CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

revelations

Rachael lit the last wick and examined the altar with a critical eye. Caleb had found several candles to give the chapel enough illumination for Lucian’s inquisition, and she had cleaned the altar of its surface dust. The old church was a miserable substitution for the Citadel’s cathedral, but she would make do with what she had. She always did.

“I don’t see why this is necessary,” Caleb said as he nourished a fledging fire in the woodstove.

“Field interrogations are at the discretion of the arresting judge.” She cited the law to silence his objections. “I want the facts in hand when I make my report to John.” Rachael had grappled with her memories until Tanith’s words resounded in her mind again. She held on to the warning, repeated it to herself and drove it into the depths of her memory.

Trust no one. No problem. She didn’t trust Lucian or Caleb. One of them was lying to her and she had to isolate which one. An interrogation would allow her to evaluate both men and the honesty of their statements. Their interaction with one another would tell her more than all the words in Woerld.

Rachael placed Lucian’s blade on the altar, making sure the Citadel insignia was facedown, although she wasn’t sure whom she thought she was fooling. She and Caleb examined the golem together. Even in the miserable rain, the fading glow around each of the golem’s wounds indicated strikes by a Citadel blade.

Yet he tried to convince her that Lucian used Mastema’s power to create then destroy the golem. Rachael didn’t dispute his claim, although a protégé could have deduced the golem spell belonged to the Fallen, not a Katharos. Did Caleb believe she was so taken by the Wyrm she couldn’t analyze the evidence before her?

The stove’s metal door screeched like a demon when Caleb closed it. Rachael shivered. For one wild moment, her vision blurred as if a reptilian wing brushed her eye.

The altar disappeared behind a memory of ruined lips pressed close to hers. Open sores had wept across Mastema’s once beautiful face and he clutched her close with his twisted arms. He promised to return her to Woerld. All she had to do was give him her love.

She almost acquiesced, then she looked into the angel’s eyes. Twin orbs bereft of joy stared back at her and she felt the emptiness of his spirit. Had she never tasted Lucian’s love, she might have complied with the angel’s demand. But she had, and with the memory of that warmth encompassing her heart, she refused Mastema. The dark angel had expelled his rage on her body.

Rachael dug her nails into her palm until the pain drove the recollection deep. The blurriness dissipated from the edge of her vision, and she took a ragged, shallow breath. She focused on Caleb. Over his head, a thin stream of smoke oozed through a crack in the stovepipe.

He brushed his hands against his pants. “I’ll go get him.”

She unbuckled her sword and laid it beside Lucian’s on the altar. “Give me your sword.”

“What?”

Rachael kept her attention on the altar. “John doesn’t want the prisoners intimidated by armed judges.”

“Judges,” Caleb said as he pointed at her. “Constables keep theirs.”

“If you remain in this room during my interrogation, you’re fulfilling the role of a surrogate judge.” It was a lie but one that she could live with. “You’ll do it unarmed.” She held her hand out for his weapon and hoped he didn’t question her. She preferred not to elaborate on the deceit, but if he pushed her for an explanation, she could devise details. She didn’t want Caleb armed while her sword was out of reach. Not until she knew whether she could trust him.

His fingers toyed with the hilt of his blade, and out of patience with him, Rachael played her trump card. “If you’re afraid of a crippled man, then you can wait with the child.”

Caleb flinched at the suggestion and unbuckled his sword. “This is a bad idea.”

Perhaps, but it was all she had. She put his weapon on the altar and said, “Wait here. I’ll get Lucian.”

Silent as a hunter, she walked through the office and stopped at the bedroom door. Lucian still held Lindsay, who rested in his arms, half-asleep. He stroked her hair and murmured to her, his voice a soothing rumble beneath the rain.

Feeling like an intruder, Rachael cleared her throat and Lucian turned his head. “It’s time,” she said.

“Of course,” he whispered and slid off the bed, easing Lindsay down to the blankets. She murmured her brother’s name, and Lucian quieted her with a touch. He took something from his pocket and pressed it into the child’s hands.

Rachael moved into the room, and a flash of color triggered a sense of déjà vu. She frowned as she neared the bed and recognized the pattern from one of her favorite scarves. She gave the scarf to Lucian years ago. Shocked he’d kept it all this time, she stopped walking.

