Triah
CINZIA, KNOT, AND ASTRID arrived at the apartment in Triah’s inner city just as the sun began to dip into the ocean on the horizon. God’s Eye stood tall in the distance, distinct against the Triahn skyline. The mood in the city was one of confidence and levity since the Eye had so soundly rebuffed the Rodenese fleet; the people of Triah were actually prone to a smile or two, which in Cinzia’s experience was incredibly rare.
The three of them wore loose disguises—or, at least, something very different from their typical clothing. Cinzia wore pants—a new fashion for middle- and upper-class women in the city, and one she found oddly restricting. A dress seemed so much more practical, all things considered; these pants hugged her hips and thighs far too tightly. They were not quite as tight as the breeches she remembered Winter wearing, but she could not imagine they left much to the imagination of anyone remotely willing to ogle her as she walked by. She’d covered up somewhat by wearing a long gray overcoat and simple brown leather boots. She had to admit, as they walked the streets together, that she fit in rather well. She could have easily been a merchant-class woman, or a lower noblewoman, out with her family for a night in the city.
Her family being Knot and Astrid, who were both dressed to match despite their protestations. Astrid wore a simple brown dress and a bonnet that she’d complained about vociferously when Cinzia had handed it to her.
“It is for the sun,” Cinzia had said, a wide grin on her face. What she had said had been half true, at least—the bonnet would protect Astrid from the sun. She had not mentioned she also thought it would look hilarious on the vampire.
“It’s for children,” Astrid had muttered in response. But she had taken the bonnet anyway, and it was what most girls her age wore around the city.
Knot, too, seemed truly uncomfortable in his light gray trousers and long brown overcoat. Cinzia had even insisted on combing his hair, brushing it back and away from his face. It had been growing for some time, now, and was long enough for her to tie it in a small, tight ponytail at the base of his skull.
When they’d seen the full look, Cinzia and Astrid had both burst out laughing. He’d scowled at them, pointing at Astrid. “Least I’m not wearing a bloody bonnet,” he had muttered.
“At least she looks comfortable in her disguise,” Cinzia had said, stifling a giggle. Knot was completely out of his element. He walked away from them as if he had spent too long on a horse, his legs bowed beneath him, and he couldn’t stop scratching his head.
Cinzia rushed up to him, taking his hand in her own. “Stop that,” she scolded, “you’ll unsettle your ponytail.”
“So what if I do,” he muttered, apparently unable to meet her eyes. “It only took you a moment to put together.”
Her smile faded as she realized she still held Knot’s hand in her own, and he was holding hers in return. She slipped her hand out of his, and walked with purpose toward the city.
“Come now,” she said, “we have an appointment to keep.”
They looked for all the world like a small merchant-class family. Cinzia and Knot strolled arm in arm, without awkwardness, and Astrid scampered along at their side. Cinzia could easily have forgotten how the girl was one of the most deadly creatures she had ever known.
“I know this area,” Knot said, looking up at the building Code had directed them to. “Came here weeks ago, when I was first seeking out the Nazaniin. Must be a number of these buildings around here.”
“This was when you met Sirana?” Cinzia asked. She had been jealous of the meeting when Knot had first told her about it, but quickly realized how silly such an emotion was. Knot was not married to Sirana; Lathe was. And Lathe, for all intents and purposes, was now gone.
And Knot, for that matter, was married to Winter. A tangled mess of marriages, indeed.
“Aye,” Knot said.
“I am surprised they would house all of their operatives in the same quarter,” Cinzia observed.
Knot glanced down the curving street. “Ain’t all next to each other,” he said, “at least not the ones I’ve seen. But they’re all within the same few circles.”
Before they could even knock, the door before them opened, and an old man stood in the doorway. He beckoned them, his fingers slender, his knuckles swollen.
“Please,” he said slowly, “come in.”
He led them through a sparse hall into a high-ceilinged sitting room. Standing at the top of a spiral staircase on a balcony overlooking the room stood Code, dressed in simple black clothing, his long blonde hair in a loose bun atop his head.
