by Scott Hale
Isla said, “Yeah,” and kept backing out of the torture chamber.
“Oh, Sis.”
She stopped. She was crinkling the notes she was holding them so hard.
“I need Joseph Cleon.”
Defensively, she said, “What? Why?”
“I just do.”
Isla knew that look in her eyes. It was the same look everyone had in their eyes, all the time. That scheming look, gleaming and gleaning; maleficent. Joseph had done nothing but sing Joy’s praises better than her Choir ever could. She wasn’t one for appreciation or private audiences. If she told Joseph to come here, he’d never leave.
“He’s… out, I think. Demagogueing it up.”
“When he comes back, then. He should be in, any minute. I know his schedule well.”
Joseph. Isla had tried to hate him, then love him, and now, she was somewhere in between. Her one and only groupie. It was one thing to lie to Edgar or Joy, but he’d been nothing but obedient. If she told him to come down here, he would; and if she asked him to submit to any experiment Joy had in mind, he’d strap himself in, tears be damned. Isla had decided she wasn’t going to change, but like all her decisions, it wasn’t a strong one. If she gave up Joseph, then she’d be no better than the woman she was back in Rime, who’d put to death over one hundred Rimeans and Winnowers for this psychopath before her. On the other hand, if she didn’t give Joseph up, Joy would call her bluff, and all of this, whatever this was that Edgar had planned, would be over, and Joy would probably end up killing Joseph, and her, anyway.
Was he worth it? She wasn’t sure. She’d never been loyal to someone who’d been loyal back.
Isla nodded, said, “Okay,” and ducked out of the room. She’d figured out the rest along the way.
CHAPTER XLVII
Of all the things Felix wanted to do right now, going to this celebration was not one of them. Curling up into a ball and waiting out the next few years with a few tons of peanut butter and bread, and a farm’s worth of milk? Now you were talking. But this? Anything but this.
After the secret meeting in the attic, when he and Audra had given their terms and taken charge, Felix had felt that way he did back in Pyra, when Justine told him everything, and then told him they could be as gods. Of course, that’d never really happened. It’s hard to feel like a god when the real God has decided to come and visit after so many delays. Justine would probably call him naïve, but this time was different. This time, it wasn’t so much that he was a god, but that he could make a difference. He wasn’t running some, albeit massive, religion from the ass-end of nowhere. He was in Eldrus, at the center of it all. This was it. He could save Justine. He could save himself. He could save the tens of thousands that might’ve died in war. Heck, maybe he was giving himself too much credit, but he might’ve even saved the planet.
So yeah, after that meeting, he was riding high, a pep in his step that he was pretty sure even a few young servant girls noticed. Not something necessarily to be proud about, given there shouldn’t be girls his age serving royalty, but all the same, he felt good. Even now, as he sat in his room, staring at what he might wear and what excuse he might come up with so he didn’t have to go to the celebration (“I. Can’t. Stop. Pooping.”), he felt good. He’d done something right.
The thing was, this celebration? There was something about it that wasn’t right. It was so fishy, he could’ve sworn he’d seen more cats than usual prowling the halls. Going to his closet, grabbing a handful of clothes and laying them out on the bed, he considered spilling ink on them, just so he’d have nothing to wear. Yes, he was anxious. Wouldn’t anyone be? Up until the other day, he was a traitor, a war criminal; a blasphemer, a heretic. King Edgar was asking him to go in front of hundreds of people who would’ve gladly caught him, killed him, or worse, before the deal had been made. Even with that deal, Felix knew there were still people out there who wouldn’t support it. It’d happened so fast, so cleanly. They hadn’t even asked God what It thought about the whole thing.
Felix just wanted a little more time to enjoy this blissful ignorance. The only thing this celebration would be celebrating tonight was the death of it.
He rolled his eyes, told himself to “Get over it,” and settled on an outfit. A collared, black jacket covered in flowery red adornments, a gray lace shirt, and black breeches. The color and style of Eldrus. When in Rome, whatever that meant.