“You said it wasn’t magic,” Lindsay said.

“Shh.” He passed his palm over her eyes and she slept, the edges of the scarf barely visible in her arms.

“What isn’t magic?” Rachael asked.

“It’s only my Psalter.” He rose and met her gaze. “She was frightened once, and I gave it to her to hold. It seemed to give her comfort. Do you need to see it?” There was no challenge in his tone, and she had no doubt he’d produce the Psalter at her command.

“No, I don’t. Let’s go.” She gestured for him to lead, but she lingered to look down at the scarf. The flowers had faded, and the seams were frayed. He kept it all these years. He had to know she would recognize it. Was he trying to determine if she still had feelings for him? She kept her face impassive as she turned.

He was at the door, waiting for her. He clearly misinterpreted why she remained by the girl and said, “She will sleep, hopefully until we’re done.”

“Good.” She followed him into the church where Caleb waited.

Lucian limped into the room and stopped long enough to genuflect at the cross. She gestured for him to sit on the first pew and he obeyed her as she took her place by the altar.

“Give me the cane.” Caleb barked the command and held his hand out.

In the candlelight, Lucian’s eyes sparkled with anger. His actions since his arrest were above reproach; he didn’t deserve Caleb’s disrespect.

Rachael clenched her fist and glared at the constable. This was nothing more than another power play on Caleb’s part, and he placed her in a difficult position. To leave the cane with Lucian would make her appear lenient, and Caleb would lose face in front of the prisoner.

She snapped at Lucian. “Give it to him.”

The gesture was a symbolic victory for Caleb and both men knew it. Caleb took the cane to the office door and leaned the stick against the doorjamb. He was pleased with himself but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Lucian pressed his right hand against his thigh, seemingly lost without the cane. Until now she hadn’t realized how much the walking stick was a part of him. It was like he had lost a limb.

Rachael shifted her stance so that she could keep the constable in her peripheral vision. Satisfied with her position, she turned her eye on Lucian and spoke the ritual words. “I am before you, Lucian Negru, not as your confessor, but as your judge. Any words that pass from your lips to my ears will be taken before the Seraph and the Council to condemn or exonerate you. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Do you accept the authority of the Citadel that I bear in the name of God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth and of all things seen and unseen?”

“I do.”

“In the love and light of God’s law, do you solemnly swear to speak the truth?”

“I do.”

All three Katharoi crossed themselves.

Rachael said, “In the fall of 5858 you were exiled from the Citadel.”

Lucian interrupted her. “5857.”

She blinked and for a split second, she groped to remember what she’d said. Surely she hadn’t forgotten the year this living hell began, but for the life of her, she couldn’t recall the words she’d just spoken.

Caleb bristled at the interruption. “Don’t correct the Judge.”

She held her hand up to silence him. “He’s right.” She didn’t like the genuine worry she saw on Lucian’s face. Lowering her hand, she nodded and spoke to Lucian. “You’re right. It was ’57. In the fall of 5857 you were exiled from the Citadel.” She sought to regain her former rhythm. “You were exiled for serving as an accomplice to Catarina Negru’s treasonous pact with the Fallen and for aiding her to escape from the Citadel’s justice. Is this the truth?”

“It is.”

“And where did you go upon your exile?”

“I went to Hadra where I’d sent Cate. When I arrived she told me she had secured a patron, Bernard De Jonge.”

“The governor of Golan’s Negev province?”

“Yes.”

A chill descended over Rachael. “He’s complicit with the Fallen?”

“Yes.”

“And the Citadel’s allies in Negev?”

“Eradicated.”

The rain pelted the roof.

Lucian continued. “De Jonge was waiting for Cate when she arrived in Hadra. He helped her set up her household and introduced her to Hadra’s mayor.”

Rachael struggled to remember the mayor’s name. As the Seraph’s heir, she knew the names and titles of all the major houses so she could summon them at will. What had been the man’s name? Witherspoon? Waithright?

Lucian seemed to sense her discomfort and offered her a lifeline. “His name was Wright. James Wright. He was also complicit.”

“Was?”

“He went mad last year. When they couldn’t control him anymore, they murdered him.”

A hint of movement distracted her as Caleb shifted his weight uncomfortably. Rachael returned her attention to Lucian. “Who murdered Wright?”

