by Kat Ross
The car was barely visible from the road. Even if someone passed by, it was doubtful they’d notice it until morning. Alexei started walking. The next stela put him at kilometer 857, which was impossible. He’d only been a few minutes outside the garrison, hadn’t he?
Or had he driven three hundred and fifty kilometers arguing with ghosts? If so, it was a miracle he hadn’t crashed sooner.
The night was cold and clear, the road marked by a ribbon of stars above. Alexei shivered inside his cloak. Whenever he stopped, Alice would growl and nip at his heels until he started walking again. The sun was rising at his back when he saw the towers of Kvengard, black silhouettes against the rose-streaked sky. Alexei sank to his knees before the gates. His mouth was so dry, it took him a minute to form the ancient words. They dated to the Second Dark Age, when the citadels of the Via Sancta were the last refuge in a world convulsed with madness.
“I beg sanctuary,” he whispered.
Wolf-Marked men came out.
The gates of Kvengard swung open.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Alexei lay in a stone chamber, naked and dying. The ley burned like acid inside him. So thirsty. He reached for a clay pitcher and knocked it to the floor. The crash brought a vestal, who fetched others. They wrangled him into a wheelchair, covered him with a sheet, and rolled him down a long corridor into a dim audience chamber.
A hazy figure sat on a dais. His white robe was sleeveless, revealing heavily Marked arms. Alexei bowed his head, which came easily since he could barely hold it up. “Reverend Father.”
“I know who you are, Alexei Vladimir Bryce.” A rich baritone. “Why did you flee Novostopol?”
“I still have my faith.”
“That was not the question.”
Alexei leaned over to retch. Nothing came out. He was empty except for the ley.
Luk leaned over to consult with a tall figure to the left of his chair. They didn’t speak long and he guessed his fate had already been decided.
“Archbishop Morvana will take custody of your Marks. Do you accept her as your patron?”
He knew nothing about Morvana beyond the five seconds he’d seen her outside Kireyev’s office. Which didn’t bode well for him. The OGD had agents everywhere.
“I accept,” he managed.
Walls blurred past and he found himself in an airy, light-filled chamber with a stone slab in the center. Hands lifted him up and whisked away the sheet. The sensation of air on his skin brought fresh agonies. He felt the sting of a needle in the muscle of his thigh.
“You must be well-acquainted with the procedure of receiving a Mark, Fra Bryce,” said a crisp female voice. “Transference is slightly different so I will explain as I go. With each step, consent must be explicit. I have given you fifty milligrams of Sublimen. It will dissolve the walls in your psyche, temporarily, of course. You will remain awake and aware. Do you understand?”
He nodded, eyes sliding shut. An image appeared in the darkness. The Maiden.
“Tu aperi ostium mihi?” Morvana asked. When she spoke the old tongue, her Kven accent grew softer.
Will you open the door to me?
“Verum,” he murmured.
Yes.
“Quaeque tua est pietas, ut te pignus Ecclesia?”
Do you pledge your loyalty to the Church?
“Verum.”
“Uti tu pe ley in ministerio Ecclesiae sunt optimum illud exemplar?”
Will you use the ley only in service to the ideals of the Church?
“Verum.”
Every muscle cramped. He thrashed and a cool hand pressed against his chest. “Perhaps I should have warned you that it will hurt like a hellbitch. Forgive me, Fra Bryce.”
Now that he knew the truth, he ought to have been repulsed that she was using the abyssal ley on him. Morvana had mage blood. But he was just pathetically grateful to purge the decaying ley from his body. He could feel it seeping from the Maiden like bad humors from an infected wound.
A second image floated in the black mindspace. The Towers.
“Tu aperi ostium mihi?”
“Verum,” he slurred.
“Quaeque tua est pietas, ut te pignus Ecclesia?”
“Verum.”
Alexei braced himself this time, biting back a scream.
