“I have no proof that I can use against him. The only proof I have would incriminate me and give him the opportunity to open allegations of his own.”
That reminds me of what the Summoner said about Dominic. How she thinks there’s something wrong with the way he operates. “What did she mean, by the way?” I ask, unable to hide the trepidation in my tone. “About Shadowbanes nominating their crew to be turned Sinless with them?”
Dominic shakes his head. “I’m not going to nominate any of you. I specifically choose Summoners with no ambition to be made Sinless.”
“Why?”
“An ambitious crew has never served me well in the past. I prefer to be the only one in my crew seeking Absolution.”
“But…doesn’t that go against your nature? Your ideals? Aren’t you fueled by the belief that everyone should seek to become Sinless?” I can guess the real answer. I’ve suspected it for most of my life. Of course the Sinless don’t actually give a shit about making the rest of the continent like them. For if there were no sinners, who the fuck would the Sinless feed from?
We stop outside the loft door. He hesitates, his fingers on the handle. He turns to me and answers in words almost too quiet to hear. The last words I expect. “Why would I wish what I am on anyone else?”
Chapter Eighteen
Inana
Snow falls by the end of our two-week stay in Thornfal. It isn’t too surprising considering winter solstice is mere days away, not to mention our proximity to the mountains. And since we’ve seen no return of aggressive Shades, our post has officially been served.
Dominic was hesitant to trust the letter Henderson delivered, but after a few back-and-forth communications with the nearest church, he validated the missive as authentic. We have no choice but to trust it and go where we’re needed next. Which is the village of Eldeen, a six-day journey north on the other side of the mountain pass. We’ve only been traveling for a day and I’m already restless.
I sit in the back of the wagon, unable to find sleep despite the abundance of blankets, the steady motion of the wagon, and the peaceful semidarkness, broken by a single lantern. Before we left Thornfal, we were gifted a cover for our wagon to keep out the winter elements. When I asked Dominic why he didn’t have one before, he said he did, but it got destroyed by Shades. Not a comforting thing to hear, but all right. Regardless, even with such travel comforts, I can’t keep my eyes closed. And I seem to be the only one.
Bard, Harlow, and Calvin sleep soundly beside me, their soft snores and rhythmic breaths filling our small space. Maybe that’s why I can’tsleep. Thornfal may have spoiled me by giving us such a large room and separate beds.
The last time I couldn’t sleep was the night I found Dominic on the rooftop. Just like then, I emerge from my blankets, wrap my cloak around me, and join him under the night sky.
I don’t meet his eyes as I climb through the canvas flap and onto the driver’s perch. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me. Maybe he could sense I was awake. Sloth greets me at once, a comforting weight on my lap as he lays his head on my thighs. I’m grateful for his shadowy warmth amid the chill in the air. Why did I come out here again? I blow hot breath into my hands, then pull my cloak closed around me. The forest road is quiet, coated in a dusting of snow that brightens the night. At least it isn’t actively snowing, the starry sky only partially obscured by clouds. I spot a few Shades stalking by or peering out at us from the trees that flank the road. It isn’t as unsettling as it was on our first journey, but I’m still not keen to draw their interest.
“Are you used to being awake at night now?” Dominic asks, voice low so as not to carry to the others. Or the Shades.
“Maybe that’s it,” I say, watching my breath form white puffs in the air. Every evening during our last week in Thornfal, Dominic had us join him for his nightly watches. We finally got to train in a way that felt like training, not merely adapting to a threat. We practiced drawing Shades away from the village, entrancing them with our art without triggering their aggression. It appears to be true that Shades only turn frenzied when provoked, either by violence against them or by frightened actions like screaming or running. So long as we stayed calm, made no hasty moves, and expressed tranquility in our art, they remained harmless.
He angles his head to look at me. “It’s too cold for you to be out here.”
I roll my eyes. It hasn’t even been a minute and he’s already trying to get me away from him. “Yes, well, I’m bored. If I stay back there, I’m going to wake them up with my tossing and turning.”
His only reply is a grunt.
I assess him this time, realizing he’s without a cloak or even ridinggloves. His hair is half tied back, his dark sleeves pushed partway up his forearms. “Wait, what about you?”
“My body temperature runs warmer than yours.”
“Really?” I remember assuming as much when I saw him napping in the clearing two weeks back without a blanket. I also recall how uncomfortably warm Lord Wheaton’s hand was when he grabbed me at the Wretched Lair.
“Bastien’s influence,” Dominic says.
I’m surprised. Not by what he said, for I know the sun god is responsible for turning the first Sinless. He taught King Kaelum the Absolution ritual and showed him how to wield solar astrotheurgy to protect his chosen cities. What surprises me is that Dominic offered an explanation so easily, without me dragging it out of him.
It reminds me of what he said on the stairs back at the inn.
Why would I wish what I am on anyone else?
He didn’t explain what he meant by that, and I’ve yet to find the right moment to ask. The way he said it, the edge of pain in his voice, told me he hadn’t meant to say it at all. For now, it’s a puzzle piece in the mystery that is Dominic Graves. I hadn’t even realized he was a mystery until Henderson’s Summoner confronted me. I’m starting to think she was right—there’s something strange about the way Dominic operates. He collects Shades instead of encouraging them to Incarnate with a sacrifice so he can kill them. He offers his Summoners not Absolution but freedom. Yet he’s been betrayed by his Summoners. And even though he supposedly wouldn’t wish what he is on anyone else, he seeks to complete his Absolution.
A puzzle indeed. One I’ll have to tread carefully to figure out.
My eyes drop to the side of his face, the scar that runs over his cheekbone, half hidden in his short beard.
