“Rude,” Alyss muttered as she retrieved her bag from underneath the sofa and began scribbling in it.
“Rude is going off without any word as to where.” Cullen glared at her.
“You’re not my father, lord, or savior.” Olivin folded his arms and leaned against the sofa. “See how well trying to order me around is going to work out for you.”
Cullen buried his face in his hands and groaned. “It’s late. I was worried. Please, someone just tell us what happened.”
Eira stepped forward. “It was my idea.”
“Of course it was.” Noelle didn’t seem perturbed, more amused.
“Isn’t it always?” Ducot glanced in Noelle’s direction. Out of everyone, he always had the easiest time finding her.
“Yes, always,” Alyss agreed.
“For the record, I did consult with Alyss, Olivin, and Ducot first. I didn’t just run off.”
“Paragons of good influence,” Noelle said sarcastically.
“I am a delightfully bad influence.” Ducot folded his arms, looking rather smug.
“We have a tunnel out to town.” Eira tried to keep the conversation moving for her own sake. “It’s here, underneath the table.” Cullen and Noelle were now too shocked to say anything, so she continued, telling them everything that happened. “…But we’re back, and no one is the wiser.”
They were all silent, processing. Alyss was the first to speak. She rested her pen a moment. “I should have said this earlier, but thank you for not staying in the warehouse when he arrived.”
Eira nodded. “I promised you I wouldn’t try to cut his throat in the night just because it was the first opportunity.”
“Not that cutting his throat would do any good,” Cullen said solemnly.
“Why not? It sounds like amarvelousidea to me.”
“I’m inclined to agree with the lady. There are a few people who would still be breathing right now if Ulvarth had his throat cut and that sounds good to me,” Olivin said venomously.
“Me too,” Ducot added with equal severity.
“I know we all have personal vendettas. But think about it—you kill him, andthen what?” Cullen demanded to know.
“Then he’s dead. Gone. He can’t hurt anyone anymore,” Eira said. She didn’t see how Cullen couldn’t grasp that.
“And you think that’d be it?” Cullen locked eyes with her. “The Pillars are anidea. They’re led by a man, yes. But people don’t live and die for the Pillars because of Ulvarth, for Ulvarth. They do it for what herepresents. From all you’ve said—from what we saw at the ball—people are ready to believe that there truly are forces of the divine at play. That he is a chosen champion, hand-picked by their goddess, destined to bring Meru into a golden age. And we all know how important the faith of Yargen is to the people of Meru.”
“Exactly. So if we kill Ulvarth, we show them all that he was nothing more than a man all along. No divine power to save him from my very mortal hands.” Eira leaned against the table, staring him down.
“No. You make him a martyr,” Cullen countered, sounding too much like Deneya for Eira’s tastes. “You saw what snuffing the false Flame of Yargen did. People didn’t believe that it was the flame any less because you snuffed it. It only gave them anew villain for their anger—you.” His throat constricted at the end with what she could only assume was worry.
Eira glanced askance. “People will think differently when it’s the leader that’s taken down.”
“Will they? Or will they see you as killing the messenger of their goddess?” Cullen was relentless in the wake of Eira’s silence. No one came to her aid. Which meant…Cullen had a point. “And what will stop another person from assuming Ulvarth’s place? What we’re fighting against isn’t a man who can be killed, or a building that can be dismantled. We’re fighting against amovement.”
“A movement of a land that isn’t even our home.” Noelle sighed and sat on the sofa, sparking a fire in the hearth to stare into. Ducot rested a hand on her shoulder. She leaned into it.
“He’ll come for everyone, if you give him the chance,” Ducot said solemnly. “I’ve seen what he can do…the man is hate incarnate. And he cares for no one beyond himself.”
“He will burn the world and call it ‘holy fire,’” Olivin murmured.
“That’s why…” Eira brought her eyes to Cullen’s and held his gaze, unmoving. Sorrow filled his stare. He knew what she was going to say before she said it. She could feel his knowing. See it in his expression. He knew it…because he knew her. More and better than anyone. He could see straight through her. Hiding from everyone else was second nature, but from him was an aberration. “When the time comes, I’m not going to spare him. I can’t.”
“I don’t want you to.” Cullen sounded sincere enough that Eira wasn’t instantly dissuaded. “I’m just saying he has to be ended the right way—you have to show he’s nothing more than a man to everyone who might think to follow him. Not a champion. Not a chosen one of Yargen. A twisted, pathetic man who’s not worth his flesh and blood. If you merely kill him ‘inthe night,’ he will be reborn, twice as strong. So if you’re to strike him down, Eira, you have to do it only when you’ve dismantled everything he’s ever stood for, ever been. Killing him won’t be enough; you have to absolutely annihilate him.”
