The temple bells rang long enough that the wall could not muffle them. They dragged Raef back to consciousness. Stiff and cold, he found himself alone on the ground.
It had only been one night, that one stretch of kissing, then sleeping in each other’s arms. His body had pressed for more, but he hadn’t been ready, even though Kinos had given him every sign. Raef had not trusted the depth of his desire, so they’d slept. And now . . .
“Kinos?” Raef asked, sitting up.
He was alone in the rubble.
Raef found his feet.
“Kinos!” he called quietly.
It might echo up the wall. Someone might hear.
The cellar door remained shut, as he’d left it the night before, and Raef could not imagine Kinos being foolish enough to descend into the dark alone.
Kinos had climbed the wall. Something inside Raef sank. He hadn’t asked for anything.
He’d held back his trust and as soon as he’d started to open, to give up his secrets, Kinos had run away.
Something flickered beside the wall, in the deepest shadows where it met what remained of the tower’s base.
Raef hurried toward it, his body tensed, worried about what he’d find.
It was the burned man, the shade from Eleni’s who’d warned him of the fire.
His shade was so pale, so thin. He must have used all of his strength to come here.
Bits of him flaked away like ash as he mouthed new words.
Dome. Hurry. Dome.
Raef blanched.
Hurry.
“Who are you?” Raef asked.
He could cut himself, feed the ghost a drop of blood—but no, that was madness. The spirit would consume him. The Grief could rise. This shade might retain some of his mind, but those who had fallen fully into mist would not.
Raef bit his lip and reached for his knife. He had to know, but the shade faded, its strength expended.
“Damn it.”
Raef took a long breath and scrambled up the wall.
His heart pounded as he crested it and descended again, landing behind it, away from the plaza where some commotion had started. It sounded like the entire city had assembled.
He did not understand why Kinos would have left shelter, what would have driven him into danger. The knights couldn’t have come for him. There was no way Raef could have slept through that.
He dropped to the ground and thought of Eleni, slumped dead in her chair.
There was an Inquisitor in the city.
If Kinos was under Hyperion’s dome, then he had been captured.
Shaking, Raef worked his way around to the plaza and stepped back into the shadows.
Now he understood the bells.
People filled the square. They crowded the temple steps, vying to squeeze through the open doors.
Knights stood guard everywhere. Many wore red capes.
It couldn’t be a coincidence that Kinos had gone. He might have run from the sight of the Knights Elite, worried that they’d search the Garden, but it still stung that he’d left Raef behind.
Raef could walk away now. To find Kinos meant facing the man who’d ordered the towers razed and Phoebe killed.
He put his back to the wall, let the cold seep into him, and fought to stop his shaking.
Whatever had caused Kinos to run, the mysteries remained. Slighted or not, Raef had to know.
He slipped into the crowd, used it to hide as he crossed the plaza and squeezed inside the temple. Raef cleared the crowd and froze.
The Hierarch was impossible to miss.
The voice of Hyperion in the world stood inside the ring of red marble, dressed in a robe of golden fabric. The value of the thread alone could have fed Boat Town for a year.
Hands cupped toward the oculus, the Hierarch prayed in a deep, confident voice.
His eyes were closed as he faced the falling light.
Raef saw exactly how he could do it.
He’d dash forward, past the priests and knights. If he was quick, and he would be quick—if he was strong, and he would be strong, he could leap the altar and drive his knife into the Hierarch’s throat.
Now he trembled for an entirely new reason.
It wouldn’t bring Phoebe back, but it would be revenge.
He gripped his hidden knife.
But no . . . everything he’d felt in the crypt remained true. He was no murderer, and even if he was, he’d never escape. He wouldn’t be there to save Kinos from the box or whatever they’d done with him.
Raef clasped his hands together and squeezed, the closest he could safely come to making Phoebe’s sign, to holding his cupped palms together over his heart to make a sphere.
Raef joined the milling crowd to walk from chapel to chapel. He couldn’t stare at the Hierarch. Someone might spot him, recognize the temptation behind his focus.
Bowing his head, Raef tried to look reverent, knew he probably failed, and circled the altar. He descended to the crypt and bought a prayer candle, the thin ones sold to leave as offerings or remembrances at the tombs. Raef walked on as if he intended to place it at the little altar to Helios, Hyperion’s son, who’d died in the demon wars. No one was down here. All were above, watching the spectacle of the Hierarch, and yet he still felt like eyes were upon him.
The tomb where he’d found the box was unguarded, the door shut.
Checking that no one was near, Raef slipped inside. The box remained, open and empty. They did not have Kinos, or at least they hadn’t returned him to his former prison.
Raef shook his head. He should have fed the shade, tried to get more information.
Head bowed, hands pressed together, he left the crypt.
They wouldn’t keep Kinos in the temple. Too many pilgrims crowded there to see the Hierarch. If the knights had him, they’d keep him in the courtyards and buildings that lay behind the dome.
