“Make your accusation plainly, priest.”
Silas gripped Inari’s shoulder. “There are no accusations. Yet.”
Even Oda had lifted her head from her book, now cast aside on the window seat. The guard stepped forth, reaching for the hilt of her sword.
Inari cast a glance to Aloisia, as if asking for help. With everyone closing in on him, he looked like a trapped animal seeking a route to escape. Aloisia stood frozen in place.
The shaman knocked the high priest’s hand from his shoulder. “Is this the thanks I get for aiding you? I did not have to come here today, yet I offered all the same.”
“True enough,” Silas said. “However, we do not know you, shaman. Nor your true motives.”
“If I were connected to this, do you think I would be fool enough to come here?”
“A fair point.” Silas folded his hands before him. “All the same, it would be best that we see this marking of yours. To rule out any connection, you understand?”
Inari turned to Aloisia again, a faint hope in his eyes that she would refute them.
But she couldn’t. Not when she knew the similarity between the marks. Not when she didn’t know the shaman, not really. Not when she had no clue where he had come from, how he had come to be in the Dead Woods, or why he was here and not wherever his home had been.
As much as she believed him, she could not risk it. Not when it came to her family.
With each passing moment, as Aloisia held her tongue, what little trust Inari had for her faded from his eyes. His jaw set, he turned back to the high priest.
“Fine,” Inari said. “But how are you drawing connections? The markings on this woman’s body are imbued with magic. Mine are only the vision of a seer from near ten years ago.”
“I see.” Silas considered him. “This vision… It is what the seer saw for your future, no?”
“It is. Though its meaning is open to interpretation. Just because it is etched on my skin doesn’t mean the future is set in stone.”
Silas nodded. “Of course. Whilst I know little of such things, I gather seers see the future more as an ever-changing web of threads, creating a tapestry as time moves forward, rather than a carving in stone. What is behind us cannot change, for it has already been woven. What lies ahead is designed based on the decisions each person makes, moving the threads to create new patterns.”
“Just so.” Inari seemed impressed by this deduction. “How, then, can you decide what my markings mean?”
“I think you have stalled long enough, shaman,” Tristan said.
“Do you, priest?” Inari stepped back, his fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt. “Fine. Look upon my own markings. Make your decision on them. But do not think me a fool. If I had any connection to this, I would not have set foot within this Temple nor offered my aid.” He cast his shirt aside, bearing the patterns that entwined over his arms, travelling along his torso and back.
As many markings as he bore, their interest was in one alone.
The hawk upon his heart.
TWENTY FOUR
OdadrewherbladeatthesightofthehawktattoouponInari’schest.“It’sidentical.”Shelevelledtheswordattheshaman’sthroat.
Inari tensed, the blade kissing his neck.
“The only difference is the one on Brighde’s chest is upside down,” Tristan said. “You knew. Hence why you stalled.”
“Put that sword away!” Silas bellowed. “I will not have any bloodshed in the House of the Divines.”
Oda stared at the high priest for a long moment, clearly reluctant to obey.
“Lower your weapon, guard.” Silas placed a hand on her arm.
“I was sent here to protect you all. Forgive me if I do not comply. I am just doing my duty.”
Silas let out a long-drawn sigh. “Then you had best speak candidly, shaman. What is the meaning of this?”