“Ah,” he said, “welcome. And just on time. I suppose I have you to thank for that, Cinzia. The schedule I gave everyone will certainly attract the least amount of suspicion if followed closely.”
“What do you mean, thank me for it?” Cinzia asked, narrowing her eyes up at him.
Code laughed, raising his hands defensively. “My apologies. I don’t mean to offend. I’ve just heard you’re all about being in control, and I figured as one such, you’d have a vested interest in making sure things ran smoothly and on time.”
Cinzia huffed, glaring at Knot. His eyes widened and he shook his head, although a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, too.
“Oh it wasn’t him, my dear,” Code said. “I’m a Nazaniin agent, remember. It’s entirely possible I know more about you than you do about yourself.”
He doesn’t know about me, Luceraf whispered.
Cinzia grimaced. It had been so long since she had heard the Daemon’s voice, she had almost forgotten she was inside her at all. And what Luceraf said was true; despite Code accompanying them to help Astrid, he was still quite unaware of Cinzia’s status as an avatar. For now, she preferred to keep it that way. That said, she wondered where the Daemon had been—or if she had even truly been gone, at all. Cinzia was clearly plotting against Luceraf and the other Daemons, but as of yet, Luceraf had not done much to stop it. Cinzia did not like the silence. Luceraf had something up her sleeve, but Cinzia did not know what.
“Have the others arrived yet?” Cinzia asked, changing the subject.
“My friends from Maven Kol are here,” Code said, “but we have yet to be visited by this Beldam, as you call her, or your contact from the Denomination.”
Cinzia raised one eyebrow. “I am surprised you do not already know my contact’s name,” she said, “given all you know as a Nazaniin agent.”
Code laughed out loud at that, motioning for them all to join him upstairs. “You’ve got me there, I admit it.”
The stairs led not just to a second-level mezzanine, but also a corridor that led off into several different rooms. Cinzia was only passingly familiar with the apartments in this area of the city, but she knew that it was a well-to-do area.
“We’ll be meeting in my decision room,” Code said, opening the third door on the right as they walked down the corridor. “Right through here, if you please.”
Cinzia, Knot, and Astrid walked through the doorway into a spacious room lined with shelves and cabinets. At the center of the room stood an oblong table, surrounded by chairs, and a massive blackboard covered the wall at one end.
At the opposite end of the table from the blackboard sat two people Cinzia had never seen before: a dark-skinned man and woman, both of them quite young.
“May I present Alain Destrinar-Kol and Morayne Wastrider, of Maven Kol,” Code said.
Both Alain and Morayne stood and bowed. No, Cinzia realized, the woman—Morayne, she supposed—bowed, bending at the waist, but the man, Alain, barely inclined his head.
Destrinar-Kol. The name clicked in Cinzia’s mind.
“Maven Kol’s crown prince?” she blurted, eyes widening.
Alain glanced at Morayne, and Cinzia noticed him clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly. A nervous man.
Morayne smiled encouragingly at him, and Alain took a deep breath and turned back to Cinzia. “Former crown prince,” he said. “I am no longer involved in Maven Kol’s political… situation.”
“Don’t be modest,” Morayne said quietly. She met Cinzia’s eyes. “He’s actually the second king in history to give up a crown. The people hold the power in Maven Kol, now, just as they do here in Khale.”
Cinzia pursed her lips. To say that “The people” held power in Khale would hardly be accurate, but that was a debate for another time.
“Alain and Morayne will be of some help to us, Cinzia,” Code explained. “We’re breaking into Canta’s Fane, after all. Alain and Morayne both have… talents that might be useful.”
Morayne moved over to Cinzia. “You do not believe you can trust us,” she said, without a question in her tone.
Cinzia exhaled. “It is not so much that I do not believe I can trust you, but rather whether I can trust you right now, just after meeting you.”
Morayne nodded. “I can say the same thing about you, of course. Or we could have faith in one another.” Faith, Cinzia thought. Where has faith gotten me lately?
A knock echoed in the room, and the man who had let them in appeared in the doorway.
