There was no time. No time. And yet, as Triumvir Var brusquely adjourned the meeting and everyone ran to carry out the triumvirs’ orders, Sandis remained rooted in her chair, staring beyond the woodgrain of the table before her. Would Chief Esgar reach Sherig in time? Would she be willing to help? Triumvir Peterus had agreed to start an evacuation, but the government couldn’t empty the city by midnight. How many more would perish? Would this be the end, or merely the beginning of a new nightmare?
If she woke from Oz’s summoning tomorrow, would her world still be here?
Did you foresee this, Kazen? she wondered. Would you still have summoned Kolosos, if you knew?
Her old master had known about the Celestial, but had he known about the connection between the numina and the Noscons? And how did an entire race of people become . . . this?
Warmth bloomed at the base of her skull and trickled down to her chest. She clasped her hands over her heart. Ireth. Guide me. Help me understand.
There was nothing for her to do until night fell. Until Oz led her, Rist, Bastien, Teppa, and Inda toward the Innerchord and readied them to fight. Oz was already selecting a new numen for Bastien, one with more bite than Hapshi.
Would she see Rone again, when Ireth took her? If she died, would Anon be waiting for her on the other side? God or no God, surely there was another side.
But what if there isn’t?
The questions so consumed her that she didn’t hear footsteps approaching. When a light touch fell on her shoulder, Sandis jumped, hitting her knees against the bottom of the table.
Priestess Marisa stood over her, wearing a white dress identical to the one draping Sandis. Deep worry lines formed valleys between her eyebrows.
“Sandis.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “You must come with me.”
Aching knees forgotten, Sandis pushed back her chair and stood. “What’s wrong?”
“The Angelic has requested an audience with you.”
Her entire body tingled. “Which room is he in?”
She shook her head. “He’s at the local church.”
Sandis searched the other woman’s eyes, trying to see her thoughts. “I can’t leave. Triumvir Var forbade it, after the last time.”
Priestess Marisa shook her head. “I’ll guide you out. Please. It’s . . . urgent.” She extended a hand.
Sandis chewed the inside of her lip, then accepted the hand. Priestess Marisa pulled her from the room and down the stairs to the back door. The blue-clad guard there nodded to her with his hand over his heart. A faithful Celesian.
The sky had already dimmed, the deep blue of twilight leaking into the heavens like drops of dye. Did they have so little time? Priestess Marisa must have felt the need to hurry as well, for she quickened her step once they left Triumvir Var’s property. Sandis looked over her shoulder once, wondering after Rist and Bastien.
“It’s not far.” Priestess Marisa squeezed her hand. “Just a small church over this way, where we’ve gone to worship and pray. There’s been little damage to these neighborhoods, praise the Celestial.” The moment she stopped speaking, she looked toward the center of the city. Sandis thought she could feel a tremor beneath Priestess Marisa’s skin, but perhaps that was her own.
They walked in silence for several minutes. Many of the homes they passed were dark, but candles filled the windows of the church at the end of the winding road. The highest window was fitted with green glass, giving it the appearance of a leaf in summer light. Sandis’s eyes went straight to it, watching the flames flicker against that glass until she reached the door.
Her brands ached like they were freshly printed.
“What does he want?” She kept her voice low.
But Priestess Marisa shook her head. “I admit I don’t know. But I worry.”
Swallowing, Sandis allowed Priestess Marisa to guide her into the small building. They stepped into a rectangular room with little decoration outside the candles in the windows. A handful of people lingered inside, sitting here and there along a single row of benches. Sandis recognized Cleric Liddell in the far corner. Half the seats faced one way, and half faced the other. She couldn’t see if anything demarked the turning point, for Priestess Marisa led her up a narrow set of stairs immediately to the right. The wood creaked under their weight.
A single room occupied the top floor. High Priest Dall stood outside it with a worn set of scripture in his hands. He glanced to Sandis, nodded, and knocked softly on the door.
Sandis didn’t hear an answer, but the priest grasped the knob and pushed the door open, beckoning Sandis inside.