Again and again they recited the litany until Morvana had taken charge of all eighteen Marks. He was drowning in a puddle of sweat by the end.
“It is done.” She lifted his head and gave him a sip of water. “You must sleep until the drug wears off.”
“My dog,” he whispered. “Where is she?”
The terror resurfaced—that he was alone in this strange place, that Alice had never followed him, that he’d imagined it all. Alexei gripped the damp sheets. He wasn’t sure he could withstand the blow if she gave him a pitying or quizzical look.
“The Reverend Father has a fondness for Markhounds. She is being well cared for.”
A tight lump loosened in his chest. He had one friend, at least. Someone who loved him no matter what he did. “I want to see her.”
Bishop Morvana leaned over him, green eyes intent. “I just saved your life. When you’re fit to speak, I want to know what the fuck is going on in Novo, ja?”
Alexei pretended to pass out. Her footsteps receded and vestals came, wheeling him back to the infirmary. He slept well despite some extremely vivid Sublimin-induced dreams about Kasia Novak.
The next day, he woke to find a new cassock neatly folded on a chair next to his bed. The Meliora rested atop it, along with a pair of gloves. Alexei stumbled from the bed naked and was rooting through the pockets when one of the vestals bustled in with a pitcher of water.
“My old cassock,” he said, hastily grabbing the sheet and wrapping it around his waist. “Where is it?”
“Sent to the laundry.”
“There was something in the pocket.” He held up the Meliora, heart pounding. His chest felt too tight. It was hard to breathe. “Along with this. A corax.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I will ask.”
“Please. I need it back!”
She looked at him warily. “Yes, I will try right away.”
But she didn’t return.
For the next two days, he was confined to the infirmary. Every time a vestal came, he asked about his corax and was given a vague reply. Alexei ate everything they brought him and did endless pushups and situps to burn off nervous energy. He could not shake the certainty that if the corax was lost, Misha was lost, too. His rational mind understood that it was just superstition, a transference of all his hopes and guilt to a material object that was not his brother, but this didn’t ease the panic attacks when he reached into his pocket and found it empty.
Morvana did not come to see him. He still knew nothing about her except that she hadn’t sounded very sorry when she told him it would hurt like a hellbitch. There was no psychic connection between them. But his life was in her hands now and he’d do almost anything to protect her so he never had to go through that again.
Perhaps most remarkably of all, he still had his faith.
Alexei took out the Meliora and read the first Sutra.
Nonviolence is one of the most consistent and reasonable doctrines ever taught to humanity. She who aggressively injures another fosters hatred, the root of all evil.
Falke and Kireyev had tested his devotion, but they were just men. The Via Sancta was larger than two scheming officials in Novostopol. It had lasted a thousand years and would last a thousand more if he had a say in it. The alternative was frankly terrifying.
The problem of Marks would be dealt with somehow. A more immediate threat was Lezarius and what the old man might do. Alexei didn’t know the exact number of mages in the Void, but one was too many if the ley lines broke.
He arranged the bare facts in chronological order, as he would if he were preparing for a major court case.
Someone in Jalghuth had hidden Lezarius in an asylum. For th
e last three years, an imposter had worn the Lion ring, but his intentions remained unknown. Falke and Kireyev learned the truth through Ferran Massot. They sent priests from the Praesidia to eliminate Lezarius, but Gerlach and Brodzsky failed in their mission. Enraged, Lezarius went after the Reverend Mother Feizah, whom he blamed for his predicament.
So far, Alexei felt on solid ground.
Malach had some association with both Massot and Falke, and was playing them both. He went to the Arx that night to get Massot’s message and took the blame for Feizah’s death because only Kasia Novak had seen Mikhail and Lezarius, and she’d told no one but Alexei. Now his brother and the old man were gone.
The next bit was speculative, but Alexei felt confident he knew Falke well enough to predict his behavior. Misha had spoken of him often and Alexei read several of his books during downtime in the Black Zone. Falke would do everything he could to find Lezarius, but he was a pragmatic man. He would plan for the worst. And he would act preemptively, not waiting for the mages to strike. He’d told Alexei as much himself.