“Sire, an old woman has arrived. Should I tell her…?”
“By all means, let her in, Darion. Let her in.”
The old man nodded, then shuffled back down the corridor.
“That’ll be this Beldam woman, I take it,” Code muttered.
Knot and Astrid were already whispering in a corner, thick as thieves. Alain and Morayne spoke in hushed tones together. Cinzia looked back at Code, taking in his handsome features again.
“I remember you, you know,” she said, quietly.
Why would you bring this up? she asked herself. Now, of all times.
“I should hope so. We only last saw each other, what, a week ago? If you didn’t remember me, I’d be offended. Or worried.”
“No,” Cinzia said, shaking her head. “I remember you from… it was a few years ago, I think. Three or four. You came to see me, you came to confess at my chapel.”
Code laughed. “Confess? Hate to disappoint you, but I don’t confess. Seems an easy way for the Denomination to keep folk under its thumb.”
Cinzia hesitated. Was it Code that Cinzia remembered? It could have just been another tall, attractive blonde man. Triah surely had no shortage of those.
But she remembered, above all, the man’s eyes. She remembered how they seemed like the eyes of a corpse, blank and lifeless and completely uncaring. She remembered how Knot’s eyes had appeared that way to her, at first. She no longer viewed him that way, but she was not sure whether that was because his countenance had actually changed, or her attitude toward him had. Knot was still a cold-blooded killer, when it came right down to it, even if she happened to be on his good side.
Cinzia peered into Code’s eyes. She had thought he looked familiar from the moment she first saw him, and now she was sure. Despite his jovial attitude, his jokes and his laughs and his smiles, despite the vibrant green-gray of his eyes themselves, they were nothing more than terrifyingly empty, emotionless pits.
“Whoa there, sister. That kind of deep-eyed stare usually accompanies a relationship I’m not ready to commit to.”
Cinzia tried to ignore the color rising in her face. “I do remember you,” she said, matter-of-factly. “You came to my chapel, in the Cat District, I believe it was… four years ago? You came to confess, the eve of Penetensar.”
Code opened his mouth as if to respond, then shut it almost immediately. He narrowed his eyes at Cinzia, opening his mouth again, but no words came out.
Cinzia could not help but smirk. “The garrulous Code, speechless? I never thought to see such a sight.” But she saw she had struck a deeper chord with Code—and she regretted her words as soon as she said them.
Why have I brought this up? she asked herself. A confession was supposed to be private. Had her hurt at her excommunication caused her to lash out? Or… A thread of panic ran through her. Was the Daemon inside her becoming her? Or, worse, was she becoming the Daemon?
“Penetensar,” Code said quietly, his gaze fixed on the ground between them. Then he looked up. “Penetensar means I was drunk.” The smile he gave her didn’t ring true. “Whatever I said can’t be taken seriously.”
“Oh, I hardly remember what you said. I just remembered your face. Your eyes.”
That was a lie. While Cinzia did not remember everything Code had told her that night, she remembered a few significant details. Things that had stayed with her since that night.
The mood in the room shifted, and when Cinzia looked at the door she saw the Beldam had entered. The old woman looked around at each of them, sighed, and then seated herself at one of the chairs around the table.
Code approached her. “Ah, you must be the—”
“Save it,” the Beldam said, raising a hand. “I don’t care for introductions. Making me walk all the way here was punishment enough, don’t make it worse.”
“We’re just waiting on one more,” Code said to the room, and as if on cue, the Holy Crucible Nayome Hinek entered the room.
Code’s smile grew wider. “Ah,” he said. “And here we have… a Holy Crucible, is it? Hinek, if I remember correctly?”
Nayome did not even bother looking at Code. She observed the room, a deep frown on her face, her gaze finally resting on Knot and Astrid.
“The vampire,” she practically hissed. “I should have known. And your loyal human companion, of course.”
Both Knot and Astrid glared back at Nayome, animosity thick in their eyes. Cinzia had warned them that Nayome would be here; the woman had tortured Astrid and nearly hanged Knot in Navone. But she’d told them how important it was that they gain her help, and she was grateful to see them keeping their word not to harm the Crucible.
