“Murdering his family for the sake of a stronger nation makes him nothing short of a monster.”
“True,” I say, looking once more out to the spires of the palace in the distance. “But I’m good at dealing with monsters.”
Chapter 9
Sophos
Ipace the corridors of the Grand Bearer’s court. Waiting.
Every day I spend between these walls, under the command ofthat man, my conscience grows heavier. I can hardly remember the joy that used to fill me when I stepped into the high temple. Instead, it’s getting harder and harder to look Marek Caledon in the eye, to bow and scrape to him without giving away a trace of my disgust.
But I must play my part. For the sake of the gods. For Trova’s children.
I still don’t know for certain if celestial power is a force for good or bad when put in the hands of mortals, but I know it can’t be worse than the murder of innocents—and these childrenareinnocent. I refuse to believe my precious nephew, Olin, and those like him can be blamed for the power they wield.
How could I ever have been blind enough to think otherwise? But now I must make up for that blindness, however I can.
The door in front of me creaks open.
“Bearer Claes,” I greet the lean, red-headed bearer as she exits the Grand Bearer’s office.
“Bearer Sophos,” she inclines her head, then glances at the door behind her. “It seems we’re all getting our summons today,” she says wryly.
“Indeed,” I reply, trying to read her face. Did she have bad news to give the Grand Bearer, or good? She doesn’t look too disturbed, which must mean the meeting went smoothly. “All is well, I assume?”
“Oh yes, it’s just busy these days. You know that better than any of us, I’m sure.”
I smile. “Naturally. But they are exciting times too.” I hesitate, wondering if I might be able to push her for information. “Of course, if there’s ever anything I can help with…”
I’m answered by a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, and I realize I’ve overstepped. We both know I’ve never made her an offer like this before. I lower my gaze, summoning a somber expression.
“After the murder of Bearer Polis in Hallowbane, I’m more conscious than ever of our duty to support our fellow bearers,” I say. “If I had been there more for our colleague—may he rest in peace—then perhaps he would not have strayed. Then he would have never found himself in that cursed establishment, at the heathens’ mercy.”
“I hope you’re not worriedIhave fallen foul of the same blasphemy as Bearer Polis?” Bearer Claes says stiffly. I fight to hide a wince. I’ve insulted her, which is…not ideal. But at least she seems to believe my motive for asking about her work.
“No, no, of course not,” I say hastily. “Please forgive me, I merely mean that we are stronger when we work together.”
Bearer Claes’s expression is guarded, but I’m still considered the Grand Bearer’s special advisor, and she knows better than to totally rebuff me.
“It’s a noble thought, Bearer Sophos,” she says diplomatically. “But I really am doing fine. Our project…well, it’s just a new scheme we’re heading up with the lords in Godom, and they’re already faithful followers of the Temple. I don’t expect any problems there. Thank you for the offer, all the same.”
I don’t believe her gratitude for a moment, but the vagueness of her answer is another reminder that she doesn’t trust me. That’s typical—none of us trust each other these days. The Grand Bearer has become much more cautious recently with what he allows us to share with each other, and that wariness has naturally filtered down through the ranks, blocking my attempts at information gathering.
“Not at all,” I say, realizing I’m not going to get any further. “I mustn’t keep His Grace waiting any longer. Good day, Bearer Claes.”
“Good day, Bearer Sophos.”
I push through the heavy door. This is another sign of change. Normally, we meet informally by the reflecting pool at the center of his court, but today the Grand Bearer is receiving me in his office. It could be nothing, simply a practical choice after he had other meetings today. Or it could signal that he’s putting more distance between us, wrapping himself in secrecy like armor.
I can’t let that happen, not if I’m going to stop those plans.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” I say. He’s standing by the vast, arched window that overlooks the city, sunshine streaming across the shoulders of his white robes. He turns, and it’s then I see we’re not alone.
My heart sinks into my stomach.
The woman is on her knees, her wrists chained together. I don’t recognize her. Her hair falls lankly about her face, which is stained with tears. Her lips are cracked and bloody, like she’s chewed right through them in fear. When she sees me enter, her eyes widen, and she turns as much as she can to address me.
“Please help me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t?—”
