“The heretics. Seeing something like this, the other sepulchrae… believing that it means that the dead gods are still here, somewhere.”
“They’re not,” says Nolan. “There is only one goddess now. And the only thing that matters is returning the reliquary to them, and what that will bring.”
The shift in his voice makes me look up, and when I do, I am staring at someone I don’t know. Nolan’s eyes have turned hard. Ruthless.
And I have only the barest sliver of time to understand how well and truly I have been played before he shoves me into the pit.
Seventeen
No,I’mthe smart one.
—JEZIAH
IDIOT THATIAM,I fall.
Surprise smothers any cry as the great pit swallows me, and the world turns black. Only the sensation of air on my skin tells me I’m falling. Instinctively, I twist. My fingers brush something. Then they grab, desperate and uncaring. Skin scrapes from my palms, but I slow, feel something break, and fall again.
Grab.
Snap.
Fall.
Grab.
This time I stop. My hands grip dry, rough tendrils—the vines, or their roots. I have been saved from death by the remnants of the Green God’s defeat. My heart slams against my rib cage. Then I flush, cheeks burning as if touched by the Goddess’s flame itself.
Nolan tried to kill me.
That son of a divine bitchtried to kill me.
I swallow the nastiest curses I know, every one of which tries to punch its way into my throat. Anger follows in a flood. I let it. Better rage than the humiliation welling up behind it. I adjust my grip, clingingto the mass of bizarre plants like the salvation it is, and look up. The night sky is a beacon in the oppressive dark. I scan it for Nolan—for his silhouette, a hint of movement, anything. If he’s still there, my circumstances haven’t improved much, even though there’s no way he can see me this far down. Still I wait. And wait. When several minutes pass and I see nothing, I relax a little.
That absolute piece of—
Quiet, pious, obedient Nolan. Who was so dedicated to the task assigned to us by the Goddess, and so willing to abide by their decision about Executrix. Who stood up for me against a Bellator and the Arbiters.
Who bought me a pastry in Belspire.
I want to scream. But at myself, for being such a tremendous sack of pure gullibility. All this time, I thoughtIwas the one with the secret plan, and now it turns out he was scheming too, waiting until we had a real lead on the reliquary and then taking the first opportunity to get rid of me. Or maybe he’s been looking for a way to do this since we started out—to cut my throat in my sleep, or poison my dinner. Admittedly, a bottomless chasm is eloquent compared to those, with the added benefit of zero evidence. Gotta give him that.
It’s only one of several things I want to give him right now. The other two are, thankfully, still strapped in their holders on my back. But my sickles aren’t going to do me any good from the inside of a pit.
I start to climb.
It’s slow going, navigating the sinister tangle in utter darkness, careful to only take hold of roots that will bear my weight. There seems no rhyme or reason to that—some thick roots break away at my touch, while thinner ones feel as strong as iron chains. I have to stop to rest more than I like; my limbs begin to burn with the exertion. But with aching slowness, the edge of the pit grows closer. Night has shifted to the watery gray of dawn by the time I reach a spot where I can pull myself out. Arms quivering, fingers almost numb, I wrench one last time and roll to safety on the ground outside the pit.
There, I simply stare at the sky, chest heaving.
For some reason—probably the attempted murder—I think of Morgan. She would have liked Nolan. Probably would have planned to kill him while he did the same for her, if circumstances had conspiredto pair them up on this little adventure instead. A funny story I’ll have to tell her someday. Maybe she’ll even laugh.
But first, I’m going to find Nolan and show him what his entrails look like, the Goddess’s orders be damned.
I am still trembling as I get to my feet and take stock of my circumstances. Sickles—check. The plump purse of money hidden in my coat—check. But when it comes to other supplies, I’m shit out of luck. Hours have passed. Nolan is long gone. And if I don’t want to risk being spotted by the heretics, I need to move too.
The forest—it’s where Nolan would have headed. But when I get back to where we tied up the horses, there’s nothing. The bastard took Mortimer too.
I was already going to kill him.
