Smoke so thick it blotted out the sun. Running through darkness and flame, smoldering ash filling my nose and clotting my mouth. Bodies littering the ground. Every way forward blocked by rubble and fire, only one way—the worst way: up.
Unbearable heat on an upswell of wind… Then those two unnatural eyes, staring back at me. A parted maw, crackling with a blaze that threatened to consume me.
Until it didn’t…
“It still hurting you?” Saipha asks.
I quickly lower my hand from my chest. “Just itches today.” Damn that habit of mine. I can’t show weakness here. They’re all watching me, expecting me to be Valor. And every inquisitor is looking for a reason to suspect the curse.
“It’s not going to—”
“No, it won’t interfere.” I finish her question before her, sounding more confident than I feel.
“Good! Shall we go see our rooms?”
“Sure.” Most of the supplicants are headed that way anyway.
There’s a staircase with a carved stone sign over its archway that readsResidence Hall.
I’m the last up the stairs, since the rest passed me while I was transfixed on the center statue when I first walked in. That little slip-up does have the benefit now of giving me a view of all the other supplicants—which is also a way to spin my pause as intentional, should anyone bring it up.
I recognize a good few, I think, but it’s hard to be sure. ButI can’t tear my eyes off one. I still can’t believe Lucan went on ahead of me. I don’t trust him for a second.
As if he senses my stare, Lucan’s attention is pulled in my direction. His hazel gaze locks with mine. I hold it just long enough to be clear I’m not going to back down but not so long it feels weird. He turns to look ahead, and I let out a relieved breath.
I grab Saipha’s elbow. The stairs are too narrow for us to walk side by side, so we’re awkwardly half sharing steps so I can whisper in her ear.
“You finally get to see him. The vicar’s son.” Lucan rarely leaves the Grand Chapel of Mercy, so despite knowing him pretty well through all my stories, Saipha hasn’t yet had the displeasure of meeting him. “The guy with the blond-brownish hair, darker underneath.”
Saipha follows my gaze, finding Lucan. “The one whose broad shoulders are presently winning a fight against the seams on his shirt?”
I roll my eyes, pretending like I didn’t notice. “Yeah, that’s the one.”
She makes a noise of disgust. “You neglected to tell me how good-looking he is.”
“I mentioned it.” Once. Before his loyalty to the vicar got in the way of me ever seeing him as attractive again.
“You might have conceded it in passing. But you did not sufficiently emphasize the strength of that jawline.”
“Saipha.Gross.”
She sighs dramatically. “You know I’m weak for messy hair and sad eyes.”
“I have faith you’ll persevere,” I say flatly.
Supplicants break away at different levels. Long halls of doors await. Saipha and I continue heading up and around. The stairs seem to go on forever—most buildings in Vinguard are capped attwo floors. The Grand Chapel, Mercy Spire, and the monastery are the only three that stretch higher.
The monastery is usually home to many of the curates of the Creed, particularly those who are young and without family dwellings of their own, though it’s fully evacuated for the three weeks of the Tribunal. There are many more rooms than there are supplicants, so we can take our pick…and I want to be as far as possible from everyone else—especially Lucan. So, when I see him go down the second-floor hall, I hastily make my way to the third, then fourth.
We’re the only two who decided to go this high up. It’s instinct for most in Vinguard to stay close to the ground, me included. I’m warring against that frightened part of me and doing what a Mercy Knight, a dragon hunter—what Valor would do. We check out the six doors on this hall—one of them is a bathroom at the end—to ensure we’re alone. Then I pull us into the hall and wait, watching the curve of the spiral stair.
“What is it?” Saipha has the sense to keep her voice down.
I don’t answer. I hold up a hand, listening. Footsteps are approaching. I hate it when I’m right in the worst possible way.
Lucan crests the stairs, and our eyes meet again. This time, he stops, holding my gaze. A chill sweeps over me. He just…stands there,staring. As if he’s waiting for me to do something. Say something.
I step forward and open my mouth to speak, but another supplicant’s panicked words fill the void.
