Finally, she stopped in front of the name she sought, engraved into one of the many brass nameplates.
Nayome Hinek.
Cinzia rapped sharply on the dark wood doorframe. The faint sound of a clearing throat reached Cinzia’s ears, and a rush of relief came with it. If Nayome had not been in her office, Cinzia would have had to make another attempt another time—and soon—and the more time she spent near the Fane and the Ministry, the more chance she had of being caught.
“Enter,” a woman’s voice, high and melodious, called out from inside the office.
Slowly, Cinzia pushed open the large wooden door, and entered the Crucible’s chamber. A Crucible’s office was much larger than the one Cinzia had shared when she was a part of the Ministry.
Thinking of her involvement with the Denomination in past tense still stung, and she fought back threatening tears as she took in the room. A large window extended almost the full length of the wall directly opposite the door from which Cinzia had entered. Daylight filled the room. To Cinzia’s left, a series of paintings hung from the wall above a set of large stuffed chairs. The floor was polished hardwood, and a large plain rug sat in the middle of the chamber.
To Cinzia’s right was a wooden desk, two empty wooden chairs on one side of the structure, with another, much larger chair on the other side, on which the Holy Crucible Nayome Hinek sat, her tiny stature dwarfed by the chair’s tall back.
“Hello, Your Grace,” Cinzia said, removing her hood and bowing her head. A part of her was still nervous, but she was surprised at how energized she felt at the same time. She was finally here, in front of Nayome, and was ready to speak her piece. She might not last long—Nayome might call immediately for the nearest Goddessguard—but at least she was here.
Nayome stood. She was a small woman, even shorter than Cinzia. Her blonde hair was pulled up neatly into a tight bun atop her head.
“Miss Oden,” Nayome said, inclining her head only slightly. “Ironic that now you refer to me in the correct terms, but you yourself are no longer a part of the Ministry. It took that long to…”
A deep frown creased Nayome’s face, and her eyes narrowed.
She senses me, Luceraf hissed in Cinzia’s head. Your mission, whatever it is, is thwarted.
Cinzia did not respond, but an inward thrill moved through her. While she was never happy to hear the Daemon rummaging around in her mind, this time it was part of her plan. She had counted on Nayome sensing the Daemon’s presence within her. It was Nayome’s job, after all, as a Holy Crucible to seek out and destroy any potential threats to the Ministry.
There was no threat greater than a Daemon.
Nayome’s legs almost buckled beneath her, and she steadied herself with an iron grip on the tall chair by which she stood.
“Cinzia, what has happened to you?”
“Do you not know, Nayome? Can you not sense it?”
“I…”
Slowly, Nayome closed her eyes.
Is she a psimancer? Luceraf asked, the surprise clear in her voice.
The Crucible’s eyes snapped open, and she took a step back from Cinzia, one hand still gripping the chair behind her desk, knuckles pale.
“Out,” Nayome hissed. “The High Camarilla were right. Excommunication was too light a sentence for you. I testified on your behalf, but this is worse than I could have imagined. We should have brought you in for execution, as we should have executed your sister in Navone.”
Cinzia hesitated. Nayome had testified on her behalf? Why would the Crucible have done such a thing? They had been friends once, but that had been long ago. Before Cinzia had betrayed Nayome, and the Denomination itself, in Navone.
“I need your help, Nayome,” Cinzia said. It was the only card she had to play, and Nayome’s admission, whether inadvertent or intentional, only made it more valuable.
“I cannot help you. You are not the Cinzia I knew.”
“I am.”
Luceraf laughed. She will never believe you.
You’re right, Cinzia thought, she will never believe me.
Then why are you here? Such foolishness. You’re only putting us both in danger.
If it puts you in danger, then nothing could be more important.
There is more at stake here than your life or mine.
Cinzia faltered. There it was again. There was something about the way Luceraf spoke at times, infrequently and unpredictably, when Cinzia could have sworn the Daemon was actually making an attempt at sincerity.
