The first night, we make camp in the woods. There are towns with guesthouses along the way, attracting the fellow travelers we pass, but when Nolan suggests we avoid them, I don’t argue. The shininess of my new, conditional freedom still carries a measure of apprehension. Not to mention a dire seriousness that sets in the farther we get from Lumeris: After all my years in the Cloister, I’m going to have to be around regular people again. Not shielded by armor and set up in the Cathedral for the devoted to gawk at, or on an occasional visit to Lumeris, where the inhabitants bow and scrape and keep a reverent distance. The thought keeps me up late enough that the sun has fully risen when I wake to find Nolan gone.
I’m on my feet and halfway to my horse—gear already mentallydiscarded—when I simultaneously register that both mounts remain where we hobbled them, and that Nolan has appeared out of the line of trees nearby.
“Good morning,” he says. “Did you sleep well?”
My mouth drops open to respond, though the polite inquiry is unexpected enough that words don’t come. The idea that I’d fumbled, failed to see that we were, in fact, in contest with one another and that Nolan had gained an advantage by leaving me behind, still has me in its tense grip.
But he hasn’t.
“Where were you?” My cheeks flush as soon as I say it, given there are several perfectly normal things one might attend to privately first thing in the morning. But Nolan simply responds: “Praying.”
Something he seems to do a lot of. “Oh. Right. You should have woken me. I would’ve joined you.” A complete and utter lie, but I try to sound sincere.
“Really?”
He knows I’m full of it. “No. I mean, I attended prayers every day at the Cloisters but…” This is tricky ground. I can’t sound as if I lack piety. “I do like to sleep in too. And… I don’t know, it always seemed a bit silly to me to pray to the air when we can do so in the Goddess’s presence. Where they can actually hear us.”
“They feel our devotion,” says Nolan. “And I enjoy it. It’s an act of devotion I can do anywhere, at any time. It’s calming, focusing.”
“I feel the same way about sparring.”
He squats down to stir the fire, pushing dirt over the handful of coals still smoldering. “Did you think I’d left you?”
I could lie. But I’m sure my true thoughts were written plainly enough on my face. “Can you blame me? This was supposed to be a competition.”
“Except now, it’s not. If anything, it’s a test.”
“Then why still pick only one of us from the Dawn and one from the Dusk?” I press, since we’re suddenly on speaking terms beyond a sentence or two at a time. “You and I weren’t the only surviving candidates, and as far as tests go, well, this one’s pretty big. Besides, weallwant to be Executrix, don’t we?”
Nolan gives me a questioning look. “Do we?”
Isthisa test? “It’s our duty to do whatever the Goddess wishes of us.”
“Yes, it is.”
I can’t tell if he’s fishing for something, but my interest is piqued. “Putting that aside,” I continue, “if the choicewereyours and yours alone, would you have wanted the chance to become Executrix?”
Turning the probing back around clearly throws him, and he chews over an answer. I wait, making it clear I expect one.
“The truth is,” he says finally, cautiously, “I never considered it a possibility. Andronica was young and strong.”
“Same.” It’s true, so I give him that tidbit of information, hoping for more in turn. “Whatdidyou consider?” Again, he hesitates. Our paths are chosen for us. And Potentiates aren’t supposed to talk of such things, even among ourselves. But we do, and everyone knows it. Jeziah changed his mind about his preferred path on an almost monthly basis. “I always thought I’d end up as a Prior,” I offer. “Somewhere very,veryboring where Prior Petronilla would never have to see me or hear from me again.”
“I can’t quite picture you crouched over letters and ledgers.”
“Me neither. But if it was the Goddess’s will…”
Nolan nods affirmingly. “I suppose”—the words come out slowly, at the pace of a confession—“I used to think I might become a Cleric of the Blood.” With all that praying?Shocking. “But Prior Yiorgo always encouraged my skills in fighting and strategy, so I expected to be anointed a Bellator. However,” he adds, “if the Goddess chooses me to be her next Executrix, I will do so to the very best of my ability.”
“Well, it will be one of us, so your chances are strong. Unless we fail.”
“That’s not an option.” A grim tone enters his voice.
“Relax. I’m not saying that’s the plan.”
He stands. “We should get moving. I’ll saddle the horses.”
“I can handle mine.”
