Sophia pressed her fists to the heavy desk and leaned forward. The Watch captain didn’t smile, but the corner of her mouth twisted. Seth got the feeling she was enjoying herself.
The room was stone, like the rest of the Watchhouse, with smoke-stained mortar and shelves that could use a dusting. The acrid-sweet taste of the captain’s cigar filled the air as she settled back into her heavy chair.
“It’s a man,” Sophia said. “With black hair and green eyes. What don’t you understand about that?”
The captain blew out a long stream of white smoke. The bitter flavor stuck to the back of Seth’s throat. He knew he’d be smelling it all day.
“Because it’s not a lot to work with.” A pale patch at the front of the captain’s temple clashed with her darker hair. She reminded Seth of Zale, another person roughened by life in a way he hoped to never be.
“Do you have any other details?” the captain asked. “I’m happy to take notes.”
Her tone was even, but Seth suspected she was mocking Sophia. He hoped Sophia did not think so too.
“We have a score of gangs, some with dozens of members. Half of them are men,” the captain explained. “We have old men in droves, fishermen past their prime.”
“He’s not from this city,” Sophia said, her tone close to seething.
“Well, that narrows it down,” the captain said. “You can’t even tell me how old he is or how tall?”
“No,” Sophia spat.
“So then how do you expect us to help you?”
The room began to warm.
Seth did not want to intervene. Sophia was his elder, but she could not bring Hyperion’s fire against innocents. Surely, she wouldn’t, but he’d seen her with the priestess and had his doubts.
The captain’s near smirk did not falter. Broad of body, she wasn’t tall like Sophia, but she gave no impression of weakness. There were muscles beneath her gray shirt.
“You could help us search,” Seth suggested.
“I don’t have the people for that,” the captain said. “I can’t help you.”
“We are Knights of Hyperion,” Sophia said.
“The prince pays my wages, not the temple. I don’t work for you.”
Seth narrowed his eyes. Father Geldar had tried to warn him about Versinae, that they did things without Hyperion’s guidance.
Sophia leaned forward. “Then perhaps we should take this to him.”
“You do that. Be sure to tell him you spoke to Captain Regan and that she laughed you out the door.”
Seth trailed Sophia as she stormed out of the Watchhouse. It occupied its own small square, a patch of dead soil in the shadow of the greater towers. He shuddered at the gallows tree. A murder of crows perched in its black, leafless branches. At least no one hung from its nooses. Any bodies would be burned to avoid adding to the Grief.
“This city will not aid the light,” Sophia said. “It should burn.”
Seth felt his heart divide as Sophia repeated her now familiar threat. The people in this city eyed the knights with a mix of resentment and curious greed, but that did not mean they deserved death.
The captain had been right. Sophia had given her nothing to go on, no useful information.
Sophia had stormed out of the temple and gone straight to the Watchhouse, but they knew nothing.
She could have tried another approach, used some tact to try to learn more. That’s what Father Geldar would have done. Seth would have sought his guidance, or waited for the Bishop as the priestess had suggested, but he did not think Sophia would hear such a suggestion, especially from him.
A crow fixed its black eye on him and cawed, perhaps to beg for a meal.
Sophia paused at a column plastered with wanted posters, sketches of cutthroats and murderers. If their quarry were an innocent, he could not be in a more dangerous city, but if he was the source of the darkness infecting Zale, someone demon-touched, he could not have found a better place to hide.
The woman from that night had mentioned a carriage. That implied horses and money. Sophia had yet to question the nobility, but the time would come. She was brazen enough to approach the prince himself. Seth did not expect it to go any better than it had with the Watch.
“We don’t know enough,” he said, following her.
“Hyperion will guide us,” she repeated. She’d said it so many times, but each avenue they’d followed had reached a dead end. Perhaps Hyperion did not hear Sophia’s prayers, or perhaps she did not hear his answer. Seth chided himself.
Forgive me, Father.
He was tired, and it was not Seth’s place to question Sophia’s faith, not when he himself was so flawed. Who was he to judge her? The god showed him mercy, showed them all mercy. It should be simple enough for Seth to do the same.
“Perhaps Zale has woken up.”
“Perhaps,” Sophia agreed with a little gentleness.
Returning to the temple was something Seth could agree to.
Weariness had slowed his steps, but he found some renewal when the golden dome came into sight.
Perhaps Sophia would clear her mind and consider better solutions. He would pray. Hyperion would guide them to their quarry. They would redeem themselves. They had to. Seth had to. This was his chance to prove himself to the Hierarch, to become a full knight, perhaps to join a cadre and not be so alone.
“We will see to Zale,” Sophia said, sounding determined once more. “Then we shall search again. The city will bring us our prey.”
“Then what?” Seth asked. “We were ordered to guard the box.”
“You do not eat an eggshell.” They entered the temple. “The contents are what matters. We’ll guard the man and burn the thief, after we’ve learned what they did to Zale and if it can be reversed.”
“It cannot be reversed,” a woman said.
She waited near the altar, the candlelight gleaming on her black skin. Another knight stood beside her. Both wore freshly polished armor, but it was marked with the dings and dents of battle.
