I climb in and instantly go for the farthest corner. The relief of breaking physical contact with him is so overwhelming that I practically collapse into the seat, pushing back as far as I can into the plush velvet—the carriage is small, and I want all the distance I can find. To my surprise and delight, the vicar doesn’t immediately follow; instead, he barks additional orders,probably to the driver, given how the carriage rocks.
Lucan is pushed in by a knight next.
He slides in beside me, and there is a single moment where it’s only the two of us. The vicar is still just on the other side of the half-closed door, along with a small army of Mercy Knights. But I’m not paying attention to them. All I see is Lucan, his gaze holding mine. He shifts slightly to face me.
My heart races, and suddenly all the things I was mad about before evaporate. I don’t want to losethis. Whatever it is between us. Even if it’s messy and confusing…it’s real. It’s mine. And one of the last things I have.
“I will get us out of here,” he breathes, voice so low that even in the confines of the carriage, I strain to hear him. “You saved me once already. Now it’s my turn.”
“Lucan, please—” I begin, voice catching.
“He cannot have your power. He cannot haveyou.” There’s a fierce protectiveness to the statement that steals my breath.
I swallow hard, words fighting past the knot in my throat. All I can say in reply is, “I don’t want him to hurt you.”
“Even though I betrayed you?” He doesn’t move. He’s so rigid he must be forcing himself not to reach for me. I can almost feel his hand gliding across my cheek as if to smooth over the vicar’s offending touch.
Dragon-burned hells, Iwishhe could touch me.
“I am hurt, angry… And I could hate you for it. Maybe I should. But that doesn’t mean I want you dead.”
“Doyou hate me?” Desperation creeps into the question.
“Hate you? Of course not.” I catalog his face like it’s a sigil. I want to remember him perfectly for however much time I have left. “Lucan, I…”
The words evaporate on my tongue. Every notion I can come up with is inadequate or incomplete or both. How can I name this feeling that’s sprouted like hope in a scourge-filledwasteland? It’s as though my heart has run off the map of everything I’ve known and straight into uncharted territory.
What is the word for this?
It’s not love. Not yet… Love is somethingmore. At least I imagine it to be.
This feeling is like a blossom—a possibility. Fragile and precious. Itcould belove one day. It could be love with enough apologies and explanations and forgiveness on both sides… Perhaps, it would be love, if we had time.
“You?” Lucan hangs on my unfinished thought.
My heart aches. It doesn’t skip or shudder. It simply hurts in its yearning for him.
But there’s no time. The vicar climbs into the carriage, and Lucan leans away and settles into the seat. The door closes, and with a spark of Etherlight, the carriage lurches forward, the only sound the grinding of the wheels on gravel.
The vicar finally breaks the silence with a dramatic sigh. “I must admit, this is…disappointing. I invested so much in both of you.” He has the tone of a loving father, not the monster that we both know he is.
I nearly lunge for him. It’s almost impossible not to throw my hands around that wiry neck of his and squeeze until he stops breathing.
“You both had so much potential. You, my Valor Reborn”—his eyes shift from me to Lucan—“and you. You were to be my successor. Once I had ascended, you would lead the Creed—my army, as my mortal hand.”
“I would rather die.” The Lucan I saw in the Tribunal is on full display.Thisis the man who loathes the vicar. Who has bitten his tongue for half a decade. Who has played his part time and again even as he made his own movements in the shadows.
“That will be arranged.” The vicar smiles, eyes shining with crazed brutality.
The carriage halts. The ride between Mercy Spire and the Great Chapel is short. The vehicle hasn’t even stopped rocking when the door swings open.
The vicar steps out and extends his hand back to me. “Come. It is time to meet your destiny.”
The urge to slap his hand away is nearly overwhelming.
“Unless you no longer value their lives?” the vicar chides ominously, voice low.
I glance back to Lucan, who sits unflinching, face unreadable. Minutes ago, he was full of hope, promising to get us out of here. Now, he’s as trapped as I am.
