Under Nox’s dim glare, Azariah trekked up Henge Hill. The time to speak with Camadaea and the other illustrae would soon arrive, but he needed to talk to Faedryn first. Too much was slipping out of control.
Last night, he’d met with Lucran, Tyrinia, and the inquisitors in Highreach. He’d managed to play on Tyrinia’s peculiar hatred of Lorelei and seen to it that Lorelei’s request to continue her investigations had blown up in her face—instead of getting permission to continue, she’d lost her place as an inquisitor altogether. He’d left the palace feeling like things were well in hand, but mere hours later, an imperial messenger had arrived at the temple with ill tidings. Lorelei had fled Ancris on dragonback along with Rylan Holbrooke.
According to Lucran’s message, Damika claimed that, in doing so, Lorelei had disobeyed direct orders, but Azariah wasn’t so sure. He suspected Damika had had a hand in their escape, but he had no leverage to move against her openly, and Lucran, fool that he was, had agreed to give the Praefectus time to apprehend them. The fact that they’d taken the indurium, Bothymus, made Azariah wonder if Lucran himself was helping them and lying to him about it. Even if he wasn’t, what would happen if Lorelei and Rylan deciphered the chalice, or worse, discovered the source of the peat?
In the vyrd, Azariah faced the Holt and spread his hands wide. “I would speak with you, My Lord.”
Long moments passed, the only sound the song of the crickets.
Speaking with Faedryn had always been tricky. Trapped as he was, the fallen god took great care to speak only when Yeriel’s attention was focused elsewhere. It sometimes meant delays for hours or even days at a time, but there was no way around it. The moment Yeriel or her wardens discovered that Faedryn had found a way to exert his will upon the world, they would reinforce his prison walls and silence him. And Yeriel was no fool. She’d likely understand that the Alran Church had been subverted centuries ago. It would be a disastrous turn of events; the illustrae were the sole means by which Faedryn exerted his will upon the world.
So Azariah was well aware of the need for caution, but this was important. “Please, My Lord. I have need of your guidance.”
More time passed, the cool wind tugging at the hem of Azariah’s robe. He was nearly ready to give up and try the following night when Faedryn’s presence brightened like a distant bonfire. Closing his ruined eyes, Azariah sent his awareness down below the vyrd. He sped through wet earth and cold stone toward the foothills and beyond. He wove through citadel roots and the glowing caverns of the underroot, making his way ever closer to Gonsalond.
He suddenly stood before the Umbral Tree, glimmering darkly in his second sight. Other citadels with proper brown bark and green-tipped branches stood beyond a clearing, but they wavered, dreamlike in Azariah’s perceptions of that place. Feeling sick to his stomach, a sign Faedryn was listening, Azariah told His Lord everything that had happened since last they’d spoke: the fire at the library, Rylan’s capture, his escape with Inquisitor Lorelei. When he was done, he said, “Should I have pressed Lucran harder?”
The sourness in his gut intensified.
Azariah pressed a hand to his stomach. “As you say, My Lord, but Lucran is freshly returned. He’ll want to exert his authority, especially over the Church, over me. But if he were removed—”
The sourness turned to a pain so intense Azariah doubled over from it. “I understand!” he said through gritted teeth. “Lucran will remain!”
The pain ebbed, and Azariah took a moment to breathe.
“You’re prepared to assassinate a quintarch?” Camadaea, wearing her golden mask and white robes, stepped from beyond the Umbral Tree and made her way toward him. “Do you understand the risk in killing Lucran now?”
It took all Azariah had not to gape. He’d always been able to sense the other illustrae when they met near the Umbral Tree, but he’d felt nothing until Camadaea spoke.
“Don’t be so surprised.” Camadaea came to a stop several paces away. “You’ve been given free rein for too long, and Our Lord agrees. Now answer my question.”
Despite his lingering discomfort, Azariah pulled himself tall. “Lucran could upend everything if Inquisitor Lorelei learns too much. And removing him wouldn’t be as difficult or problematic as you think. With Lucran gone, the quintarch’s powers would fall to Tyrinia. She’s been in my pocket for years. Lucran’s death would give us more control over the situation, not less.”
“Assuming Tyrinia didn’t find out.”
“She wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know that.” Camadaea shrugged. “And in any case, you don’t play your strongest cards early. You save them for the endgame. Lucran will keep, at least until Morraine begins bridging the vyrda.” She tilted her head. “You granted her time to gather her strength, did you not?”