Felix was surprised to find Justine waiting for him in the gathering area of their quarters. Not only was she completely intact, but dressed to the nines for tonight’s event. She’d barely spoken to him since the meeting, mostly due to the fact her mouth kept caving in, but now, she was absolutely stunning. He’d never seen her look so human before.
Justine’s hair, blonde bordering on white, was healthy and full, and way longer (past her chest) than he remembered. Her skin was perfect, every pore where it ought to be. She’d been eating, too. She must’ve gained five or six pounds, or maybe more, overnight. Before, she’d been a skeleton, but now she was filled out, especially in her face. Felix had forgotten what she actually looked like, and hadn’t realized this person he’d gotten used to wasn’t the Justine he’d used to know. There was a glimmer of light in her pale gray eyes again. She was smiling, too—really smiling, not because she had to, or thought she was supposed to, but because she wanted to.
Felix had always had a little crush on Justine. Who didn’t? It was sinful, since in a way, she was like his mom. This was different, though—this attraction. God, it just felt so good to have her back. And then there was the dress she was wearing. He didn’t have to ask her to know she’d made it herself. It was the same pearlescent color that her other clothes, and Commander Millicent’s plate armor, were, but there was more to it than that. It wasn’t some “this old thing” she’d thrown together at the last minute. If he had to guess, she’d been working on it during the carriage ride here. The full-length tulle skirt (wearing disguises had improved his vocabulary), layered and speckled with iridescent sequins, and covered in cream embellishments of some ancient language, must’ve taken weeks. The bodice, sheer and high-necked, and sleeveless, had ruffled edges that fed into a tentacular scene tastefully sewn and beaded across her torso—an image of her time in the Deep, most likely, to appease the Disciples. And then there was the material beneath the bodice, that swirled and shifted hypnotically, kind of like a mirror, calming like a metronome. He didn’t know what it was at first, and then, knew it wasn’t anything. Just her.
Touching her collarbone, Justine said, “All I’m missing is my necklace.”
Felix mimicked her movements. He had the necklace (though not the necklace) around his neck, hidden beneath his clothes. Like always, he’d forgotten it was there. Taking it out, he noticed the white glow of the sealing stone. It was reacting strongly to Justine’s presence, stronger than it had before.
“That’s okay,” she said, “you keep it for me.”
Felix did as he was told, and hid it again.
“When you told me you and Audra convinced Edgar to let you both be Speakers—” Justine started moving about the room, straightening up nothing in particular, “—I believe it was enough to stop Lillian for now.”
“It’s working,” Felix said, grinning.
Justine stopped fidgeting, went to him, and grabbed both his hands. “It’s working. But already I can feel her clawing inside me, regaining her strength. We will need to continue subverting God, and quickly.”
“Audra is going to open herself to Its Word after the celebration. I think she’s still scared to do it.”
“But she will, won’t she?”
“Yeah,” Felix said, unsure. “Definitely.”
“The sooner the better,” Justine said, squeezing his hands.
He mouthed I know, and could tell by her impatience Lillian wouldn’t be down for much longer.
“I don’t mind not running the show anymore.” Justine let go of him. “You didn’t hurt my feelings. Y
ou did what you had to do.”
Kind of sounds like I hurt your feelings.
“A break will be nice, and I’ll always be here for you.” She gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. “You have done so much for me. I always knew it would come to this.”
Like Lillian inside, Justine wouldn’t be down for the count, either. She was acting like she was cool with him and Audra, and to a lesser extent, Edgar, having all the power, but she wasn’t. They’d deal with that later, though.
“Are you nervous about tonight?” Justine asked.
“Yeah,” he said, blushing a little.
“Don’t be. It isn’t anything you have not done a thousand times before.”
“Yeah, but… they all hated us.”