Other than High Priest Dall, she and the Angelic were alone in the small room, its only window the green glass she had been so mesmerized by earlier. Portions of the concrete walls jutted out on two sides to form long, hard benches. A single table with two chairs rested just inside the door. One of these chairs had been turned out, and in it slumped the Angelic, looking twenty years older, with a gray cast to his skin.
She hurried to him as High Priest Dall shut the door—remaining inside—though she found herself unsure upon reaching him.
Adellion Comf opened his eyes—even the whites had darkened—and studied her. His gaze lingered on her white dress with its silver embroidery, and to her surprise, a ghost of a smile quirked his lips.
“It suits you,” he murmured.
Sandis took a step back, the compliment striking her like an open hand. She looked to High Priest Dall in shock. “What’s happened to him?”
But the high priest looked at the floor, forlorn.
“You know many truths, my child, but not all.” The Angelic’s weak voice pulled her attention back to him. “You have touched the ethereal plane, as have I. There are few who understand our bonds. Even dear Azul does not fully comprehend.”
“Azul?” She glanced to High Priest Dall, but her head immediately snapped back to the Angelic. “Our bonds?”
The skin of her back itched.
A single, dry chuckle escaped Rone’s father. “The Celestial is a powerful being, as you know. But even he cannot reach the mortal world without a connection.”
Sandis only half heard what he said. The words our bonds, our bonds, our bonds kept echoing through her head.
Her voice as insubstantial as air, she asked, “Y-You’re a vessel?”
He nodded.
She retreated another step, shaking her head. “You’re a vessel. You’re a vessel. And you . . . you condemn me.”
“I did not know the truth until my predecessor passed on.” He spoke as if he hadn’t just turned Sandis’s entire world upside down, as if he hadn’t just unleashed a flood of utter hypocrisy on her. “But who is to say what denotes a god? What is deserving of faith?”
“I had faith!” Sandis shouted, and the high priest rose with his hands lifted in supplication, urging her discretion. Hot tears ran down her cheeks. Hands clenched at her sides, she said, “I had faith, but you told me it was wrong. Kazen burned blasphemy into my skin, and you would have killed me for it. But you . . . you—”
The Angelic raised a hand. “Would any apology make a difference now, Sandis?”
She pressed her lips together. A few tears dripped from her chin to the floor. No, his apologies would mean nothing to her.
Yet despite the power of his revelation, something else nagged at her. She wiped her tears away with a slap of her hand. Her voice cracked as she spoke, but she didn’t care. “But you’re not. There are rules for vessels.” Her eyes widened. “You’re not . . . You’re not Rone’s real father, are you?”
The Angelic looked at her, one brow askew. In that moment, he looked so much like Rone. But—
“He is my son by blood,” he said. The statement shocked her more in principle than anything else. The Angelic had always rejected his connection with Rone, and yet here, in this stuffy room, in the middle of the night, while a monster tore up the city, he confessed it so easily.
Sandis had to swallow twice to clear her throat. “Only a virgin can be a vessel.”
Again, the man shook his head. “That is not so. A woman who has borne a child cannot host a numen, but either sex can otherwise be appropriated, virtue notwithstanding.”
Sandis’s lips parted as she strained to understand. She’d uncovered another of Kazen’s lies. Part of her struggled to believe it, but it made sense. He’d wanted them isolated, dependent on him. It had all been part of his plan.
Several long seconds passed.
“The early Celesians destroyed the Noscon temple so no one would discover the truth,” Sandis murmured, recalling Jachim’s history lesson to her.
The Angelic shook his head. “No. The Yokhosho Temple was the birthplace of Celesia.”
Sandis, blood cold, opened her mouth to speak, but the Angelic held up a hand to stall her. He continued, “It never should have been done, the resurrection of Noscon magic. It is a terrible thing. I stand by that.”
Sandis recalled Jachim’s mention of human experimentation, but couldn’t bring herself to so much as nod.
“There was a man who ended it. Who betrayed his comrades and brought condemnation down upon that horrible place. But he saw the goodness in it. Namely, in Hepingya. That is how our faith started, child. For good, not for evil.” He paused. “It was meant for good.”