“Shadow is a corruption,” the woman said. “Once it touches you, it festers and grows. It infects.”
Seth drew up straight. Sophia crossed her arms.
“Kneel,” the woman ordered with such force that Seth did not doubt she’d draw the mace hanging from her back if she felt it necessary.
“Who are you?” Sophia asked.
Seth dropped to his knees while Sophia remained standing.
“All knights in this city are under my command,” the Bishop said. “You will kneel, Knight, or I will have you stripped as I have your fellow.”
“Zale? Stripped?” Sophia sputtered.
Seth had not thought anything could cow her. She looked both stricken and furious.
“He has been touched by darkness, by shadow,” the Bishop said. “He no longer wields the god’s fire.”
“It is not his fault.” Sophia seethed. “This city is corrupt. It needs cleansing.”
“Who are you to pass such judgment?”
“I am a Knight of Hyperion.”
The Bishop’s expression promised fire and penance.
“You are for now. Now pray.”
The daylight falling from the oculus was not strong, as though Hyperion hid his face from them. Seth looked from the Bishop to Sophia and back. Sophia did not have his problems. Her judgment should not be flawed like his.
Sophia followed the Bishop to her knees.
Seth closed his eyes. He let the temple with its marble and statues fade away. He ignored the others, until he felt only the falling light, its warmth and the fire inside him that answered it like a song.
Father, forgive this city. Help them. Show them your light.
He repeated it, over and over until some of his weariness lifted.
It felt selfish to ask for more. Turning to the light, letting it brighten his closed lids, he added, Make me yours. Make me whole.
Father Geldar had taught Seth that a sacrifice must be willing. The gods would take no life that had any reservations. You had to grow your sacrifice inside you before you could gift it to them. It had to be real. It had to hurt.
Seth had offered himself, what he was and where he’d started, but Hyperion had not changed him.
The monks in Teshur had said he must not truly want it, that some part of him clung to the flaw in his blood, the reason the fire burned him. Seth’s birth wasn’t his fault, but he remained imperfect. The monks had doubled his penance, tripled it, and still the god’s fire burned him. Seth did not think Hyperion failed to hear his prayers, only that the answer was always no.
The Bishop exhaled. Her armor gleamed.
The knight beside her watched the altar, like he had some prayer left on his mind. He had a trimmed red beard and a lean face. He was handsome, and Seth felt a little pang to notice it now.
“What have you learned?” the Bishop asked, her voice a little warmer, like prayer had softened her edges.
“Nothing,” Seth said. “We do not know where he’s gone, who he is, or even where we should look.”
“We know that the box contained a man,” Sophia snapped, breaking the calm that sunset had brought. “And we know that he was stolen. This city hides him. We must find him and punish the thieves.”
“You would bring the god’s fire against those responsible?” the Bishop asked.
She narrowed her bronze eyes at Sophia. Seth thought it a warning, but Sophia answered without flinching.
“Of course.”
The other knight stiffened at her answer.
“And the innocents caught between you?” he asked. He was tall, taller than Seth and leaner of shoulder.
“They are not innocent,” Sophia hissed. “This city corrupts.”
The Bishop cocked her head.
Sophia seemed so certain and so devoid of mercy. What chance did anyone have, did Seth have, if the gods were not merciful?
The tall knight opened his mouth to speak, but the Bishop held up a hand.
“Hold, Lathan.” She turned to Seth. “Do you share her belief?”
“It is not my place to question Hyperion,” Seth said, eyes dropping to the floor.
“I’m not asking you to question Hyperion. I am asking you to question the stance of your fellow knight. Is she your bishop?”
“No,” Seth said, voice faltering.
He did not like the turn, to have all eyes focused on him. He felt measured by their stares, but they needn’t have bothered. Seth knew he was unworthy.
“Does she outrank you?” the Bishop asked.
“No.”
“Look at me, Seth.”
He did. How could he not? There was no question of the Bishop’s rank, no falter in her voice. Her eyes were piercing, like they saw every bit of him. Seth felt exposed, like she’d stripped away his armor and skin to read his failures in his entrails.
“You were both chosen by the Hierarch for this mission, were you not?” she asked.
Seth nodded.
“Speak up.”
“Yes, Bishop,” he said. “We were both chosen.”
Seth could not miss Sophia’s sour expression.
“Then who is Sophia to command you?”
“She is my elder.”
“So she is. But age does not always grant wisdom. Who are you, Seth?”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“You are a Knight of Hyperion, trained at Teshur. The monks there are among the hardest of the faithful, their discipline almost as strict as the Inquisitors’.”
“What does it have to do with the box? With the man?” Sophia demanded.
“I seek to understand,” the Bishop said. “In understanding there is truth.”
Seth said nothing. He could feel the others watching him, examining him. He flushed a little when he noticed Lathan’s eyes on him.
“Have you kept up your training, Seth?”
“Yes, Bishop,” he said. “Each day along with my penance.”
“Yet the order has not recalled you, has not assigned you to a cadre. In fact, you’ve had no missions, though you are more than old enough.”