“You can’t take it personally,” Justine said. “That is the way of the world. You have to be what they want. They’ll love you for what you can give of it, or hate you for having it instead of them. But you will never make them all happy.”
“I guess I thought I could before…”
Justine found a mirror and started picking at herself. “Edgar is going to let you save one cabalist, you said? Did you pick someone?”
“It makes me too mad to think about.” That was a lie, though. He’d been thinking about it a lot, and it came down to either James or Gemma. He hadn’t visited them since they’d been arrested. He was too afraid to; afraid of what they’d say, afraid of what he’d see.
Changing the subject, he said, “I think that woman, Joy, and the Cult of the Worm are going to try something tonight at the celebration.”
“The Vermillion God will see us through,” Justine said.
There hadn’t been a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Felix didn’t like that.
The celebration began at sunset. Felix, flanked by two living statues, stood at his balcony for a good hour, watching the privileged and proper pack themselves into Ghostgrave. The steps up to the keep proved to be a challenge for many of them, as it was probably the first time those fat and pampered Big Wigs had done any exercise that didn’t include moving a fork from their plate to their mouth. Their carriages, which were numerous and ridiculously decorated, created a traffic jam at the gates, but worse were their horses. They were crapping and peeing everywhere. It was so bad, Felix could smell it from all the way up here. It was bad, but it made the bullshit of everything else a little more bearable.
Fashionably late, Felix and Justine went over the plans one last time before departing their quarters with Commander Millicent and a cavalcade of soldiers. The living statues would be posted up around the room, keeping an eye on the two of them and gathering information from any overheard conversations. He and Justine would stay at each other’s sides all times. And it was better if they said as little as possible to anyone Edgar allowed to visit their table.
“We’ve fought our way across the continent to be here. Almost everyone there will be seeing our faces and hearing our voices for the first time,” Justine said. “Let’s make them wonder a little while longer.” She paused, gave him a once over. “You really should’ve worn the robe I made for you.”
On their way to the celebration, Felix’s guilt got to him and he ordered they make a detour. As he understood it, Hex, Sloane, Warren, James, and Gemma were being held in separate cells throughout the Keep, as Joy had claimed the dungeon for herself and her… children. But in passing the dungeon to get to where James and Gemma were, he noticed that handfuls of grunt cabalists were being led into the dungeon. Joy wasn’t there, but Joseph was, and several jailors.
“Your Holiness,” Joseph said.
He and the jailors shoved prisoner after prisoner into the dungeon. There had to be at least fifty or sixty in that tiny place.
“What is this?” Felix asked.
“New orders.”
“From the King?”
Joseph smiled, said, “The Queen,” and when the last prisoner was inside, slammed the door shut, locking himself and the jailors inside.
Felix tried to commit to memory everything he’d seen, and went on his way. He’d tell Audra later. She’d know what to do.
James was being kept in a guest house outside the Archivist’s tower. Because it was beside the tower, the house was covered in a layer of the vermillion veins that’d grown over it from off the tower. This courtyard they were in was covered in dark red stains. At first, Felix had thought it was blood and he assumed the worst. Then, he saw the piles of vermillion veins that’d been hacked away, and the gaps in the growths from where they’d been hacked, and saw that the guards posted here were not only responsible for watching James, but for keeping the veins in check.
Felix imagined God wouldn’t like that, but then again, God liked whatever he said It did, or would soon.
The two guards at the guest house paid their respects to him and the Mother Abbess, unlocked the door, opened it, and stepped aside. Behind the door was a metal gate, and candlelit darkness. Felix asked Justine for some space, and she went with the soldiers elsewhere in the courtyard.
“James?” he called, going to the gate.
He heard shuffling. Something passed in front of one of the candles.
He tried again: “Hey…”
“Sorry,” James said, not yet having made his appearance.
Felix waited, and he listened. James was taking his time, choosing his steps carefully; going the long way around the guest room. There was a grunt, followed by slicing. Silence. Nervous laughter.