Hepingya? She swallowed, forcing her throat to open. “And that man was the first Angelic?”
He nodded. “And he died to pass his mantle to the next. Since that time, only a few have been entrusted with the truth. Only those who could bear it.”
She studied his face, as though its lines hid more secrets. “What do you mean, about the mantle?” An image of Heath, of his failed hosting of Kolosos, passed her mind’s eye. She shoved it away, stomach clenched. She thought instead of the tattoo at the base of her neck, of Ireth’s blood mixed with the ink.
“If you can’t summon the Celestial, you can’t bond to him,” she tried, fearing what the Angelic would confirm.
In tones too quiet for High Priest Dall to overhear, he said, “No human can host a god. But in an attempt to summon him, we obtain the blood we need for the bond.”
Chills ran down Sandis’s arms. That meant . . . each Angelic died the same way Heath had, just so the bonding tattoo could be passed to the next priest. They harvested it from . . .
The smell rose in her nose, though the room she stood in was only scented with kerosene. She tried not to imagine a priest stooping over the ruined body of his former leader, scooping the gore into a vial of ink . . .
Gritting her teeth, Sandis rubbed a drying tear from her eye. “Anything else I don’t know?”
To her relief, the Angelic shook his head. “I believe you understand the rest.”
Sandis hugged herself, trying to get warm. “You’re bound to the Celestial.”
“To Hepingya, yes.” He tried to pull down the back of his collar, perhaps to show Sandis the numen’s name tattooed at the base of his neck, but the Angelic’s gown was too tight around the neck. Guaranteeing his secret would never accidentally meet the eyes of a worshipper.
Hepingya. Sandis mouthed the word. So that was what the symbols on the top of the astral sphere said. He-Ping-Ya.
“What Kazen did to you and the others was wrong,” the Angelic continued, pressing his hands against his knees. “That is the true blasphemy.”
Sandis turned away from him, new tears tracing the paths of the old. Her heart thudded hard as a realization struck her.
Evil things had been done with her, but she had never been evil.
She breathed deeply, as though a leaden cloak had fallen from her shoulders, letting her lungs expand fully for the first time. She wasn’t bad. The symbols on her back weren’t bad. Ireth wasn’t bad.
She had only ever been special.
She turned back to the Angelic. “Why tell me this?” She took in his deep wrinkles and off color. “You’re dying.”
“Not in the sense you think, child,” he replied, again offering her that ghost of a smile. She didn’t think she’d ever seen the holy man truly smile before now. “I tell you because you understand, and you must know the truth before this great battle commences.”
Sandis waited, tense.
A long, pained sigh escaped the Angelic. “Hepingya has fought the traitor called Kolosos. And he has lost.”
Sandis backed away until her knees hit the concrete bench. She sank onto it. “What?”
“In the ethereal plane. The Celestial sought to protect all of us, but his strength has failed.”
Sandis’s throat was raw. “The . . . Celestial . . . is dead?”
But the Angelic shook his head. “He is immortal, my child. There is only one way to truly kill him.”
Her thoughts spun back to Triumvir Var’s basement, to the men surrounding her as she chanted an ancient spell. General Istrude had held a knife, just in case.
She licked her lips. “Then . . . he will recover.”
The Angelic’s face grew even more ashen. “I do not know. I fear it is not so simple. Regardless”—he passed a sad glance toward High Priest Dall—“we will not.”
“No.” Sandis stood. “We have a chance. If you just believe in us, in Rone—”
“It is not a question of faith, my child.” He met her eyes. His were so dark they looked like coal. The candlelight from the windowsill reflected in them. They were the eyes of a man who had seen much—a determined man. But determined to do what?
He continued, “I have been intimately familiar with the Celestial for many years. I understand his power. His fears and his desires.”
Sandis nodded. She understood Ireth’s, too.
