughtered all of you.”
“I tell myself that. That must be why I acted as I did in the moment. But none of us can know for sure what the alternate outcomes could have been, can we?”
The faintest tremor ripples through her words. For the first time, I see a glimpse of the frightened girl behind the queenly façade. The nineteen-year-old who hasn’t seen half as much of the world’s perils as I have, who never expected to be ruling so soon, let alone in the face of a massive rebellion.
How much of her confidence does she feel, and how much is a front to maintain the authority that could so quickly slip through her fingers?
How much have my past remarks about her father’s methods of ruling shaken her confidence?
I had to tell her why the people weren’t leaping to support another Melchiorek—that she needed to regain their trust. It wouldn’t have helped her to feign ignorance.
But in this moment, the future we’re working toward feels unnervingly fragile. Petra’s life isn’t the only aspect of her existence we need to preserve.
As I grope for the right response, a relieved call carries back from the front of the procession. “I can see the temple! We’re almost there.”
Peering past the heads in front of me, I make out a pale white spire against the blue-gray sky.
Only a thin flicker of relief passes through me.
It’s time to find out what reception we’ll receive from this place we mean to make a sanctuary.
Seventeen
Ivy
Cleric Delfis is nothing at all like I expected a devotee of Elox to be.
The godlen of healing and peace casts a calming presence from every painted and carved depiction I’ve encountered. In fables, he makes himself known in the most subtle and gentle ways.
Delfis moves around his office in the Temple of Tranquil Skies with a jovial energy, never quite standing still. Even when he stops to peer down at the map we’ve been consulting, the large man cocks his head to one side and then the other while rubbing his hands together.
But strangely, there’s something soothing to all that energy regardless. It reminds me of the swift but rhythmic creak of the printing press, back in my early childhood days when my parents’ workshop was a comfort.
Delfis sweeps his veiny hands across the unfurled paper. His voice is brisk but reassuringly steady too. “From what you’ve told me, I think the sacrificial accomplices that the scourge sorcerers have manipulated could be the key to undermining their stolen authority. And they’re the people who most urgently need our help. Their current lives must be a torment.”
My lips twist as I think of the few mutilated accomplices I’ve encountered. “The scourge sorcerers keep them isolated, with only the bare necessities to live. They can barely move on their own. It’s horrible.”
Delfis nods, his shaggy hair that’s as white as his clerical robe swaying with the movement. “We must heal them as well as we can. And when they’re ready, they could speak out against the Order of the Wild. Their very existence is proof of wrongdoing.”
Casimir smiles at him. “Yes, it’d be hard for Lothar to justify what his followers have done to all those people.”
The courtesan’s gaze slides to me with a pleased gleam. He, Stavros, and I approached the temple alone yesterday evening to evaluate how safe a haven it would actually be for our future queen. It only took one look at the cleric and one waft of Casimir’s gift for him to proclaim his approval.
He told me later that night that the thing he’d seen he could do that would make Delfis happiest was telling him that he could help bring the Order of the Wild down and put a rightful ruler back on the throne. We couldn’t ask for a better attitude than that.
Petra peers down at the map from where she’s standing across from Delfis. “We need to find some of the sacrificial accomplices if we’re going to rescue them. Hasn’t Lothar been keeping them carefully concealed?”
“We have reason to believe that the factory of sorts where the scourge sorcerers are trapping daimon and animating their clay bodies is up north,” I say. “They’d need a lot of power to accomplish that, so they must have quite a few accomplices somewhere in this area.”
Delfis hums and taps a spot near the edge of the map. “I have an idea of where we could start our search. My devouts spend most of their time traveling the province, offering their services to any they find in need. Shortly after the Order of the Wild spread their uprising beyond Eppun, one devout reported seeing odd activity at a cluster of farms up here near our border with Eppun. Several carts coming and going, figures in shrouds being ushered inside. When he tried to extend a welcome, he was told off rather aggressively.”