“Cate, Malachi Grusow, De Jonge, and seven others.” He rattled off their names in succession.

She tried to memorize each one, but the surnames kept tripping around the given names until they were nothing more than a jumble of foreign sounds. Rachael gave up; Lucian was speaking again.

“They made Cate Seraph on the morning I escaped.”

“Don’t you mean when you left?” Caleb interjected.

Lucian didn’t acknowledge the constable.

Rachael held Lucian’s gaze. “Who was holding you prisoner?”

“Cate.”

Caleb asked, “What changed? You just said you went running to her.”

Lucian didn’t respond.

“Answer him,” Rachael snapped.

“For a few years after I arrived, Cate feigned repentance while it suited her.” Lucian looked at her. 

She had forgotten how dark his eyes, and the pain she saw reflected in those bottomless shades of black terrified her. The silence stretched between them like the years. She thought he wouldn’t continue.

Finally, Lucian said, “One evening she returned home with the demon Cerberus on her heels. She tried to convince me the creature was a hound, a gift from a patron, but there was nothing mortal about the beast. When I challenged her, she dropped all pretensions and announced there had been no revocation of her pact with Mastema.” He stopped talking, his eyes full of mist and memories.

Caleb sidled closer to her. “Watch him. He’s playing for your sympathy.”

Rachael waved him aside. Lucian wasn’t faking. She had witnessed his shame over Catarina’s actions in the past. Yet when the Seraph chastised Catarina over her misdeeds, Lucian always stepped forward to take the blame for his twin. Rachael wondered if he would accept the blame for the mess in Hadra too.

Lucian whispered, “Cate lied to me to implicate me in her plot. Mastema weakened you with the Wyrm so the Katharoi wouldn’t accept you as John’s heir.”

A thin headache started behind Rachael’s right eye. “What are you talking about?”

“Cate summoned the demon Cerberus at the Citadel. In exchange for her everlasting fealty to Mastema, Cate would have power over Woerld. She told me Mastema would revoke his claim on her soul if I led you to the Hell Gates.”

The pieces slid together in her mind. Cate involved Lucian to incriminate him, and Mastema intended to debilitate Rachael. Whether by taking her love or destroying her through possession, it was all the same to the angel. In the event of John’s death, none of the heirs would be able to fulfill their responsibilities, and Mastema would install a corrupt Seraph loyal to the Fallen.

A simple plan to discredit the Seraph’s heirs, and the three of them had walked right into it. She said, “The Seraph suspected that was the Fallen’s intent, so he made Reynard Bartell the Citadel’s Inquisitor. If I become incapacitated, Reynard will serve as regent. The Fallen’s plan has failed.”

Lucian shook his head. “Reynard Bartell is complicit with the Fallen.”

Caleb bristled as if he’d been accused. “That is a lie! Don’t you see what he’s doing, Rae? He’s trying to break us from within, just like the Fallen did during the Great Schism.”

Lucian overrode the constable’s objections without raising his voice. “Before she left the Citadel, Cate gave Bartell her Psalter. They inscribed their pledges to one another in the pages, along with the names of their co-conspirators. I have it from Cate’s lips.” 

“Good God,” Rachael whispered. 

“I don’t believe this.” Caleb advanced on Lucian. “There’s not a more devout member in our service than Reynard Bartell.”

“Shut up.” Her voice echoed in the church. A thump of fear pounded her heart. Lucian knew the penalty for falsely accusing another member. Rachael had been no more than fourteen when John ordered Adelain Wilson’s tongue cut out for falsely accusing another member of being complicit. No one dared charge another member without immutable proof after Wilson’s trial.

Certainly Lucian, two years older than her, remembered the incident, but the law dictated she must assume nothing. “You know the penalty for falsely accusing another member, Lucian.”

“I do.”

“Do you recant?”

“I do not.”

Caleb came to her side, his back to Lucian. “Don’t listen to these lies, Rae. Reynard has your best interests at heart. He always has.”

Has he? The words remained stuck in her mouth. Reynard claimed to seek the Wyrm’s true name, but after each exorcism attempt, the demon drew closer to taking her body. Reynard smiled to her face, but what wickedness did he promote behind her back? She visualized the three Katharoi making the sign of the cross as she rode through the Citadel’s gates. Tanith’s words hissed through her mind: We are infiltrated.