“Loyal human companion?” Knot and Astrid both said, almost in perfect unison.
Nayome’s glare moved to Cinzia. “And you,” she said. “I trust you are still in league with that… that…”
“That is a discussion for another time,” Cinzia said quickly.
“You mean you haven’t told everyone? Is that not the very reason you have gathered us here?”
Cinzia felt the Beldam’s eyes boring into her. “Told everyone what?” the old woman asked.
“Nothing of any consequence,” Cinzia said. She turned so she stood next to Code, facing the rest of the room. “Now that we are all here, we can begin discussing our course of action.”
“Wait a moment, sister,” Code said, glancing sideways at her. “I’d like to know whatever it is we aren’t being told, too.”
Cinzia cleared her throat, glaring at him. “If we’re going to go into that,” she spat at him, “my memory about a certain Penetensar night a few years ago might suddenly become much more clear.”
Code frowned, but then cleared his throat. “Very well, then. Go ahead.” He sat himself down on one of the chairs, propping his black boots up on the table.
“Care to enlighten us as to what we’re all doing here, priestess?” the Beldam grumbled.
“She is not a priestess,” Nayome snapped.
Not for the first time, Cinzia wondered whether getting all of these people under the same roof would prove a mistake. “As all of you know,” she said, before the two women squabbled any further, “our world is under threat. The Nine Daemons threaten the Sfaera.” She glanced at Alain and Morayne. “I realize some of you may not be aware of what that even means,” she said, feeling her face begin to color. She did not realize Code had invited these two; she had not planned on explaining the whole situation to newcomers.
“Let me stop you right there, sister,” Code said, raising one hand. “Those two have more experience actually fighting servants of the Nine Daemons than anyone here except me. They know what they’re getting into.”
“And what makes you think you’ve got the most experience?” Astrid asked.
Code grunted. “I don’t have to prove myself to you, girl.” He nodded to Cinzia. “Get on with it, then, and don’t coddle us.”
Astrid grumbled something in response, but Cinzia did want to get on with things. “We’re here to see if we can strike a blow against the Nine Daemons,” Cinzia said. “Perhaps even stop them completely.”
She turned to the Beldam. “The Beldam here has knowledge to share with all of us. Beldam, I know we’ve had our differences, but surely you want to defeat the Nine more than you want to hurt me, don’t you? Now is the time for a straight answer.”
“Very well, very well,” the Beldam said, after a moment. “We all grew up around the Denomination,” she said, looking to Nayome as the two locked gazes for the first time. “We all know what they teach about Canta. We all know they don’t say a word about the Nine. Well, the Denomination is full of secrets. Some of them are harmless, some are kept purely for political reasons. Others—”
“Excuse me,” Nayome interrupted. Cinzia cursed inwardly. She had known a conflict between the two was inevitable, but she had hoped to avoid it until they had at least revealed more of their plan. “Who is this woman?” Nayome began, but then seemed to question why she was speaking to Cinzia instead of the offending party and turned to the Beldam herself. “Who are you to make such accusations? What could you possibly know of the Denomination? What secrets do you think we are keeping, madam?”
There was no hint of a smile on the Beldam’s face, hardly any emotion at all, and yet Cinzia got the strangest sensation that the older woman was enjoying this.
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves, dear,” the Beldam said. “If you’ll let me finish, I’ll reveal exactly what it is I’m talking about.”
Nayome opened her mouth to protest, but the Beldam continued speaking right over her. “We all know of the artifacts the Denomination holds,” the Beldam said. “We know of the vaults and record rooms beneath the Fane. But what few people know of—” and here she looked directly at Nayome “—is the sacred vault at the top of the Fane.”
Nayome opened her mouth to respond, but then her eyes widened in recognition. “Danica Fendi,” Nayome said. Slowly, a smile spread across her face, and she began nodding. “Danica Fendi,” she said again.
To Cinzia’s surprise, the name actually penetrated the Beldam’s usually unflappable demeanor. An angry shade of red spread from the woman’s neck to her forehead, and she scowled at Nayome.