A few steps and a relieved sigh later, James arrived at the metal gate. He gripped it like a good prisoner with his one good hand and pressed his face to the bars. He wasn’t as beautiful as Felix remembered. He looked exhausted, starved; there was a crazed fear in his bloodshot eyes.
Felix went clammy. “I’m so—”
“Hey, how’re you holding up?”
“Seriously?”
James smiled. He was missing a tooth. He was serious.
“We did it,” Felix whispered. “We’re in.”
“I knew you could do it.”
“The Marrow Cabal…” Felix wrestled with the question. “Did you know? Did you know what they were doing?”
James shrugged. “I knew what they were capable of. Figured they were under more scrutiny than they actually were.”
“I…”
“It’s not your fault, Holy Child. You had a lot on your plate. I think I saw the Holy Order as a way out. I had my blinders on, you know?”
“Did you know Hex didn’t go to the Dead City?”
James shook his head. “Had no idea.”
“Did you know about the suicide bombers?”
“Yeah, to an extent…” James stepped into the darkness, came back out. “But, Holy Child, turning people into suicide bombers is exactly what Hex and Sloane said they’d do at that meeting you held in Cathedra months back.”
“I told them not…”
James tilted his head.
“Why’d you take so long to come to the door?”
“Room’s booby-trapped.” James snorted. “Floor falls away to spikes. The bathroom’s an oubliette you can’t actually get out of from what I can tell. Getting around… takes a while.”
“I’m sorry,” Felix mumbled. “King Edgar said I could pardon one…”
James shook his head. “Don’t waste it on me.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m a whore. A traitorous whore, that’s what they’ve been calling me. I know too much. I have too many… heh… skeletons in my past. I’ll get a week at best, and then someone will come calling in the night, and that’ll be that.”
“No, I won’t…”
“I’m right where I ought to be. I can’t say I don’t deserve this, after the bad things I’ve done. Thanks for thinking of me, but… it’s better I don’t have options. Never seem to make the right choice when I do. I ever tell you about my brother?”
Felix said, “No.”
“Well, there you go.”
Gemma was being h
eld in an old chapel attached to the yard where the cabalists would be executed in the days to come. Because she was a vampyre—more specifically, a monster—Edgar’s “professional” interrogators had probably thought putting her here in this holy site would hurt her. But Felix knew better. She’d spent weeks cooped up in Cenotaph Cathedral without a single complaint. The worst thing that’d happened to her there was when she’d been kidnapped from the cathedral to be burned at the Compellers’ stake. And there’d been nothing godly or holy in that.
There was just one guard in front of the chapel. She was leaning against the front, arms crossed, chin to her chest, snoring her head off. As soon as she heard them coming, she woke up. And she was very cool about it. Without moving a muscle, except to tilt her head up at them, she said, eyes half-open, “What can I do for you, your Holiness?”
“I need to speak to Gemma.”
The guard glanced at Justine and their squad of soldiers and living statues. “What else did she do wrong?”
“Open the door.”
The guard took out a keyring and unlocked the front door. She pulled it back. Like the guest house, there was a heavy metal gate on the threshold.
Felix didn’t have to call for Gemma, though. She was already there, sitting creepily on the ground, her legs crossed; face titled up, the full moon, her irises.
“Fucking idiot,” Gemma said.
She was still wearing her green dress with the red collar, but it was ripped at the cuffs and shoulder, and there were stains all over it. He couldn’t find any cuts or bruises on her face, but there was something wrong with her hands. She couldn’t close them, because the mouths in her palms were panting, thirsty for their favorite red drink.
“How are you…?”
Gemma started to rock back and forth. “I’ve been through worse, Felix. I went right into the Dread Clock, Felix. I survived the Trauma, Felix. I’m doing just fine, Guy. No biggie, Buddy.”
“I can get you out—”
“Cammie’s going to come,” Gemma said, rocking harder.