But, just as quickly as the sincerity came, it passed, and Luceraf was full of rage once more. Idiot girl, the Daemon whispered, your life will not be yours for much longer. When we have united, I will force you out, banish you to Oblivion, and that will be the end of it.
It had almost happened that day on the Coastal Road; she’d felt Luceraf pushing her out, felt her very self, everything that made her her, begin to disintegrate, and she never wanted that, not ever—but, at the same time, this was exactly what she wanted Luceraf to say.
She will never believe me, Cinzia repeated. But my hope, she said, her eyes meeting Nayome’s, pleading, but still speaking to Luceraf, is that she will believe you.
Nayome’s eyes widened.
Luceraf growled. You will not get away with this betrayal.
This isn’t a betrayal, Cinzia said. I don’t want you in my head.
And then Luceraf was gone again.
“Cinzia, what was that?” Nayome asked. She had backed up all the way against the stone wall behind her, both hands pressed back against it, palms flat.
“That was Luceraf,” Cinzia said. “One of the Nine Daemons.”
“And she has possessed you against your will?”
“Possess is a strong word,” Cinzia nodded, “but she and I are now in a… relationship, of sorts.” She refrained from responding to Nayome’s inquiry about will. The truth was, Luceraf had needed Cinzia’s consent to possess her. Cinzia had allowed it, in order to save Knot. Now that Knot was safe, she wanted nothing more than to be rid of the Daemon, but Luceraf had only needed her consent once.
“Nayome,” Cinzia said, looking the woman in the eye, “The Daemon has temporarily left my mind, for now, but I do not know what she is up to. She could return at any moment, or worse, we could face other challenges.”
“We are in the offices of the Denomination,” Nayome said, “what could she do to harm us?” The caution in her voice belied the confidence the words implied.
“That is why I have come to speak with you,” Cinzia said. “I need your help with something. With getting rid of this Daemon, and all of the Nine Daemons, once and for all.”
Nayome scoffed. “The Denomination have sought ways to do this for centuries. What makes you think you have actually found a method?”
Cinzia pointed to her head. “I have come to know one more intimately than I would like,” she said. “And I know someone who thinks we might find answers in the Denomination.” Cinzia doubted Nayome would recognize the Beldam by that title, and she did not know the woman’s actual name.
“Did your sister send you here, then?”
“No. I came here without her knowledge. She is not aware of my arrangement with Luceraf.”
“She is not also possessed by one of the Daemons?” Nayome asked. Cinzia could hear the incredulity in her voice.
“No,” Cinzia said sharply. “My sister’s movement is in opposition to the Nine Daemons. She works against them, more even than the Denomination.”
Nayome raised an eyebrow at that, but she seemed to consider all of this. “I see.” Cinzia wondered how Nayome could take it all in so calmly. If someone possessed by one of the Nine Daemons had come to her for help, she did not think she would be so accommodating. Let alone calm. “What is it you would ask of me, Cinzia?”
Cinzia did not hide her relief. Though tentative, Nayome’s response gave her hope.
“I need access to something called the Vault, in the Fane,” Cinzia said.
>
Nayome snorted. “The Vault? How do you even…” She shook her head. “Even if I wanted to get you there, it would be impossible.”
“I am assembling something of a team to help with that,” Cinzia said.
“If you think you can smash your way into—”
“No one will get hurt,” Cinzia said, hoping her promise was true. “Nothing will be damaged. I just need to get into the Vault. I need some time there to compare notes.”
“Compare notes? Cinzia, what information do you need? I can likely get whatever it is to you in a much simpler way than helping you break into the Vault.”
Cinzia shook her head. “It needs to be me. I need to see what the Denomination has, the core texts.”
“Impossible.”
Cinzia took a deep breath. She had one more card to play. “I have something else to tell you, Nayome.”
“In exchange for this favor?”
“You need to know it whether you help me or not. A Crucible’s duty is to root out corruption and heresy, is it not?”
“Of course. Currently, your sister’s movement—of which you are a disciple, my dear, do not think we don’t have that information—is the center of our investigation, though it’s proved maddeningly difficult to infiltrate, let alone confront and eliminate.”