“No, Bishop,” he said. She didn’t sound judgmental, merely curious. She was a bishop, the commander and spiritual leader of her cadre, of the knights under her command. It was not Seth’s place to question, but it was hers.
Sophia snorted.
“You have something to add?” the Bishop asked.
“His faith is not pure,” Sophia said. “The god’s fire burns him. He would not be safe in a cadre.”
Seth flushed. He did not look up. He did not want to see the Bishop’s or Lathan’s expressions. He knew he was flawed. Did Sophia need to voice it to everyone, to shame him publicly?
He felt the fire stir inside him. It wanted to be loosed in retribution, to vent his shame on one of Hyperion’s own. Seth had never wanted to hurt another knight before.
“That is for the cadre’s bishop to decide,” the Bishop said. “The Hierarch called the three of you to this mission. Sophia from Tethis and Zale from Ilium, where he has been reprimanded more than once for gambling and drinking to excess.”
Seth blinked. He’d thought Zale a better knight, a better man.
“The Hierarch chose three knights, none of them part of a cadre, each a problem to the order in a different way. Now one of you has fallen to shadow.”
The Bishop turned from Sophia to Seth and back.
He tried not to wilt beneath her gaze. He failed and fixed his eyes on a statue, a golden hero crushing a basalt demon beneath his boot. If only Seth could crush the darkness inside himself so easily.
He’d known he wasn’t perfect, that he’d come to Hyperion from a past without the light. He’d always suspected that was why he’d been left at Teshur so long after his training was complete, but to have it dredged out into the open, spoken of so bluntly—
Seth ducked his head to his chest.
“I thought this mission was my chance to prove myself worthy.”
“And so it may be,” the Bishop said. “It is not my place to question the Hierarch’s decisions. You are far from perfect, Seth, but that is true of all of us.”
He did look then. The other knight, Lathan, nodded, agreeing with her. Something stirred inside him. Perhaps there was a chance for him after all.
“We were sent to guard the box and its contents,” Sophia said, her anger obvious. “A man. We must find him.”
“But we have failed.”
“We have not failed!” Sophia barked. “We will find the man and return him to the box.”
“Perhaps,” the Bishop said. “Versinae does not like parting with her secrets.”
“What can we do?” Seth asked.
“Come with me,” the Bishop said.
She led them away from the temple dome, into the halls of the complex. The priests averted their eyes or narrowed them at Sophia. Most looked at the Bishop with respect or gave her the god’s sign, cupping their hands above their head as if to catch the falling light.
The Bishop led the knights outside, into a courtyard where several golden shapes sat or lay curled into a ball. Their fur gleamed in the torchlight. The scent of dog, not unpleasant, filled the space.
“Hounds,” Seth said, eyes wide.
He’d never expected to see one. Hounds of Hyperion were rare. Bred for the demon wars, they were sacred. They’d fulfilled their purpose when the gods defeated their ancient enemies, so their numbers had faded.
Only the noblest of knights were chosen by a hound. Seth saw the Bishop’s wisdom. The Hounds of Hyperion were superb trackers. If the box held any trace of its occupant, a hound could find him.
“We should have thought of this.”
“Yes, you should have,” the Bishop said.
Even Sophia seemed awed by the beasts.
“I did not realize there were hounds here,” she said.
“Because you have treated the priests with disdain,” the Bishop said. “They are Hyperion’s faithful. They are not beneath you. The people of this city are not beneath you.”
We all have something to offer Hyperion, Father Geldar was fond of saying. He’d told Seth that many times on the journey to Teshur, trying to assure him, but Seth saw now that it could have another meaning, that a knight might mistake themselves, consider themself to be above other people. Sophia seemed to.
“With a hound we can find the man quickly,” Sophia said, too excited to have heard the Bishop’s scolding. “Which is yours?”
“I have not been blessed that way,” the Bishop said. She nodded to her companion. “Lathan has.”
The slender knight smiled, just a little, a spark of pride. Seth doubted he would have been able to contain it either.
The biggest hound, all muscle and legs, stalked forward.
Sophia extended a hand.
“Here,” she commanded. “Come here.”
The hound growled a warning.
“Easy, Targ,” Lathan said. He cut his eyes at Sophia. “I don’t like her either.”
“Enough,” the Bishop said. “Bring her, Lathan. We’ll take her to the box.”
Sophia clenched her jaw to hold back some comment.
The growl she’d received from Lathan’s hound had been enough to make Seth keep his distance. Targ’s jaws could have fit around his neck.
Tufts of golden fur lay everywhere. He was tempted to pocket one, just to remember this moment.
The Bishop turned to go. Lathan led Targ forward. Seth lingered a breath, getting one more look at the sight.
A hound far smaller than Targ unwound from the pile of sleeping dogs. A pair of eyes, yellow like Seth’s, peeked out.
Seth smiled.
“That’s Argos,” Lathan said, calling back from the courtyard entrance. “He’s still growing.”
“Argos,” Seth repeated, smiling.
He waved goodbye, knowing he’d likely lose a hand if he approached.