“Talk.” Ronan lets go of Coira and beckons towards the squire.
She runs into the hallway, her eyes constantly darting between each of the intruders. Her fist is closed around something, and when she gets to Ronan, she thrusts it out towards him. Something about the look in her eyes makes him reach out to take it, even before she explains, “Karis told me to give this to you.”
A familiar earring rests in the palm of Ronan’s hand.
“Where is he?” Ronan asks.
“Something’s wrong with the church,” she says. “Everyone knows it, but they’re too—they don’tdoanything.”
“Where is he?” Ronan repeats, fear clawing through his throat.
“They’re taking him to Fort Tarhaeg. I don’t know why. They just left.” Her eyes are red. “I’m scared for him.”
The drums keep beating through the walls, and flame-yellow defensive magic bursts in Ronan’s peripheral vision. “We need to move, Ronan,” Dansa says sharply. “We can’t secure this place, and there’s paladin’s coming.”
Without thinking, Ronan pulls out Songbird’s Flute. “I’m taking the Crown of Vara to Karis,” he says, shoving the flute into Dansa’s hands. “If I’m not at Dawn’s Tomb in twenty minutes, evacuate without me.”
He knows this is reckless. But before anyone can tell him that, before anyone can even try to stop him, he drives his elbow through one of the tall clear windows.
Glass shatters, and Ronan leaps through the shower of crystal blades into the garden outside. If the glass cuts him, he doesn’t feel it. The only thing he feels is the earring in his fist, drawing blood from his palm with his desperate grip.
?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
KARIS
Neradt’s chanted truth spell breaks off when someone pounds on the door. Radiance dissipates from his palm, and he barks, “What is it?”
Karis jumps, still braced to counter the threat of compulsion. A priest rushes into Neradt’s office, leaving the door open behind him. Panic in his eyes, he still pauses to bow deeply to Neradt before bending close and whispering something inaudible to him.
The cathedral drums begin to pound.
Neradt’s brows draw into a dangerous frown, and he shoves the panicked priest away. He addresses Brech and the Dravan soldier with the buzzcut. “Escort us to Tarhaeg at once,” he says, striding towards the door in a flurry of golden robes. “Vara guide us all.”
“Fuck you,” Karis spits, incensed. “You don’t have the right to say his name.”
Brech slaps him. His head rocks to one side with the force of her gauntleted palm. Pain blooms through his already-hurt cheek. The room spins as Buzzcut seizes his shoulder and shoves him forward.
“Don’t resist,” Buzzcut advises. “You’ll regret it at Tarhaeg.”
New blood slides hot down Karis’s cheek. Tastes of iron on his tongue. His skull pounds with the rhythm of the drums.
Karis doesn’t want to go to Fort Tarhaeg. He has a very, very bad feeling about Fort Tarhaeg. Maybe that—and how stomach-churning dizzy he is from that slap—keeps him from realizing one crucial fact until they reach the main hall. Going to Fort Tarhaeg requires leaving the Bright Cathedral. Once he crosses that threshold, he’ll have an edge.
Enough of an edge to take on five Radiant paladins, three Dravan soldiers, and the archpriest? He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care.
Karis spits out a mouthful of blood on the pristine marble floor. Win or die, he’ll do it in a glorious blaze of Radiance.
They march into the great courtyard as dawn breaks over the city skyline. The Bright Cathedral’s wings are spread to celebrate the morning. As soon as Karis crosses the threshold, that sunlight pours into him, soothing and reviving as it coils around his soul. Guarding. Waiting.
Have faith,Vara says.
Karis laughs, giddy, with blood on his teeth. He says out loud, “Welcome back.”
“Who the fuck are you talking to?” Brech shoves him again. Archpriest Neradt stops short, turning with a troubled expression on his face.
Delay them for one minute. Help is coming.
