The Vaguer had converged on her as soon as she slid off Fihr. The exhaustion from the journey had made her too slow for their advance, and they’d taken her easily. They’d blindfolded and bound her before she’d been able to loosen a knife. The blindfold seemed a bit dramatic, though, especially given they’d removed it as soon as they’d bound her to the chair.
The hut was one large, simple room, with a bed in the corner, a small stove, and a table. They’d dragged her chair to the middle of the room and left her there.
Aya rested her head back against the chair and let out a steady breath through her nose. She could break these bonds with her power with half a thought. But she sensed the Vaguer enjoyed dramatics. So she waited.
Aya wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the older man stepped into the hut. He was pale despite the desert sun, his head bald and his skin weathered. But it was his eyes that had some deep warning bell ringing inside her. They were almost completely black; depthless, like the pits of the hells themselves.
He grinned, tugging a chair forward so he could sit opposite her. He wore robes of gray.
‘It has been a long time since a visitor braved the desert to find us.’ His voice was reedy, and a shiver worked up her spine as she held his gaze. ‘Longer still since one survived. What is your name?’
Aya lifted her chin. ‘You first.’
The man chuckled. ‘We do not take them here.’
She fought the urge to prod further. She had a feeling the Vaguer weren’t generous with their information. She wouldn’t waste her questions.
‘Aya,’ she finally said, shifting slightly against her bindings.
The man sat back in his chair, testing her name in a breath. ‘Ayaaa,’ he purred. ‘And to what do we owe the pleasure, Aya?’
‘I wish to learn how the practitioners survived the Decachiré. I hear that in your devotion to Evie, you’ve studied such things.’ Her delivery was blunt in a way that would’ve made Will roll his eyes, and her heart clenched at the thought of him.
The Vaguer laughed again, the sound more like a rasp. ‘You expect us to assist you in heresy?’
‘I’m merely asking you to share your knowledge.’
He crossed his thin arms, his brows rising as he settled back in his seat. ‘And why would you have a need for such information?’
Aya let her flame rise, let it burn away the bonds that held her to the chair. Then she summoned wind, let it scatter the ashes of the rope around them.
‘Because like you, I know that knowledge is crucial to defeating the Decachiré.’
The Vaguer’s eyes gleamed. ‘Whatareyou?’
There was a hunger to the question that Aya wanted to balk from. But she didn’t drop the Vaguer’s gaze as he continued to stare at her.
‘I sense your raw power, but …’ Suddenly, he let out agleeful laugh, the sound cracking through the room like thunder. ‘A dark saint? Could such a thing exist?’
So he sensed it too – that darkness that fueled her power. Aya swallowed. Aidon had said the Vaguer knew no bounds in their thirst for knowledge. She was counting on it.
‘I don’t know. But I can’t use it,’ she rasped. ‘My power. Not fully. It’s feeding on me, just like the Decachiré.’
The man considered her for a moment, his head tilting as he took her in. ‘It’s not knowledge you seek. It’sconfirmation.’
The word rattled between them, settling heavily in the dry heat. Aya frowned, but the Vaguer continued.
‘You’ve heard the tales of Saint Evie. Of the sacrifice her parents were willing to make to become immortal.’
‘A sacrifice she tried to stop.’
‘Yes. And the practitioners say that her interference is what caused the ritual to be incomplete.’
Aya blinked at the man. ‘How so?’
The Vaguer leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees. Aya fought the urge to lean away from him, to get as far back from those depthless eyes as possible.
‘The level of raw power needed to practice the Decachiré leads the affinity to devour its host. Only those that continue to feed it with their darkness can survive.’
