“I’m going to check on Calvin,” Harlow says. Once she leaves, I scoot closer to Dominic, looking him over and assessing what else I might be able to do to make him more comfortable. I unhook his belt of knives, his vials. Then I stare down at his torso, still half covered by his ruined shirt. I suppose I can use it to wipe the rest of the blood off him. Gingerly, I cut it away from the portion trapped behind him and lift it off his chest.
My eyes widen.
Not only because it’s my first time seeing him shirtless, the expanse of rippling muscle, the deep V that disappears beneath his waistband. It isn’t even the blood smeared over his side.
No, it’s the mark on his chest.
At first, I take it for a tattoo, but the lines are too faint. Too pale.
It’s a scar.
An intricate scar of countless lines that spans the front of his chest, from his upper abdomen to just a few inches beneath his wound.
An astrotheurgical diagram.
I shudder at how similar it looks to the one I glimpsed at the bottom of the Holy Brazier the day Henry came to take my heart. So similar to the one etched on Dominic’s sword. I never imagined I’d see a ritual circle carved into flesh. It’s repulsive, yet…beautiful somehow, or maybe that’s just because it’s on Dominic’s skin.
With bated breath, I reach out a tentative hand, letting my fingertip graze one of the lines. I trace the raised skin, a chill creeping into my blood as I follow the angle from his sternum to above his pectoral. Much like the cut on my chest—
My hand goes still as something falls upon it. Dominic’s fingers close over mine, halting my moves. I try to snatch my hand away, but his grip is stronger than it should be for someone who’s been unconscious for the last several minutes. Though it’s the hand on his unwounded side, so perhaps the bastard remains somewhat strong.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.” His voice comes out deep and raspy and his eyes remain closed. “No one is supposed to see.”
Understanding dawns. An astrotheurgical diagram. Symbols and glyphs kept secret by the church, forbidden to the eyes of the public. “Is that why you said you blindfold your…” I almost saylovers,but the word gets tangled behind my lips. What’s wrong with me? It’s hardly a sexy word. Maybe it’s the blindfold part that got me riled up. “Is that why you made a vow not to let anyone see you unclothed?”
He nods, a subtle motion.
“What happens if you break that vow?”
His mouth parts, and he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. I watch it with way more fascination than I’m willing to admit. “Blood,” he says. “Hand me my vials.”
I do as he asked. Normally I’d balk at such a curt demand, but I can’t fault him for that sharp demeanor now. Besides, if he needs blood, I’m in no position to keep it from him. Not unless I want towitness what Calvin suggested could happen if Dominic doesn’t get enough blood while wounded.
I hand him his holster of vials, and he selects one. With how much the wagon already smells like blood, I can’t even make out the scent from the open vial. Just like he did when we fled the camp, he tips it back and downs the entire contents.
Finally, his lashes flutter open. His eyes find mine at once. “Cover me. Don’t let anyone else see.”
I return his scrap of shirt to his chest. Then I unhook my cloak and lay that over him too for good measure. “Are you going to answer my question? I’ve already seen it. What happens now?”
“I’ve vowed not toshowmy scar to anyone orletanyone see it. Your actions were all your own, and I was in no state to stop you. So if the church ever tests me with Shades to see if I’m lying about keeping my vows, I’ll pass.”
I’m surprised to hear the church uses Shades to test Shadowbanes, but I suppose it makes sense. I’ve heard criminal trials are handled in a similar way; I’ve just never known if it’s true. Do the authorities truly use Shades in the name of justice? How? From what I’ve gleaned, it’s taboo enough that Dominic catches Shades. Does the same not go for the church and inquisitors?
I want to ask, but there are more pressing questions on my mind. Especially while we’re still alone. “What is it? The scar?”
He sighs, closing his eyes again. “There are some vows that are harder to get around.”
“It has to do with your Absolution, doesn’t it?”
“Smart woman.”
I hate the way my stomach flips at his praise. It’s the only conclusion that makes sense, though. Absolution is an astrotheurgical ritual that strips one’s soul of sin, making it pure and incapable of attracting Shades. It’s how humans become Sinless. The process of Absolution has been kept a secret by the church ever since it was performed on the very first man who was made Sinless—King Kaelum—five hundred years ago. Of course a ritual circle would be used. I just never imagined it was carved into the person’s chest. No wonder he had tovow not to show his naked body to anyone. His very flesh is carved with secrets forbidden to common folk.
But why does Dominic bear a scar at all? I’ve seen other Sinless shirtless before, and they bore no such marks. They flaunted their bodies at the Wretched Lair as if they were the peak of beauty. And maybe they are, to some.
I gaze down at Dominic’s covered chest, recalling every dip and rise of his chiseled torso. He isn’t sleek and dazzling. He’s rough. Broad. Hard. And for some reason, I find that so much more alluring than any other male form I’ve seen.
Will he still look the same after he completes his Absolution? Or will all those rough edges be smoothed away, leaving him like one of those too-perfect bastards I despise?