In short, war was coming, and possibly a return to continent-wide anarchy.
Did he have a moral obligation to tell Luk?
And what would the Pontifex of Kvengard do with the knowledge?
The biography he’d been reading the fateful night the hounds started howling painted a portrait of a man who was highly intelligent and deplored bloodshed. He’d kept Kvengard neutral throughout the conflict, only permitting observers into the field to embed with knights from the other Curiae. They were supposed to discourage human rights abuses, but as Komandant Rademacher had intimated, some became active participants once they saw the atrocities of the mages. Luk had been a vocal opponent of the rendition of captives to black sites in Nantwich, the most militant of the cities. He argued that the Meliora forbade extreme interrogation methods, which Alexei privately agreed with.
Yet Luk was also close to Lezarius. Was it conceivable he didn’t know about the switch? Or was he part of the conspiracy? If Alexei guessed wrong, he would end up dead very quickly.
He sifted through the facts again and again, playing out various scenarios. Everything felt too big and messy, beyond his abilities. Despite Falke’s many flaws, he was a ruthless master of strategy, which is what they needed. Falke would handle it.
The summons came on the afternoon of his third day in Kvengard, conveyed by two vestal knights in Wolf tabards with the faces of peasants and the burning eyes of zealots.
“The Reverend Father desires your presence.”
Alexei rose and followed them out the door.
* * *
“Dmitry Falke is conspiring to capture and breed nihilim because he thinks it’s the only way to save the Curia. Is that about right, Fra Bryce?”
Luk stared down at him from the dais. Their first encounter had been a blur, and Alexei was getting his first real look at the Southern Pontifex. He was in his early sixties and very thin, with piercing eyes and a small, severe mouth.
“Yes, Reverend Father.”
“He told you this himself?”
“He wanted me to join a secret order devoted to preserving the light-bringer bloodlines. I served under him previously so he had reason to believe I would be a willing candidate.”
Luk eyed him with distaste. “One of the cardinal’s killers. And yet you supposedly said no. Was this before or after he was raised to Pontifex?”
“Just after, Reverend Father.”
“He allowed you to leave Novostopol?”
“Not exactly.”
“So if I harbor you, I will draw his wrath?”
“Yes.”
Bishop Morvana leaned over and whispered something in Luk’s ear.
“To be clear, are you accusing him of collusion in the Reverend Mother’s death?”
“No, I’m certain he wasn’t involved.” Not directly, at least.
“Why did you refuse the offer to join this . . . what did you call it?”
“The Praesidia ex Divina Sanguis.” Alexei kept his voice calm and detached. “A nihilim Turned my brother. I have no desire for revenge, but I think a truce would be unwise.”
They already had the corax. He couldn’t keep Mikhail a secret and the story was more credible that way.
“I’ll take your information under advisement, Fra Bryce.” Luk waved a hand in dismissal. “You will report to Bishop Morvana’s office at five bells.”
Alexei bowed his head and strode from the audience chamber, trailed by the vestal knights. “May I see my dog?” he asked once they’d reached the corridor.
The women glanced at each other. “This way.”
The six Arxes were built from nearly identical plans, yet Kvengard had subtle differences that made him feel like he was losing his mind again. The basilica faced north instead of south. The Pontifex’s Palace was four stories rather than three. And the kennels were on the far side of the necropolis, adjacent to a structure that looked much like the Tower of Saint Dima except that it was circular instead of square.
The instant he entered, Alice came bounding up with a joyful bark. Alexei was relieved to see the Kvens were meticulous about caring for their packs. Each had a small house with fresh straw and access to a large outdoor enclosure. The fence wouldn’t keep the Markhounds inside—only their training could do that—but it reassured casual visitors.
“May I have a few minutes alone?” he asked his escorts.
