He nods slowly. “I couldn’t tell you what they mean, though. I’m not sure anyone could. Those are old characters, even older than the Salt runes, from a language or cypher used by devoted followers of the Shadow God.” He hands the paper back. “Lys, wherever did you come across the writings of the Shadow Cult?”
Too late I realize I should have prepared a nice, tidy lie. “The Shadow Cult?” I make a show of surprise to buy some time to think. “Oh… I… Where I grew up, there were… uh, some old ruins. Like,reallyold. We weren’t supposed to go there. But I did… just once. Saw some of those symbols carved into the walls.”
The fiction I spin seems adequate.
“Ah,” says Rion. “There’s so little left behind of the Shadow God, they fell so long ago. But as I said, the remnants of a deity have a way of persisting long after that deity is gone.”
The words send a chill through me. It’s an ill portent, a reminder that, even if I succeed in killing Tempestra-Innara, ifIsurvive whatever that triggers, parts of them will remain. And who knows how those parts might be lifted, revered, twisted…
But that won’t be my problem.
I shove the thought away as I return to the Petrel, instead pondering what the Shadow God’s followers—long dead—might have to do with the Renderers. It’s an intriguing revelation, if not one that seems as if it would be useful. I’m weighing the risks and benefits of showing Rion more, seeing if he can shed any further light, when I enter the common room. To my surprise, Nolan has deigned to leave his room and is waiting there. He flags me over.
“Where have you been?”
I hold up one of Rion’s saucy novels, purchased from the shop. “I got bored.”
He lets out an exasperated breath but doesn’t scold me again. Instead, he pushes over an envelope and waits patiently as I remove the paper within. There’s a brief scatter of words on it, written in neat script:
Tomorrow. Be outside on horseback, at dusk.
No signature, but also within the envelope, slipped in like a promise, is a braided metal ring.
Thirty-two
After the Salt Goddess fell, their face was struck from the smallest shrine to the great, towering visages that watched over the city. But the rest of Cyprene’s stonework was left untouched. It was said that even those who conspired to see divinity removed from our world could not stomach doing the same to such profound artistry.
—REFLECTIONS OF THE HISTORIAN XERSUS
MORTIMER DANCES BENEATH ME,as restless as I am to get moving. I pat his neck to calm him, half wishing I had someone to do the same.
“What do you think?” I ponder aloud. “Even odds that whoever Tychus is taking us to meet will try to kill us instead of dealing?”
Nolan tugs the hood of his cloak lower, as if we’re not right outside the Petrel and already known to those within. “What would you put the odds at of them succeeding?”
“Oh,I’llbe fine.”
He tosses me an unamused look as I tap the hilt of one sickle. If he’s unarmed, I’m the Salt Goddess reborn, but carrying his sword wasn’t exactly an option. Before he can retort, Tychus appears. He, too, is cloaked and hooded, which tells its own story; clearly the less we are noticed tonight, the better.
“A fine night for a ride,” I say.
Tychus dips his head in greeting, briefly drawing back his hood. “Oh, moonlight on the white cliffs is a sight no one forgets. Absolutely stunning. Breathtaking, even.”
“Where are we heading?” Nolan prompts, clearly impatient.
Tychus replies with a cryptic smile, leaving Nolan and me no choice but to embrace our blind faith of him. Anonymous and unspeaking, we travel through the city neighborhoods, drawing closer and closer to the surrounding cliffs. The areas near their foot feel different—older, more private. Not a place for visitors. But we move past these sections too, leaving Cyprene behind, following a path that wanders along the island’s bay. Through the clumpy trees to our left, I spot glimpses of sprawling beaches, the sand as light as snow in the rising moonlight. Always, the cliffs remain at our right, becoming no less dotted with statues as we move farther from Cyprene. There are tunnels and pathways into the stone here too, fewer in number but still easy to spot. And a few, I’m sure, that aren’t.
After an hour or so, Tychus leads us into a small clearing at the base of a jagged cliff. “We’ll have to leave the horses here.”
“This seems like an odd place to do business.” Nolan dismounts and hands his reins to me. “Even our kind.”
I scan our surroundings warily as I secure Mortimer and Buttons to a tree. There are too many places to hide, too many shadows to swallow a threat. Mortimer seems to sense that too, shifting restlessly. I run a hand down the length of his nose then press my forehead to his to settle him. “I agree, buddy.”
“Some transactions require extra privacy,” says Tychus. “And even though the interested party is known to deal in the items you offer, they do so with a particular level of caution. Surely, you can’t object to that?”
“No.” I can just see an amiable smile beneath Nolan’s shadowed hood. “Of course not.”
He’s nervous too. Of course, it’s impossible to ignore our years of training. Every bit of me is screamingBeware!as we head for the cliffs on foot. Not to mention a good dose of common sense. I stay ready for anything, and the slight tenseness in Nolan’s stride tells me he’s doing the same.
