“I was called into Valcord’s service.” He took a bite of bread and then mumbled around it, “and I also failed the priest exams.”
“A lot of reading,” the sword piped up.
Reeve grunted and swallowed.
Celeste held back her laughter, which was much better than the panic she’d just had, but ignored the sword. “You wanted to be a priest? But they’re all grumpy, old men, and you’re not two of those things.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t reallywantto be a priest, but we all take the exam, just in case.”
“What, you mean everyone in your home city takes a test to enter into the clergy?”
“Everyone in Bendcrest?” He grinned and shook his head like the idea was preposterous. “No, but anyone who shows skills with divine arcana does. It means we have some heritage of dominion blood, and the temple identified me early on.”
“So, those were your only two options? Priest or holy knight?”
He nodded as if it were obvious, though she’d expected him to argue back. At least he was properly distracted from asking about Clarriseau.
“You never wanted to do anything else?” She collected the last of her stew for a final bite. “To be someone else?”
Reeve’s spoon hung out of his mouth as he stared dumbly back at her. He looked as if he’d been told the gods weren’t really gods at all but only fae playing at the idea. Finally, he shook his head, but it was labored and odd.
“All finished?” As though she’d heard the scraping of the bowls, Halfrida appeared over Reeve’s shoulder. “Oh, good! You loved it, I can tell, no need to shower me in compliments, and you don’t have time anyway: I’ve got a job all lined up for the two of you.”
CHAPTER 12
SAYING BOTH NO AND YES
Reeve stood before a cottage in the woods utterly covered in flowers. It wasn’t sunny enough in the hollow nor was it warm enough in the season for so many blooms, but there was buttery-colored jasmine climbing up the walls, a bed of daisies covering the roof, and lavender wisteria draping itself from the eaves.
Neither he nor Celeste had known the cottage was tucked away just off North Road so close to the temple, but Halfrida assigned them a task in trade for her meal, and a cranky, short woman called Kori was told to take them there despite being keen not to. When they arrived, the hollow smelt of the floral sweetness of spring despite the chill hanging in the air, clearly arcane in origin.
Kori went ahead up to the arched door and knocked, more sprawling blooms lining either side of a stone path. She carried more daggers than she could have possibly needed to finish off an entire army and had declined all of his questions about what they were being sent to do. He’d caught Celeste snickering at each of Kori’s dismissals, but instead of upsetting him, he found he preferred her to be amused rather than how anxious she’d been in town. It ate at him, the way her eyes darted around as if expecting the worst to happen—he was right there, so it wasn’t like either of them would be ambushed by some solitary rogue with a knife.
Reeve was, however, a little perturbed that his question for Celeste in the tavern had gone unanswered—that is, he was perturbed only then, when he suddenly remembered he had asked at all. She may not have been a witch nor an immortal, but she was certainly sneaky and had distracted him away from asking about Clarriseau.
But being granted permission to ask a question did not mean one was entitled to the answer, Father Theodore would have reminded him. The priest would have also advised that some things are not necessarily appropriate to ask. Gable had only shared the turmoil of his childhood after years of friendship, the secret worship of a dark goddess in his village, fleeing the burning island of Clarriseau without his parents, and coming ashore alone in Bendcrest before the temple of Valcord took him in. Expecting Celeste to divulge anything similar over stew with a stranger was perhaps…overzealous.
Beside him, Celeste stared unblinking up at the cottage’s facade and made a noise, a squeak mixed with a sigh that told him she was overcome with the place. Kori’s curtness on their walk out of town had done nothing to eclipse her awe. “Crickets,” she said, barely more than a whisper, “it’s beautiful. Keep the temple, I’m staying here.”
Though there was no falseness in her eyes, Reeve knew it had to be a joke, yet she was truly enamored of the place, strange for a creature so twisted up in the darkest of magics to yearn for something so light and cheery. “Valcord would be pleased,” he said then grunted. If she left, he would be alone in the temple, and then what?
There was a munching at his other side, and he tugged on Earlylyte’s reins. The horse looked up at him guiltily, sprigs of clover sticking out of his muzzle. He could hardly be blamed, clover being his favorite, but Reeve shook his head tightly, encouraging the horse to hold himself.
When the cottage’s door opened, an elf answered, which should not have been a surprise. “You brought friends,” she said to Kori, face drawn serenely as kind eyes swept over them. Tall and slender, she had delicate limbs, hair as golden as the first rays of the morning sun, and skin the color of rich soil. Reeve did not need Flint or Gable to point out that she was gorgeous, though he was sure they would anyway had they been there, and then they would probably make asses of themselves. Elves were beautiful—it was just a fact, he supposed, so it was a thing he knew.
Her eyes fell to Kori with the earthy tenderness he remembered seeing in a priestess called Tressa who had found a way to enrapture Gable like no other woman. They spoke in hushed tones, and then her placid smile grew just a bit as she invited them all inside.
The elf introduced herself as Ima’riel, significantly friendlier than Kori. Her home had spongy moss covering the floors and a tree stump in the main chamber’s middle set with a delicate teapot and cups. A small hearth at the back had bread baking on an interior shelf, the stone a shimmering, arcane red. Through an open window, a set of blue birds flitted in and then out another, but no one paid them mind.
Though the place was overfilled with distraction, including soft draperies that blew in the breeze and the curling tendrils of mysterious plants, Reeve’s attention was drawn back to Celeste when Ima’riel asked after her injuries.
The elf skillfully removed the bandages from Celeste’s arm, and Reeve watched, unease prickling in his veins despite the serenity of the place. Beneath, Celeste’s skin was raised, though the wound did not appear as fresh as only the day or so she’d had it.
“Healing nicely,” said Ima’riel, voice flowing with approval, and she gave her a pat that had to be filled with arcana as when it came away, the skin was even less marred.
It would be unfair, he supposed, to engage Celeste in battle if she were not in top form. Villainous even, and Valcord would not like that. Reeve would not like that either. He had been annoyed she’d barred him from asking after the sieve, but if they had found and caught it, then their deal would be done, and battle would resume, but he couldn’t battle herlike this. No, that would not be at all virtuous.
“You’re okay with having visitors?” asked Kori, eyes locked onto Ima’riel. “With them? Here?”
