“That’s enough,” says Nolan. “Let’s go.” He calls the flame. It catches on the spilled substances, a line of blue fire racing across the worktable. Then, he turns and strides purposefully out of the room, leaving me to catch up as noxious smoke fills the air.
He doesn’t get far. I find him standing over the cleric’s body.
“Dead,” I say, trying to draw him away from the sight of an enemy costumed as an ally, but as if to contradict me, the cleric coughs suddenly, body shuddering. “Or not.”
The cleric’s eyes open a crack. Not gone yet, maybe, but gutted as heis, it won’t be long. Fear flashes in his face as Nolan kneels down beside him. I wait, unsure whether to intervene, not sure if there’s any mercy I can offer now.
Or if I want to.
The cleric’s mouth works desperately, forming soundless words. Begging, cursing… I can’t tell their intention.
“When they whisper, we wake…” Nolan begins. “At their command, we follow. In their light, we are seen… we arejudged.”
At first, I think perhaps it is Nolan who is considering mercy as the smoke reaches us, the growing inferno not far behind. But instead, he stands, a chill entering his voice. “May their blessed flame find purity of faith, or else leave cinder and ash.”
With that, he turns away. The cleric’s gaze moves to me, pleading. If we were alone, the ache in my gut tells me I would be swayed. But we’re not, and right now I need Nolan’s trust more than a quiet conscience.
It’s not until we reach the fork in the corridors that I hesitate again. “The hounds…”
Nolan doesn’t slow. “Let them all burn.”
Ice-cold and unflinching. Not the Nolan who seemed to accompany me to Belspire, who dispatched Magda quickly and painlessly. Not even the Nolan who shoved me into the pit. Whoever he is, I don’t know him at all.
It’s enough to make me wonder exactly who I’ve struck a bargain with.
The cool night air feels like a blessing when we emerge from the ruins. I take a deep breath, chasing away the lingering scents and acrid taste of smoke, then go to the structure housing the Renderers’ wagon and pull down the false wall covering the entrance. Nolan shoves past me and reappears a few moments later with his sword and gear.
I go after something better.
“Mortimer!” I cradle the horse’s head in my hands, then rub the bridge of his nose. “Oh, are you okay? Did those mean Renderers feed you enough?” Mortimer whinnies softly. Beside him, Buttons nickers. “It’s okay, you two. You’re back with us now. No one is going to steal you away again.”
“Are you really coddling the horses?” Nolan straps his gear to Buttons’s saddle.
“Jealous? Awww, do you need to be fawned over after that trying ordeal?”
A tight frown tells me he’s not in the mood for teasing. The real Nolan’s sense of humor seems to be about the same as the false one’s, which gives me some measure of him at least. He mounts up, but I go to the Renderers’ horses first and lead them out into the yard before I turn them free. Smoke is beginning to leak from the old refinery, and the makeshift stable is close enough that the fire would be a threat.
Nolan watches with irritated patience. “Your concern is touching.”
Sarcasm.Good to know real Nolan wields that too.
“The horses didn’t try to kill me. And you’re awful cranky for someone who is still in one piece.” I arrange an expression of mock horror. “Youdostill have all your parts, right? They didn’t take anything before I arrived? Some toes perhaps, or maybe even your—”
“Everything is right where it should be.Thanks.” Now he sounds annoyed.
Good. We’re back where we started.
“Hurry up,” he orders, starting off in a direction that will circumvent the city and allow us to pick up the road toward Carsaire. Behind us, the ruins of the refinery continue to be engulfed, flames licking out of the brick chimney. It won’t be long before someone from the city comes running to investigate. But by then it will be too late. Any evidence of the Renderers will be long gone, consumed by the justice that is the Goddess’s divine flame.
Twenty-four
A fine smile has all the power of divinity, when wielded smartly.
—FROM THE PLAYTHE LADY’S WINDOW
REALNOLAN TURNS OUTto be about as chatty as the Nolan I set out with back in Lumeris. For two days, he speaks to me only when necessary, shutting off all insight into what might be going on in that traitorous noggin of his. Not that it takes much to guess what’s going on—urgency has taken hold, driving us to be moving by first light and pushing travel late into the evening. He doesn’t seem to sleep. I know I don’t. We may have a truce, but that’s not enough to put faith in that I’ll awake each morning sans sword through heart. Add on the threat of Renderers around every corner, and the sweet dreams don’t come easy.
And while we might not need much sleep, that’s not to say it doesn’t help. Our patience frays in tandem, resulting in snipes about where to stop at night, how to build the fire to keep it from being seen, who takes first watch. It’s enough to make me wish we were still pretending.