“‘Look to the inward vessel before extending your arm of judgment,’” Cinzia quoted. The phrase came from the writings of the Cantic scholar Nazira; her work was so influential in the Denomination that Nayome could not but recognize it.
The Crucible’s face darkened. “What are you suggesting?”
“I am not suggesting anything,” Cinzia said, “only telling you what I know. We crossed paths with a matron from the Denomination in Turandel. She called herself the Black Matron. She served the Nine Daemons. Having now encountered her and seen what she was capable of, I believe the Cult is real, and she was one of its leaders.”
Cinzia regarded Nayome carefully. Nayome had clearly changed since becoming a Crucible, and Cinzia would never forget what had happened between them in Navone, but this woman was Cinzia’s best hope.
And yet one of her concerns in approaching Nayome had been the fear that Nayome herself might actually be a part of the Cult—a group of Cantic priestesses who served the Nine Daemons. Until she had encountered the Black Matron, Cinzia had thought the Cult was nothing more than a story novice priestesses told to scare one another.
But surely Luceraf’s anger at her meeting with Nayome showed that the Crucible was not part of the conspiracy.
Nayome’s face was so motionless and hard it could have been sculpted from marble.
“Was capable of?” the Crucible finally asked.
Cinzia cleared her throat. “The Black Matron perished on the Coastal Road.” I killed her. I nearly snapped her neck off of her body. The image, and the sickening crunch, still haunted her. It was not, however, the first time she had taken a life, and that thought made her unendingly sad.
Nayome nodded slowly, her jaw set as she eyed Cinzia. Likely discerning Cinzia’s thoughts at that very moment.
So be it. Let Nayome see what Cinzia had done. That did not mean Cinzia had to say it out loud.
“So you have no proof the Cult exists, then?” Nayome said. “How do you know it did not die with this woman… the Black Matron… on the Coastal Road?”
“Do you really think it would be limited to one matron and a few priestesses?” Cinzia took Nayome’s silence as agreement. “I do not know who you can trust,” Cinzia said. “I do not know how far up members of the Cult may have infiltrated the Denomination. I do not know for how long they have festered in our… in your ranks. But someone needs to do something about all of it. It is past time.”
Cinzia had said her piece. She had no other cards to play. She could actually hear the other woman’s teeth grinding.
“I’ll need to know more about what you are planning,” Nayome said. “Much more. And I’ll have to approve it all, as well as the people involved.”
Cinzia swallowed. That might be a difficult task, considering half of them were people Nayome had captured in Navone, but it would not be impossible.
“I agree to that,” Cinzia said.
“Good. Send a message to me when you know the time and place, and I will meet you. It is not safe here, especially in light of what you have just told me.”
Cinzia hesitated, not sure what else to do.
“You may go,” Nayome said, sitting back down at her desk and studying a document, as if nothing had passed between them.
Cinzia, her head bowed, put her hood back over her head and left.
24
Litori
URSTADT HAD BEEN WAITING for the better part of an hour when Cova arrived.
The empress was not late, but Urstadt had wanted to survey the meeting space first. The Eagle’s Roost was one of the few commercial establishments in Litori. The inn seemed a popular destination for the wealthy, even in such troublesome times. With the Odenites camped outside the city, tiellan Rangers atop the cliffs, and Roden’s fleet blockading the bay, cavorting in some inn so far away from the protection of the city seemed an odd choice. The wealthy, perhaps, did not understand the dire situation in which Triah found itself. Either that, or they simply did not care.
Urstadt ran her hand along the polished blackbark table at which she sat, marveling that the inn had the capital to use so much of the fine wood, and for such a mundane purpose. The tables, chairs, and thin columns spread evenly throughout the room were all made of the same treated, polished blackbark, intricate patterns carved in their surfaces, emphasized with gold paint.