That must be her name, Cinzia realized. And yet she had never heard the name before in her life. She had hoped she would recognize the Beldam’s true name if she ever found out what it was, but Danica Fendi did not sound familiar at all. She was aware of a few high priestesses who had left the Denomination for one reason or another in the organization’s history, but they had all lived and died decades, even centuries ago. There was nothing about such a thing happening recently.
“You’re the high priestess,” Nayome said, “The one that left the Denomination.”
“I suppose they still talk about me, then,” the Beldam muttered. She glanced at Cinzia. “At least among the upper levels of the Denomination.”
Nayome, too, turned to face Cinzia. “And this is who you’ve aligned yourself with?” the Holy Crucible scoffed. “I shouldn’t be surprised. An ex-priestess with an ex-high priestess. Not surprised at all.”
“You know why you are here, Nayome,” Cinzia seethed. “Either shut up and listen, or get out.”
Immediately she regretted the ultimatum; if Nayome chose to leave, she would surely inform the Denomination of Cinzia’s agenda. Their operation would be over before it began.
But Nayome, chin raised, remained seated. “Fine. Have this traitor tell us what she thinks she knows about the Denomination. At that point, I suppose I shall have to make a decision.”
Cinzia knew that would be the best she could hope for. She nodded to the Beldam to continue.
“Finally,” the Beldam muttered. “Now, as I was saying before that particularly rude interruption, the Denomination has many secrets. The one that concerns us most is the Vault, atop the Fane.
“In that vault, there is a copy of Nazira’s original writings. In that document, we will find the truth of the Denomination, and a weapon to help us combat the Nine.”
Astrid’s voice piped up from the back. “We’ll find all of that in one document?”
“Aye,” the Beldam said. “More or less, anyway. Nazira’s public work informs the basis of their doctrine, but she revealed far more than the Denomination tells us, as all high priestesses know. I assume her words are not freely read amongst the Arm of Inquisition?”
Nayome folded her arms. “No, of course not.” Some of Nazira’s writings were available to all in the priesthood, and even the general public. It had been a verse of Nazira’s writings that had inspired Jane to seek out Canta in the first place. But apparently there was more to Nazira’s work than what was readily available.
Nayome’s face was red with anger. Goddess, what was I thinking putting these two women in the same room together?
“Please, Beldam,” Cinzia encouraged, “Tell us more about this document.”
“There is not much more to tell, my dear,” the Beldam said, already moving to sit down. “You’ll only truly understand once you read it, I’m afraid.”
“And we’re just supposed to… believe this woman?” Nayome asked, gesturing at the Beldam. “She hates the Denomination. Has done since she—”
“Since I read the document in question,” the Beldam said, relaxing back into a chair, “and the Denomination chose to hate me for not liking what I read. Yes, my dear, I can’t deny I’ve hated them since that point in time.”
“I do not wish to read such a document,” Nayome said. “I want nothing to do with it.”
“You do not have to read it, Nayome,” Cinzia said. “I will. No one else need even see it.”
“I’m a bit curious,” Astrid said, but Cinzia ignored her.
“We must remember our purpose here,” Cinzia said. “We are trying to defeat the Nine. That is our common goal. Are we not all committed to that?”
When the rest of the room only stared at her, Cinzia sighed in frustration. “Are we not all committed to that?” she asked again, with more emphasis.
Slowly, each person seated around the table nodded, until only Nayome was left.
Nayome, who had come to Navone and nearly killed Jane, Knot, and tortured Astrid. Nayome, who knew Cinzia shared her mind with a Daemon.
“Are we all committed?” Cinzia asked, looking directly at Nayome, watching the muscles in her jaw clenching and unclenching repeatedly.
“We must stop the Nine,” Nayome said. “I see nothing in the Denomination that says they are remotely working toward that. Not yet. So, if this will help, then yes. Yes, I am committed.”
Cinzia nodded, a flood of relief rushing through her. “Good,” she said. “Good. Now, as far as our plan is concerned…”