“You’ll see on the ceiling a depiction of the judgment. It shows that when we die and pass through the veil, the Nameless Goddess will judge our souls, and should there be a taint of corruption, we shall remain trapped and tortured for all eternity. But if we live good and pure lives, then we shall ascend to the golden beyond to live with Cyra among the stars.” She said this all in one breath, as if she were trying to say it as fast as possible before she forgot what she was supposed to say.
“I’m familiar with church dogma,” Liane said in a light, teasing tone. “I thought maybe you could show me the interesting parts of the temple. Maybe tell me a bit about yourself? How long have you been an acolyte?”
A blush was burning on Sylvie’s cheeks, and she turned away. “My life before was nothing; my life among her chosen is eternal,” she muttered. It sounded as if it were something she said by rote.
Liane reached out to touch the girl’s shoulder, but she flinched away from her. “Please, your divinity. I’m not worthy.”
Liane let her hand fall limply to her side. “You don’t have to call me your divinity. Liane is fine.”
“Your holiness, it is unseemly. You’re the goddess’ chosen.”
“And aren’t you? As one of her servants who’s dedicated her life to the church?”
“It wasn’t much of a choice. Either I came to the church, or I died of corruption when I was older—” She clapped her hand over her mouth as if she’d said too much.
Liane’s interests were piqued. “What’s that?”
“Nothing. Promise you won’t mention it to the Vice Premier? I wasn’t even supposed to be here, but I begged Klara, who would have done a better job of this than me, I’ve always wanted to see a real avatar. And well...”
A group of priests had entered the temple, and Sylvie turned her back toward them, her shoulders slumping. Liane, noticing her fear, moved the conversation along.
“Where’s the library? I heard there isn’t a grander one than the Library of Basilia.”
Sylvie latched onto the distraction and used it as a segue to get them out of the temple interior and into the hall. Liane didn’t prod her further into her past, afraid of flustering the poor girl more. She knew from the priests and priestesses back at home that they went into service as children. Some had an aptitude for the mystic arts, reading auguries, healing, or other small hearth magics. She’d never heard of an ultimatum being given.
Sylvie filled the silence by reciting her memorized script, mostly about the history of Neolyra and other religious dogma Liane had heard hundreds of times before.
“Of course that’s before, when the country was called Lyra,” Sylvie said, finishing a thought Liane had only been half paying attention to.
“Are you a historian? I never hear people refer to Lyra outside of my stuffy professors.”
Sylvie flushed again. “I haven’t taken my vows yet, and I may not pass my exams to become one. But being a scholar is my hope...”
“I’m fascinated by the time before the Corruption,” Liane confided. “There’s not much in the way of information, as so much was lost in the chaos after. But I heard there were rumors that the Library of Basilia had collected what fragments remain of the great library, which contained the world’s history on magic before the fall.”
She sighed wistfully. “Yes! There are some in the archives. I’ve never been in there myself, but my mentor has shown me fragments!” Her tone shifted from shy to excited and animated as she waved her hands as she spoke. “And there are books by scholars who’ve studied them. I can show you a few.”
They continued their conversation as they toured the many shelves of the library and by the time Liane returned to her room, Ludwig’s arms were overladen with books on corruption, the formation of the empire, and the church’s history, which Liane planned to peruse. If she was going to be the goddess’ chosen, she ought to know more about what that meant.
5
The sun cresting over the domed roof of the temple cast a glare, forcing Erich to shield his eyes. For two days, he’d been searching for a way into the temple. Each day, the line to get in grew. They arrived before sunrise, waiting their turn for a chance to enter the temple and hopefully meet Liane. Erich hadn’t joined the queue on his first day but had stood back and observed the Midnight Guards as they inspected each supplicant. Nine out of ten were turned away, and they would leave offerings on the temple steps. Fruit, wheat, caged chickens, candles, and small piles of valuables. Members of the priesthood gathered them up at sunset, before it started over again the next day. Some had brought their sick or dying relatives and laid them among the offerings, perhaps hoping the priests would take them inside.
There had been no more riots. The Midnight Guard’s presence was enough to keep the peace for now. Opportunistic merchants had opened shops in the square, selling hot food, fruit, incense, and other trinkets for offerings. One man even claimed to have strings of beads blessed by the goddess’ avatar herself. The smell of food, incense, and the sick was a stomach-churning concoction, and Erich tried not to linger in the square longer than necessary.
Though Erich never got in line himself, he’d talked to those who did, and many were convinced the rich and powerful were being given preferential treatment. No surprises there.
The dragon was restless, weeks away from the full moon, and none of the usual tactics would soothe it. It got worse when he was close to the temple, as if an invisible thread tethered his inner dragon to Liane. It was concerning. The dragon’s attention could be deadly. The sooner he could save Liane and heal his curse, the better.
Other than interviewing the common folk, Erich spent his time surveying the perimeter of the temple. Its large towers and main building had a few narrow windows, and even if he could get through one, the walls were tall, smooth, and impossible to climb. He hadn’t uncovered any sewer grates or hidden entrances, which had surprised Fritz when Erich had told him. According to Fritz, all church temples were built atop dead veins of magic; there should have been something under it, but there wasn’t.
Erich had observed that while worshippers came in and out through the front, no tradesmen, merchants, acolytes, or priests came out. Even the temple could not provide everything they needed to survive and bought from butchers and artisans from outside the temple. Which led him to a back entrance where deliveries were made; it was unassuming, faded orange, and installed in the side of the hill on which the temple was built. There was a young, disinterested Midnight Guard on duty, watching the door.
Erich talked with the merchants coming and going and learned the delivery schedule and about an upcoming celebration they were receiving deliveries for. With that many people coming in and out, Erich thought it was the perfect time to sneak inside the temple unseen.
There was a line of merchants at the back door when he arrived. And the young Midnight Guard lazily checked his ledger, scratching at the scraggly hairs on his chin as he waved merchants in.
“Hello, my friends,” Erich said to a pair of merchants sitting in a cart at the back of the line. They were transporting what looked like barrels of wine. He had no goods of his own, nor was he on that ledger. But his plan was to slip in with another group.