Rachael’s malignant headache spread across her forehead; she resisted the urge to massage her temple. She couldn’t afford any sign of weakness in front of either man. “So,” she said to Lucian, “you were imprisoned because you knew all this?”

“No.” Lucian made no attempt to elaborate.

“Why then?” Rachael’s patience dissipated like the smoke winding up into the rafters.

“Because I refused to renounce my vows to the Citadel and open the Hell Gates on Cate’s command.”

“Catarina imprisoned you for that?” she asked.

Lucian looked away and didn’t answer.

“We’ve got the important information, Rae,” Caleb said.

She held her hand up and he stopped talking. 

“The constable is right,” Lucian said. “You have what’s important.”

“You said you would tell me.” She clasped her hands until her fingers ached. “What happened?”

He sought his cane and finding it gone, rubbed his knee absently. “When Cate told me there had been no revocation of her pact with Mastema, I left Hadra. She sent her soldiers after me, and they dragged me back to her chained like a criminal.” He clenched his jaw, a muscle beneath his cheek throbbed with his pulse. He took a deep breath and said, “They locked me in Hadra’s prison.”

The light made her uncertain, but Rachael thought a tear slipped over his lash.

“It was weeks before Cate came. She said I was to be tried for sedition. She said she would try to mitigate the charges if I would agree to come home and submit myself to her authority.” He tried to skim over the experience as if it meant nothing, but the misery enveloping his countenance told her another story.

“And did you agree to her terms?” Rachael asked.

“No. I did not.”

Her headache slivered through her brain and Rachael pressed her fingertips to her temples, closing her eye. Bright stars danced against her eyelid as she took a slow, deep breath to push her nausea down.

“Rae?” Caleb’s voice penetrated her agony. When she opened her eye, it was Lucian she saw.

He leaned forward. “It’s the Wyrm, Rachael. I can see it.”

She lowered her hands and the pain receded marginally. “I know what the Wyrm feels like. This is not it.” Since her return from Hell, headaches were an affliction she’d learned to live with. “Did Catarina give you a trial?”

Several minutes passed as he examined her. She was ready to repeat the question when he said, “A year later, she had me brought before her mock court. They sentenced me to five years and sent me back to prison.”

Caleb stepped forward and said with finality, “And when the sentence was done, you went back to your sister.”

Rachael glared at the constable and rephrased the question. “Is that what happened, Lucian? Did you go back to her of your own free will?”

“No. Cate wanted me to swear fealty to her. When I refused, she had her torturer cripple me.” Lucian bowed his head and closed his eyes. Outside the rain beat a merciless rhythm against the roof. “They took me to her house.”

“See how he twists the facts, Rae?” Caleb gestured at Lucian. “He says he was a prisoner, but he was merely her hostage.”

“Call it what you will.” Lucian addressed Caleb for the first time. “But whenever I left her house, I was under guard. She forced me to be at her side for every public appearance so her soldiers knew my face as well as they knew hers. Had I not found Father Matthew, I would still be there. He showed me the catacombs beneath Hadra so I could escape into the Wasteland.”

Lucian paused, then said to Rachael, “And that is where I found Lindsay. When she entered Woerld, she accidentally passed through a fractured Hell Gate and into Hell. Her bag dropped beside me, and I used her cell phone to determine her whereabouts. I had a choice to open the Hell Gate or let the child die. You know the rest.”

When he didn’t speak again for several minutes, she swallowed past the burning in her throat. “Do you have any more questions, Constable?”

“No,” Caleb murmured.

“Is that all you have to say in your defense, Lucian?”

“Yes.” Lucian nodded.

Rachael swiped her cheek, surprised when her glove came away damp. “Give him his cane, Caleb.”

“I don’t think so, Rae.”

She turned to the constable, but his image wavered before her. The headache slammed against her consciousness, causing her to cry out. Through her pain, she heard the sound of wood scraping against wood, followed by a long, slow creak.

Rachael turned to find the cross swaying gently against the wall. Upside down. The temperature in the room plunged until she could see her breath cloud the air. Wetness trickled across Rachael’s upper lip and she tasted blood.

The Wyrm uncoiled in her brain.