The patrons of the Eagle’s Roost were no less ostentatious. Nobles in fine jewelry and wealthy merchants with cloth-of-gold sewn into their silks populated the common room. A quiet, intricate melody permeated the inn, played by a small professional orchestra on a raised dais. The low conversational hum would occasionally lull as the music crescendoed, and at the end of every piece the audience would offer polite, but enthusiastic applause.
Urstadt wrinkled her nose. The place smelled of freshly oiled wood and a menagerie of exotic perfumes and colognes—floral scents, oils, and distilled fruity smells most prominent among them—some so strong they made Urstadt’s nose twitch and want to sneeze. Such scents might have been welcome individually, and conservatively, but their cacophonous combination was too much for Urstadt’s sensibilities. If anything, she preferred the musk of a strong body after a training session. Such a scent was at least honest.
Cova entered the inn, flanked by two Reaper guards. The three new arrivals wore nothing that marked them as Rodenese citizens—let alone the empress of the Azure Empire and her escort—but an astute citizen, well versed in culture and history, would surely notice their taller frames and light hair. In her simple, dark blue dress and soft brown leather overcoat, Cova seemed dressed down for the space, if anything, given the glittering nobles and merchants all around her. Urstadt would not have expected anything less. Cova had never been a fool, and parading wealth was a fool’s errand.
Cova caught Urstadt’s eye, and her lips twitched with the hint of a smile. While Urstadt’s face remained stone still, she felt the echo of a similar sentiment in her chest. She missed her people, Cova first and foremost among them.
Urstadt stood as Cova and her guards approached. She recognized Flok and Grost Erstand, veteran Reapers, brothers, and two of the best warriors Urstadt had ever known.
She could not very well bow or curtsy in the Eagle’s Roost; such an act would draw far too much attention to Cova. Besides, Urstadt’s loyalties lay with a different monarch, now. While she loved Cova, and the woman would always be an empress in Urstadt’s eyes, she was bonded to her queen.
Urstadt inclined her head, showing as much deference as she dared. “I am pleased you have come to meet me, my Lady,” she said. When she looked up, she nodded to Flok and Grost as well, who both inclined their heads in return.
“
The pleasure is mine.” Cova met her eyes with a smile. Addressing each other by name would be folly—Carrieri surely had informants, even in places like this.
Flok pulled out a blackbark chair at Urstadt’s table, and Cova seated herself. Urstadt returned to her seat opposite the empress, while Flok and Grost moved to locations where they could both survey the room and keep Cova safe at a moment’s notice. The Eagle’s Roost was lined with many such people, bodyguards of the nobles present, though some seemed hardly vigilant.
Urstadt could not imagine the two Reapers were the only guards Cova had brought. If it had been Urstadt planning the meeting, she would have sent a few men in disguise to the inn ahead of time, to scout the location and remain there until after the meeting ended, should extra help be necessary. She’d also have a contingent of Reapers stationed nearby, within signaling distance, should real violence break out. There was no doubt in Urstadt’s mind that Cova had taken the same precautions, with Flok and Grost’s counsel. She had already flagged a few patrons in the inn who were likely Cova’s undercover Reapers.
“The north is weaker for your absence,” Cova said quietly, her eyes still locked on Urstadt’s.
Urstadt inclined her head once more in gratitude. “Thank you, my lady. The north will always be my home.”
“But you do not miss it.”
Urstadt understood the statement was not a question, and sighed with a slow shrug. “We all have our paths,” she said. “Mine has led me south, for a time.”
“And into interesting company.”
Urstadt nodded slowly. “Interesting, indeed, my lady. And I have heard your journey south has been… interesting, too.” Even if she’d had cloth ears, it would have been hard to miss the news of the devastation God’s Eye had wrought on Cova’s fleet—the clientele of the Eagle’s Roost spoke of nothing else.
“We have a common enemy,” Urstadt said.
“What do you propose we do about that?”
Urstadt frowned, glancing around the room. She knew what Winter’s carpenters were constructing at the edge of the cliffs nearest Triah, but she could not very well explain it to Cova at the moment. She leaned in, lowering her voice.
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