“Ah.”
I turned to see the edge of Elder White’s smile. He wiped his forehead with a white handkerchief. “Yes, that makes sense.” He shot me a warning look. “Lilith, come here.”
Seething inside, I made sure my expression was pleasant. “Yes, Elder White?”
“Come,” he said impatiently. “You will see to his comfort and bring him a meal if he desires. Then get back to your home where you belong.”
I dipped in a curtsy, dropping my eyes in case I wasn’t able to hide my frustration. “As you command, Elder.” I followed two steps behind the men—one human, dressed in black, the other seraph, bare-chested with a sword strapped to his back between his wings. Those glorious wings were folded tightly against him, as if he didn’t want to touch anything around him.
They went up the stone steps toward the green door of the church.
I bit the inside of my cheek to hide a smile. The elders had no idea who they were welcoming into the fold. I’d long thought that Reverend Grimshaw was a touch arrogant, but it was never my place to say anything. Besides, I was supposed to be a pretty face. My mind wasn’t supposed to be quick and sharp. Perhaps I was arrogant, too, perhaps I thought I was smarter than I actually was. Because surely the men were elders for a reason, weren’t they? And I’d been chosen by Erlik to be a pretty face for another reason, hadn’t I?
Regardless, I’d always wondered if Grimshaw and the elders understood that by finding the Herald and bringing him into the church to worship, it meant ceding some of their own authority. It wasn’t like bringing a statue into a shrine. These Heralds were living, breathing beings with much closer ties to Erlik than mere humans. They would expect to have the final say in the church, surely. I used to think the elders were wise, humble men who only wanted the best for the congregation. But I’d served in enough meetings to know they bickered and argued just as much as the women cooking in the kitchens. They would struggle to follow another’s leadership, even if it was from the Herald they’d searched for for so many years.
Through the entry hall we went. I paused to shut the door behind us. Our footsteps made soft, echoing sounds against the stone floor and walls. Elder White led us down the left cloister. Dark wooden pews lined the center of the room, facing a pulpit and altar at the end. A large, carved wooden throne sat behind that, half in shadow. A door here and there, off to the side, led to workrooms, where the women spent most of their time while the men studied and worshiped. Darkness rolled out from the corners of the room, spreading tendrils in search of something to latch onto. The few lit candles couldn’t beat back the shadows, but they did highlight the moldy corners of the church.
At the end of the cloister stood another wooden door.
Beside the door, tucked into an old alcove, a little table sat with a candle and statue perched atop it. It was covered in shadows and dust. Most people seemed to have forgotten it existed. But I loved that little alcove because of the fading, chipped painting someone had put there ages ago.
Before this became the Church of the Love of His Divine Saints, it had been abandoned when the neighborhood had emptied. Inhabitants sixty years ago had moved further into Lownden, making this the perfect place for the first Reverend Grimshaw and his elders to plant their church and draw other families in. The building was two or three centuries old, and while no one had ever told me what sort of worship happened here, I could guess by the painting.
As we passed the faded figures of Lord Erlik and Mother Emmas looked down at me with benevolent gazes, though their eyes had chipped away. Erlik wore gray, the color of death, and his wife, Mother Emmas, wore a soft green that had aged into nearly white. They stood together, their hands clasped. At his feet sat an hourglass and at hers, a little stream. Between the hourglass and stream lay a shepherd’s staff. It was so…comforting, so loving, it made my chest ease.
Worship for Mother Emmas had dwindled over the last few hundred years. I didn’t know if covens even existed anymore. But this image of the two primary gods together, one in marriage and in nature, warmed my heart. Some of the sacred precepts called Lord Erlik a loving father who shepherded his children home after life. While the elders used this imagery all the time—and encouraged the men in the congregation to be an earthly Erlik in their own family, ruling with benevolence and wisdom—the only time I really understood was when I looked at this old painting.
The door creaked open, jerking me back to the present.
“As you can see, we prepared a luxurious suite for you, Herald, sir.” Elder White gestured for Castiel to go through.
Castiel paused, inspecting the threshold.
“Ah. Hmm.” Elder White flushed as he realized the problem. “I, uh, I suppose we made this without considering your size.” He glanced back at me, glaring. As if it was my fault.
“Who took these measurements?” he hissed as Castiel eyed the frame.
I shrugged helplessly. I don’t think anyone had considered measurements at all. A bar lock had been installed on the outside of the door. That hadn’t been there before, had it? We hadn’t needed a lock on the storeroom before. Would Castiel have an opinion on that?
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The height and width? You can see the problem, can’t you?”
As if I was the one at fault. But I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Castiel dropped his wings, letting the primary feathers trail the ground and tightened them to his back. Then he ducked his head and, well, wiggled through. For lack of a better word. I blinked, delighted to see such a graceless move from a normally graceful creature. He’d been perfectly frightening when I first met him.
He turned to look at Elder White and me, surprise crossing his face as he saw how I reacted to White’s scolding. “All is well,” he assured. “Though you may want to bring some craftsmen.”
“Right away,” White hastily agreed. “In the morning, perhaps? So we do not disturb your sleep? Or—do Heralds sleep?”
Castiel’s eyes narrowed for a split second. I didn’t think White saw it. “We do rest, but do not require the same hours as humans.”
“Of course.” White nodded sagely, as if this wasn’t new information for him. “Let us continue.”
I followed a few steps behind, entering a lavish room. The men had been hard at work renovating the storeroom. Now, plaster covered the bare stone walls and had been painted: blue and green fleur de lis over cream with heavy draperies to add color. A massive bed was in one part of the room with the canopy drawn back to show the featherbed and fluffy eiderdown cover.
Scant furniture lined the room—a stool, a small table, a bench. All backless. A heavy armoire sat in one corner of the room beside two large trunks. It had no windows, being for storage, and despite the stove tucked in a corner for warmth and gaslamps on the table, it looked dim and overpowering. Much like how Reverend Grimshaw’s sermons made me feel.
I curled inward, feeling crowded.