Raef didn’t know much about that space. It was private, locked away from the rest of the city. The shadowknife pulsed inside his wrist as if to remind him that locked doors were not a problem. Raef pulled at his sleeve, making certain the mark was hidden. Perhaps it wanted to warn him that it would be smarter to come back at night, when the priests and knights were sleeping, but Raef had no guarantee that Kinos would live that long.
There were Inquisitors in the city, at least one.
If they questioned Kinos, they’d learn about Raef, and he’d burn, all because his loneliness was eating him alive. Yet he didn’t regret telling Kinos the truth, didn’t regret the kiss, even if it had led to this.
Clenching his jaw, Raef left the temple and worked his way around to where the limestone walls met the complex. There were servant gates, all guarded by knights. Raef aimed for the kitchen and knocked.
A scullion in a stained tunic swung the door open.
“What?” he demanded. His dark hair was matted to his head with sweat and effort.
“I’m looking for work,” Raef said. “One of the priests told me you might need help.”
“What?” the lad repeated. He was young and possibly a charity case himself. “I’ve no time for more chaos today.”
“The Hierarch is here,” Raef said, speaking slowly. “And he brought all of these knights. I figured you might need help with dishes. Or chopping things. I’ll work for a meal.”
He rubbed his belly for emphasis.
“Fine,” the scullion said, rolling his eyes so hard Raef wasn’t sure they’d descend. “You can scrape the bowls and plates. I hate that part. You can eat any leavings.”
Raef smiled and tried to look appreciative. He wouldn’t need that long. He was already planning a convenient lie when the boy eyed Raef’s hands and said, “You need to go wash.”
“Sure,” Raef said. “Where?”
“Through there.” The scullion waved a knife with a bit of a potato peel stuck to it toward a door.
Raef considered palming an orange on his way, but thought better of it. In another life he might have been grateful for this work. He’d eat scraps. He’d eaten worse.
Not that he had ever had that problem in the tower.
He shouldn’t have thought of that, not here. His hand started to shake.
He forced it away, forced himself to steady.
Kinos needed him.
Raef walked past the barrel and basin set for washing and darted around a corner. The temple was a maze, a series of narrow buildings and courtyards designed to maximize the sunlight.
At some point the scullion would realize Raef had snuck off.
The first courtyard opened into another, smaller space which led to another, then another.
He’d never find Kinos in this maze. Raef’s concern had gripped him so hard that he almost didn’t notice the old man. He sat on a stone bench, tossing out bread crumbs for a flock of doves. They cooed, their wings ruffling as they jostled one another.
“Some would say it’s a waste of bread,” the man said, looking up from inside the hood of his brown robes. He had a low voice.
Raef held back a wince as he met the man’s eyes. The man’s gaze was piercing, and Raef felt seen, exposed in a way he hadn’t been since the last time Father Polus had caught him at something.
“Why?” Raef asked, trying to keep from shaking.
“To feed birds in a city on the verge of starvation.”
“Then we’ll just eat the birds,” Raef said with a shrug.
The man chuckled before focusing his full attention on Raef.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
His eyes were a deep blue. He had a white beard and not much hair.
“I came looking for work and got lost.” Raef jerked a thumb back toward the kitchens.
The man seemed to ignore the answer.
“I would pray with you, if you’d like,” he said.
“I’m not that lost,” Raef said.
“Are you so certain?” the priest asked. “We often cannot see the shape of the maze we’re trapped in.”
More than his words, his piercing stare sent a tingle of warning, like a spider’s creeping steps, up Raef’s spine. Trying to keep his expression neutral, Raef looked more closely.
The man wasn’t like the other priests. Most strolled through the temple, well fed, often drunk, and slow-witted. This one seemed contemplative, but he had a sharpness that reminded Raef of Father Polus. The shadowknife pulsed in warning.
“That’s all right,” Raef said. He looked over his shoulder, trying to appear relaxed, as he kept the man in the corner of his eye. “I should get back to the kitchens.”
“Many have come here today. Mostly to see the Hierarch,” the man said, eyes narrowed. “All of them are seeking something. Have you found what you came for?”
“Not yet,” Raef said.
“Even the prince came,” the man said casually.
“Deslis?” Raef asked, pausing.
“He wanted to invite the Hierarch to a ball, a masquerade,” the old man said, scattering more crumbs. “Can you imagine?”
“No,” Raef said. Unless he had something to show the Hierarch, something he wanted to trade or sell. Something like Kinos. The knights hadn’t caught him. They would have returned him to the box. The Watch had found him first.
“Can you point me back toward the kitchens?” Raef asked.
“It’s to the left, but go carefully, my son.”
Lips pressed tight, Raef gave a little nod of thanks and retreated.
He went right, continuing his search, creeping through hallways to peek into barrack rooms and glance into courtyards. One was full of hounds and he went no closer.
More and more he felt he was right. The prince had Kinos, not the Hierarch.
Raef could go to the palace. He could get Kinos back.
He could do it alone, but it would be easier, much easier, with help.
Raef left the temple by another door.
He’d always wanted to go to a ball.