For the second time in moments, Azariah was caught flat-footed. He hadn’t had time to inform Camadaea and the other illustrae about Llorn’s request for a delay, which made him wonder if she’d spoken to him directly about it. Then a much more likely possibility occurred to him: she’d spoken to the Hissing Man. Why the Hissing Man wouldn’t have told him about it when he returned from his meeting with Llorn, Azariah wasn’t sure, but that was a problem for another time. “Llorn wanted the bridging to coincide with the council of quintarchs,” he said easily. “I granted the request.”
“You mean the Hissing Man granted it.”
“With my permission. We always wanted Ancris’s destruction to be pinned on the Red Knives. What better way to accomplish it than if Llorn spills imperial blood mere hours before the palisade explodes?”
Camadaea seemed to consider that, then nodded. “Fine. The Red Knives seem well in hand.” She crossed her arms over her chest and paced before the Umbral Tree. “I’m more concerned about the bloody chalice. Why did you hide it from us?”
“I wasn’t hiding it. I thought things were under control.”
She stopped her pacing. “And were they?”
“Quibbling over the past helps no one, Your Radiance. You seem keen to help, so help me with this.” He told her how Rylan Holbrooke had stolen the chalice from the library, how he and Inquisitor Lorelei had fled the city.
Camadaea’s lips pursed. “They could decipher it.”
“I consider it unlikely, but yes, it’s a possibility. Even if they don’t, they may have gone to the Holt to search for the crucible. Either way, they must be found, but Lucran has forbidden me from sending shepherds to search for them, and I can’t disobey him. Our eyrie is being watched at all hours.”
Camadaea nodded. “I’ll have two shepherds sent to Glaeyand to ask around subtly. Two more will go to the lost shrine, in case they’ve found the chalice’s secrets. Will that suffice?”
“It will,” Azariah said.
“Very well. All that remains is the matter of the Hissing Man.”
“What about him?”
“He knows too much.”
“He’s as dedicated to Our Lord as I am.”
“He’s unstable.”
“He’s useful.”
“You have Japheth.”
“Japheth is useful too, just in different ways. Both of them have their parts to play, as do your own High Shepherds.”
Camadaea lips were pressed into a thin line, but before she could say anything further, a wave of terror emanated from the Umbral Tree. Judging by the way her head jerked back and the eyes of her golden mask shifted toward the black citadel, Camadaea had felt it too.
“My Lord,” Azariah said, “what’s happ—”
Azariah’s second sight went dark, and he felt himself rushing away from the Umbral Tree, back toward Ancris. He traversed the many miles between Gonsalond and the mountains in a rush and found himself lying face-down on the vyrd’s cold stones. His mask was askew. His chin and right cheek ached like he’d woken from a barroom brawl.
His second sight slowly returned, and the world around him filled in. Working his jaw, he stood and righted his mask, then tuned toward Caldoras. “Camadaea?”
He felt nothing from her, nothing at all, nor could he sense Faedryn’s presence in the forest. The maze was completely, utterly closed to him. The eastern sky was brightening. Reckoning would soon arrive, and with it, the ferrymen and their passengers.
Hoping his sense of the maze would return as his second sight had, he left the vyrd with a feeling of deep unease. Faedryn’s terror had been so strong. Had Yeriel learned of his ability to speak to his servants from afar? Was she the reason Azariah was unable to speak to Faedryn or Camadaea?
As he headed toward his waiting coach at the base of the hill, the city sprawled before him. In days past, he’d pictured Ancris breaking apart, pieces of it rising into the sky. Now the city felt immutable, his long-laid plans a foolish dream.
“You worry too much,” came a hiss of a voice. The Hissing Man shuffled in his odd gait to Azariah’s left.
“You’re not the least bit concerned?” Azariah asked.
“Of course I am,” the Hissing Man spat, “but there’s nothing to do about it now. In all likelihood, Faedryn was merely being cautious in sending you away. And even if Yeriel did sense something, she likely knows little enough so far. We have time.”
They reached the coach, climbed into the cabin, and sat on opposite benches. As the coach jolted into motion, Azariah’s discussion with Camadaea returned to him. “Why didn’t you tell me you met Camadaea?”
The Hissing Man stared from behind his strips of gauze. “Camadaea is nothing. Concentrate on Lucran. Concentrate on Llorn. That is where real the danger lies.”
Azariah supposed he was right, but it felt like he would only be going through the motions. He watched the city through the window, wondering what his son would think of him if he saw him now.