They nodded brusquely and left to wait outside. Alexei took out the Meliora. Misha had handled the book every day for years. His scent would be imbued in the leather. Alice gave it a thorough sniff. Then she barked once, spun around, and sat down, tongue lolling.
“Venari,” he commanded. Hunt.
She looked away and whined. There was no trail to follow, but if his brother came anywhere near, he knew she would alert him. Alexei rubbed the twisting scar on her haunch. She seemed well-adjusted in her new surroundings and studied him with a pleased air, as if she knew she’d saved his life yet again.
“I won’t leave you, da?” he told her softly. “Never, I promise.”
Alice yawned.
“I’ll be back tomorrow.” He stroked her pointed ears. “If they haven’t locked me up.”
He ate a quiet meal in the infirmary, a mushroom and leek pie that was quite good, and a bowl of red grapes. At five bells, his minders escorted him to Morvana’s office in the east wing of the palace. Dossiers covered her desk, along with dirty coffee cups, unopened correspondence and scribbled notes on scrap paper. The overall impression was one of chaos, but she wouldn’t be Luk’s ambassador and chief legal advisor if she didn’t run a tight ship.
“Bryce,” she said coolly, looking up. Her short blonde hair was parted to the side and combed back. The nose ring he remembered from Kireyev’s office had been replaced with a tiny gem. She was about his age, maybe a few years older but still young for a bishop. Her cassock was dark blue silk with gold embroidery on the sleeves.
“Your Grace.”
“Sit down.”
He looked around. Every chair was serving double duty as a file cabinet. Alexei moved a stack of accordion folders and sat. Morvana stared at him for a long moment. Then she slid Misha’s corax across the desk. He stared at it, resisting the urge to snatch it away.
“Which Bryce am I talking to? Is this your real name?”
He could tell from her face that she knew exactly who he was but couldn’t resist tweaking him a little.
“It was my brother’s. I told you, he’s a patient at the Batavia Institute.”
“So you are Alexei. The younger one.”
“May I have it back? It means a great deal to me.”
She made no move to return the corax. “The Reverend Father thinks Falke sent you here to spy on us.”
“But you saw me,” he protested. “I was near death.”
“You’re also Beatus Laqueo. A fanatic who would follow any order, no matter how demented.”
The d
escription was all too accurate. He met her level gaze. “That was a long time ago, Your Grace.”
“You may dispense with the honorific for the purposes of this conversation.” Her voice was clipped and precise. “Three years is not a long time by any standard.”
“I left that behind.”
“Falke didn’t seem to think so, if your story is to be believed.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
She picked up a coffee cup, gazed at the dregs, and set it down. “I’ll be forthright. I don’t like you, Bryce. Those of us who follow the orthodox version of the Meliora renounce all violence, and particularly the extreme brand of it promoted by Falke and his allies. You represent everything I despise. In many ways, you are worse than the mages because you pretend to know better.”
He looked away and noticed that half the books on her shelves were related to humanitarian law. A principled woman—on the surface, at least. “So you’re sending me back?” he asked.
“No. You will be a given a position as my aide.”
Alexei looked at her dubiously. “Why?”
“Luk would rather Falke believes his little scheme succeeded. But you will report what we tell you to report, ja?”
He almost laughed aloud. Of all scenarios, this was the only one he hadn’t foreseen. But it might be useful to let them think he was a spy after all. “I understand.”
She sorted through the papers on her desk, drawing one from the stack. “You have legal training.”
“Who told you that?”
Morvana shot him an icy look. “I have contacts. You think the Bryce name is unknown here? You also worked with the Interfectorem, which leads me to believe you have investigative skills.”
“I’ve handled a number of difficult cases.”
She leaned forward, resting her arms on the desk. “You are here at my discretion, Bryce. I concurred with the Reverend Father’s decision, but he usually heeds my counsel and I could suggest a different course at any time, ja?”
