Picking up a twig and tossing it aside, I wiped my hands off on my upper arms. “So you’re a priest?”
“No.” Eleos knelt to inspect a broken branch. “Goddess,no. I’m a scholar.”
“But you wear the scarf.”
“It’s comfortable.”
“Did you steal it?”
He released a short laugh and met my eye. “Do I look like the kind to rob a poor, frail elder?”
“Looks can be deceiving.” I shrugged. “I suppose I should thank you. For pulling me into the carriage.”
“Seraphim wanted to see how you’d fare by yourself. Considering the guards weren’t in on our scheme, I worried you’d be killed.” He snatched up a broken stick. “Found one.”
“Did she want to test me? See if I was good enough to recruit?”
“Mhm.” His eyes drifted away, distracted.
I still hadn’t learned anything about him. “Scholar, hm?” I tried again. “What of?”
“The Empty.”
“There aren’t any knowledge houses dedicated to the Empty.”
“That’s true.” Eleos agreed, dropping a final stick into my arms. “It’s considered heresy, after all, to imply the Maiden’s protection is not enough.”
“Is that your crime?” I tried. “Heresy?”
“How many crimes do you intend to accuse me of tonight?”
“Can you really be offended? I already know you were tossed in the dungeons forsomething.”
“And here I thought Guild members didn’t judge.” Grabbing a final stick, Eleos returned to Seraphim’s growing fire.
The heat was welcome. Twisting, I tried to dry my wet skirt by the flames. “Eleos,” I said, “How long were you watching me for?”
“Not long.” He answered, tending the flames. “A couple of weeks to assess your skills.”
Narrowing my eyes, I checked for signs he was lying, but found none. How had he known I feared being thrown in the dungeons? I’d never told anyone before. Just another reason not to trust these people.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I glanced at Seraphim’s coat pocket, wondering if I could simply pickpocket the Bloodstone and return it to Laverna.
What had the Guild master wanted it for, anyway?
Behind her mask, Seraphim’s eyes were sharp and honed. She’d been through much, I could tell. Ainwir had the same look about him.
Thieves with class, he’d called us. No more evil than nobles who took everything from the poor.
My mouth twisted in disgust. Why did I keep thinking about the man fondly? The bastard was the sole reason I was in this situation.
A tickle crept up my arm, like a spider climbing to my neck. Running my fingernails up my bare shoulders, I whirled around, searching for an insect, but nothing was there.
The discomfort rose through my spine, caressing my head, rising into a pressure that felt like my eyes would be pushed from their sockets. Grimacing, I doubled over as a cacophonous sensation bloomed in my heart.
Overwhelming unease and aching nostalgia.
A horrible sound followed.
