A game I’m already tired of.
I shoot the man a glare and turn. Challenging an inquisitor? I’m not thinking straight.Pull yourself together. This is about survival, not hurt feelings. I place my hand over my sternum, to quell not the itch, but the ache deep in my chest.
I should return to the safety of our base.
“Pssst.”
The sound comes from the mezzanine off the library. Cindel leans with her arms draped over the railing. Of course, out of everyone I might stumble into, it would be her.I was looking for someone to give me a challenge. We lock eyes. She gives me a come-hither motion with a curl of her finger.
Despite my misgivings, my curiosity is too great—or my self-preservation is still too low—to turn down the invitation, and Imake my way upstairs. She’s hardly moved when I arrive. It’s only as I approach that she straightens away from the railing, leaning her hip against it. I can make out two other figures in the shadows of the shelves behind her; I don’t get any closer.
“Out for a stroll?” she asks, as if this is a perfectly normal interaction.
I shrug. “Something like that.”
“It’s fortuitous. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
“Have you?” My tone is dry and uninterested. I cross my arms and tap my foot, trying to press her to tell me whatever it is she has to say.
“I wanted to apologize for how I acted after the Font.” She grips the railing harder, as though bracing herself. I see the slight tilt in her body as she leans back—away from the idea of apologizing to me. It’s only a flash of tiny movements, but I don’t miss any of them. “I wasn’t in my right mind.”
A pang of sympathy has my muscles relaxing slightly. “It’s all right. I understand. Consider your apology accepted.” I turn to leave.
But she stops me, pushing off the railing. “You don’t believe me.”
I regard her warily but say nothing.
Cindel smiles. It’s as bitter as vinegar. “I have something I want to give you, a gesture of goodwill.”
“Go on.” Every part of me is still on guard. But grief can change people. Especially grief as profound as losing a parent.
“I discovered a cache. I’m going to let you have it.”
“I don’t believe you,” I blurt.
That bitter smile presses thinner. “I had a feeling you’d say that. Fine, I want half of what’s inside, and I’m too much of a coward to get it. Butyoucould.” Cindel acting in her own interest, I do believe. And if my theory is right about where they’ve placed the caches, it would be challenging to get to.
“Why have me do it? Why not one of your”—I almost saylackeys—“friends?”
She gives a soft snort, as though she doesn’t see them as such. “They’re too scared, too. But I thought Valor Reborn would be brave enough.”
She has me. I either back down and look like a coward, like I’m not Valor Reborn—I can feel the eyes of the inquisitor in the archway below on me—or I follow her into what feels very much like a trap. I glance at the man in the archway. His hooded face is definitely turned our way.
Damn. He’s going to know if I back down, and it’ll get to the vicar. My father’s warnings about obliging Vicar Darius right now more than ever ring in my ears.
Although…there is the slight possibility that Cindel is sincere. One more cache might be all we need. Then we wouldn’t have to search for anything else. We could hole up in our little room and play games and tell stories for three days. I’d do anything to see my best friend at ease again.
I suppose it doesn’t hurt to look, I think before getting swept away in the fantasy of an easy few days before the final test. “Show me.”
“This way.” She pushes away from the railing and turns.
I fall into step after her, her two lackeys behind me. I’m very aware of their presence, my guard all the way up. The shadows of the monastery completely envelop us as we leave the faint light of the library.
There are no signs of life around us, even though I know that supplicants and inquisitors are there. Cindel leads us through the corridors, up into the artificer tower. For a second, I think she’s going straight for our hiding spot, but she turns into another workshop.
As we enter, I have the distinct sensation of eyes upon me. I glance over my shoulder, past the lackeys, and into the cornerswere the shadows cling. No one is there.
“It’s just out here…” Cindel says, guiding us around a shelf of tools to a narrow window with wind hissing through it. The wall around the window frame is pockmarked with the holes left behind by nails. A tarp that I can only assume had been blocking the opening a short time ago is crumpled on the floor. “Can you see it?” She stands off to the side and points.
