Part 17 (1/2)

Disbelief warred with another emotion, one which formed deep in his chest. All he'd ever done was fail. He couldn't remember the last time he had pleased his master. He couldn't remember his last success.

Yet, despite that, his master wanted him back. Not only did his master want him back, he wanted it bad enough to face the Emperor's wrath. Thunder boomed and shook the ground, and the sky turned white from the bolt of lightning forking down. It crashed to the ground far below. Terin blinked away the spots dancing in his vision.

The rain fell harder, plastering his hair so it fell in his eyes. He had found an answer in his prowling of Upper Erelith City, but it hadn't helped him. The truth didn't give him an idea of what he should do. It didn't convince him to return, branded once more as a failure. The fact that his master did want him back eased some of the tension cramping his muscles.

The thought of returning to Zurach made him shudder.

Terin sucked in a breath and twisted around to stare along the promenade. If he returned to his master with the papers he'd been ordered to retrieve, he wouldn't be a complete failure. If he acquired what his master had sought, he might escape with a light punishment.

If he got caught a second time, he wouldn't make it back to his master at all, but he couldn't quell his desire to return with somethinga”anythinga”to prove himself, his sincerity, and his obedience. With a little effort, and a little luck, he could find the papers and cross the city before the dawn lit the sky.

It was as if a great and invisible weight lifted from his shoulders. Terin lifted his hand to his throat and breathed out a relieved sigh. The cold of the collar around his throat pressed against his burned skin, but it didn't punish him for his thoughts.

Zurach hadn't lied to him about his master, but he had lied.

Zurach wasn't his master. Zurach didn't control his collar.

He drew a deep breath and slapped his cheeks. This time, he wouldn't fail. He would do what his master had ordered him. He would steal the papers, and no one would die.

Not even him.

Terin paused at the thought. While dying offered him escape and freedom, he couldn't quite grasp hold of his past wish for death. It offered him nothing but an end.

The back of his right hand itched, pulling him from his thoughts. He scratched at it, and stared at the last sc.r.a.ps of the sunset as the storm surged across the sky, devouring its light.

Pivoting on a heel, he stalked toward the estate of the Citizen he'd failed to rob.

This time, he wouldn't fail.

Blaise leaned against the wall near the sanctuary doors, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited. There was one thing left for him to do, but the words he needed to Speak stuck in his throat.

Once he began to Speak, he wouldn't be able to take back the words, and he would be committed to paying the price, no matter what it would be. He drew a deep breath and ducked his head down. It'd been easy to act all aloof and make a stand, but since he needed to put everything on the linea”even his existencea”he hesitated.

The forbidden words were on the tip of his tongue, waiting for him to say them. If He didn't want him to succeed, the next words out of his mouth would erase him as surely as being devoured by Lucin who lurked within the Hand of G.o.d.

Sweat beaded on Blaise's brow, cool against the heat of his skin. He closed his eyes and began to Speak. The scripture to reveal secrets, in reverse, came out as a warble, but instead of carrying with it the beauty of birdsong, the sound of his voice chilled his blood. s.h.i.+vers ran through him. Blaise felt something tug at his chest, as if invisible fingers sought to tear his heart from him. The last sounds of the forbidden words came out as a wheeze, forced out through his tight, aching throat.

When he fell silent, something snapped within him and the tension flowed out of him. The wall he leaned against kept him from falling. His fear manifested as a quiver in his gut.

How close had he come to wiping himself from existence? Blaise's muscles and nerves tingled, and he couldn't dispel the feeling that he'd been stretched out and crumpled back together again. The human sh.e.l.l he wore didn't fit quite right, as though some of his essence had leaked out along with the forbidden words he'd Spoken.

Blaise panted and wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat. While he was aware of his arm, his eyes refused to acknowledge its presence. He straightened and drew long, deep breaths until his heartbeat settled and he stopped wheezing.

Holding out his hand in front of his face, he tried to make out the outline of his fingers, but all he could see was the rows of benches and the dais on the other end of the room. He nodded with satisfaction. If the mortals didn't know he was there, he could slip away. If he could escape the church unnoticed, the risks he took would be worth it. The Erelith Church of G.o.d didn't need him.

He stared through his hand at the sanctuary and let out a relieved sigh. If he couldn't see himself with his heightened sight, no one could.

Not even another divine.

He lowered his hand and considered the church. Without him, the Erelith Church of G.o.d would endure. If it didn't, it wouldn't be the first or the last time G.o.d's faithful changed the nature of their wors.h.i.+p.

The doors of the sanctuary slammed open. Blaise flinched and stared at the edge that'd crashed into the wall a mere inch from his shoulder. Frolar stormed through, halting with one foot in the room, the other still in the hall. The man's breath came out in ragged bursts. ”Blaise?”

Blaise's name echoed hollowly in the room. He bit on his gloved finger to keep silent, uncertain of just how well the forbidden words would disguise him from other Speakers. While he thought it would, he'd learn for certain in moments.

”What's the meaning of this, Frolar? What's going on?” the Archbishop asked from the hallway. Like Frolar, Alphege gasped for air. The man pushed by Frolar and took several steps forward before turning around. ”Where is Blaise? I thought you said he was here?”

”Did he leave?” Frolar asked, twisting around to face those behind him.

”No,” one of the soldiers replied. ”It's been quiet.”

”He was muttering those prayers of yours not that long ago, doing whatever it is you folks do in there,” the other said. ”Been quiet for some thirty minutes now.”

”Are you certain no one left?” Alphege demanded.

”I'm certain, Your Holiness,” the first of the soldiers replied. ”The doors have been shut the entire time.”

”He has to be here,” Frolar said, disbelief in his tone. The bishop stepped forward, looking around the room with a pale face and wide eyes. ”Where else could he be? There's no other way out of here.”

”Check everything,” Alphege ordered. The Archbishop crossed to the dais and took the stairs two at a time.

”What is going on now?” the Emperor boomed out.

”It seems the Heart of G.o.d has been restored to us,” Alphege said, lifting up the staff. Blaise grimaced as his bone howled its outrage. While faint, he heard Aurora weeping.

”Where is the Red Bishop?” the Emperor demanded.

Blaise felt his brows rise. He'd been called many things, including egotistical, inhuman, and aloof, but ”the Red Bishop” was a new name. He resisted the temptation to touch the red gold of the b.u.t.tons on his coat.

”Where is Bishop Blaise?” the Emperor asked in a whisper. The man's tone was so cold and unforgiving that Blaise tensed. It was the same snarl as an angered wolf, or a hunting cat set to pounce on unsuspecting prey.

Frolar walked between the benches, crouching down to look underneath each row, working his way to the dais. ”He's gone. How can this be? I thoughta”

”You thought what, Bishop?” Alphege asked.

”I thought I felt him near. I thought I felt him.”

”We all felt something,” Alphege soothed. ”But it didn't feel like Bishop Blaise to me. We are all worn and tired. Still, he isn't here, and the Heart of G.o.d is. This doesn't bode well.”

”What do you mean?” General Horthoe asked from the doorway. The gray-clad man strode across the sanctuary. ”Someone definitely cleaned up in here.”

Alphege sighed. ”It seems like he saw to the dead. Then, he did the unthinkable. That fool. That blessed fool.”

”I hope you have a good explanation for this,” the Emperor snapped.

”I should have known better,” the Archbishop admitted. ”I should have insisted he not be left alone, not even for a minute. May G.o.d guide his soul to the Garden. The fool sacrificed himself to restore the Heart of G.o.d.”

”We need him,” the Emperor snarled. ”It was your duty to keep him safe. We can't use him if he's dead. Need I remind you of this, Archbishop?”