“It was his fear of Kolosos that led me to seek out you and Rone.” He sucked in a slow breath, held it, and released it all at once. “I’ve felt his fear ever since. I felt it when he tried to best Kolosos in the heavens. I felt it when he fell, until I didn’t feel it anymore. Only resolve. Only acceptance.”
Sandis brushed hair from her face. “I will not accept defeat.”
“You misunderstand me. It is his defeat he accepts, and what must be done next. Hepingya and I are of one mind, my dear. Your battle has yet to unfold. But we will give you a chance to succeed.”
Sandis might not have understood, had it not been for the soft choking sound to her right. She’d nearly forgotten High Priest Dall still lingered in the room. One of the few who knew the truth. Would he be the next Angelic, when Adellion Comf’s reign ended?
It struck her then. There wouldn’t be another Angelic. There could be no vessel for a numen who no longer lived.
Lightning crackled up her limbs. “No,” she whispered.
The Angelic nodded. “It must be you or me, child, and the correct choice is obvious. The Celestial is weak, but he can still protect us. As can I.”
New tears stung her eyes.
Adellion Comf meant to make an amarinth.
She had never been close to the Angelic, but she loved his son. And despite becoming a vessel, despite the way Kazen had used her, she’d never lost faith . . . and in a sense, she still hadn’t.
“No,” she repeated, clutching handfuls of her skirt. “There has to be another way.”
This time Adellion Comf offered her a full smile. It changed his face completely. Made him human, brightened his eyes and cheeks. Made him look like Rone.
“My dear.” He reached out a hand and took Sandis’s, gently easing her fingers from the white fabric. “Sometimes we have to sacrifice what is dearest to us to save what is dearest to others. I have done it once before. I will do it again.”
With some effort, the Angelic stood, releasing Sandis’s hand as he did so. “I want you to have it,” he said, not meeting her tear-filled gaze. “You, who comprehends its power. Who would use it for good. You, Sandis, who may understand me better than anyone else.”
She trembled. “It will kill you.”
“The Celestial is weak. And you will do what needs to be done before he has the opportunity to hurt my body.”
A thousand protests rose in her throat, strangling her. I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough. What if I fail? We should talk to the triumvirate. You’re in mourning. You’re not thinking straight.
Her gaze moved to her hands. She flexed them. Opened and closed her fingers. Remembered Bastien squeezing her ring finger and pinky in the sitting room. Sandis recalled how her hands had ached as she clutched Rist while Mahk flew through the city. The feel of Rone’s hair beneath them. The way they cut through the air as Arnae instructed her in seugrat. She remembered the weight of her rifle as she lay across a rooftop with Sherig, waiting to strike Kazen’s lair. Lowering her hands, she felt the material of Priestess Marisa’s dress.
Her protests died, leaving her thoughts clear and her memory sharp. Her hands formed fists at her side. Strong, ready.
Lifting her head, she whispered, “I’ll save them.”
A familiar warmth burned in her skull. Closing her eyes, she prayed, Ireth, help me. Give me the opening I need. Don’t let me waste this chance.
The Angelic nodded, seeming at peace. “Azul?”
The morose priest pulled from his robes several golden coils. “It’s ready, as you requested.”
Sandis’s pulse danced. Was this really happening?
The Angelic turned toward her, again taking up her hand. This time, he clasped it between both of his own. His hands were warm, but his fingertips felt ice cold. “I want you to be the one to do it.”
Her ears buzzed. “Take . . . your heart?” Her throat closed around the question.
“It should be bloodless, as our dear scholar guessed. Azul will be here to help you.” He leaned in close, holding her gaze. “Sandis, you asked me to trust you, and I do. Will you not also trust me, in my last moments?”
A painful lump in her throat swelled so large she couldn’t swallow it. She nodded.
“Then we have no time to waste.” He motioned to High Priest Dall, who walked over and stood just behind Sandis.
“Heaven be with you always,” the high priest murmured.
“Heaven be with you always,” the Angelic repeated with a sad smile. He pressed his right hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. Two heartbeats later, he opened them, focusing on Sandis.
“Tell my son I love him.”
Sandis nodded, and the Angelic recited the chant.
Bright-white light filled the church.