Duskfall (26 page)

Apparently, they had not been successful.

The other man, Cinzia did not recognize. He was, in almost every way, average. Average height, average build, his hair and eyes unremarkable brown. A short beard covered his angular jaw.

Cinzia had looked into many eyes as a priestess in Canta’s Denomination. People were required to confess their sins at least twice a year in the confession hall, during Penetensar and on the Day of Consecration. Cinzia could not possibly count how many confessions she had heard, but she had come to recognize certain traits in the eyes of those who knelt before her. Marga Soln had lost each of her five children, and the pain was evident. When Cinzia oversaw Alek and Seira Hone’s wedding ceremony, every day afterward their eyes shone with happiness. Even Cinzia’s own matron, who oversaw Cinzia’s leadership of her congregation, displayed pride and power in her eyes.

But looking into this man’s eyes, Cinzia remembered another man. It had been after a midnight service of forgiveness during Penetensar. He had been at least partially inebriated, but Cinzia allowed him to confess anyway. If that was the only thing that would get him to do so, who was she to hold it against him? Cinzia did not remember much about the young man, but his eyes… his eyes were a deep, clear green, but they held no joy or passion or pain. They held nothing.

This man had those same eyes. Cinzia shivered. There was nothing behind them. They seemed the eyes of a dead man.

“Cinzia, this is Knot,” her father said. “He and Olan had some problems this morning, at an inn.”

“Nara was taken,” Olan said quietly. “Along with a… a friend of Knot’s. We fought our way out, and I led him here so we could organize a party to bring them back.”

Cinzia looked at Olan. “I am so sorry,” she said. She had known Olan all her life. No one needed to mention what might happen to someone taken by a Crucible. They had all heard rumors, and Cinzia had heard a lot of truth.

Olan looked at her through his spectacles, his round face unusually hard. His father had come from Maven Kol, in the south, and Olan’s skin was slightly darker by nature than what was the norm in northern Khale, with almost a golden undertone.

“She is alive,” he said. “Or, she will be, until the executions tomorrow.”

“
What?
” Cinzia’s heart pounded against her chest, as if struggling to escape. Her mind raced. Executions? Jane would surely be among the condemned. Canta, or whomever Jane thought she was communicating with, had told her to submit herself, only to be killed the next day? It did not make sense. Cinzia could taste bile in her throat, like stale vinegar. Why would Canta let this happen? She had once thought this a test; now Cinzia did not know what it was.

Then, she had an epiphany.

“We must rescue her,” Cinzia said.

All eyes turned to her. She continued, more sure of herself. This
had
to be what Jane’s visions meant.

“Jane said it was Canta’s will that she submit herself to the Crucible. I cannot imagine it was to die. What if we are her means of escape? What if this is a test for
us
?”

Cinzia felt the excitement rising. She could finally take control of this mess. Of course, the idea that Canta would send Jane to brave execution only to have their family save her was preposterous; Cinzia believed none of it. But if she could get her family to believe, perhaps she could convince them to take action.

“We’ve discussed the possibility of a rescue, Priestess,” Kovac said. “But it will be difficult. An entire complement of the Sons of Canta will be guarding them, and at least ten Goddessguards.”

“We’re rescuing them,” Olan said, his voice even and quiet. “I’m rescuing Nara. I won’t leave her to be executed. I’ll go alone if I have to, but I’m going.”

Cinzia nodded.
Good
, she thought. Easier to enlist her family’s help if Olan was already committed. There might yet be time for Jane.

Kovac stared at the two newcomers. Cinzia felt a sudden rush of gratitude for her Goddessguard. To say she was relieved that Kovac had chosen to stay with her in Navone was an understatement. But she had always suspected he had become her Goddessguard more out of protectiveness than any ecclesiastical devotion.

“Need to move soon, then,” the other man, Knot, said. It was the first time he had spoken. He spoke with a drawl that was almost tiellan, each syllable slow and lazy. Knot’s dead gaze fell on Cinzia, and her hand moved involuntarily to the Trinacrya on her necklace.

“Who was this friend of yours that was taken?” she asked.

For the first time Cinzia saw a hint of… something, there, in his eyes. A spark of life.

“Not a friend,” he said. “My daughter.”

“Canta rising,” Cinzia whispered. She knew a Crucible could be harsh, but
this
? “How old?”

Knot coughed before answering. “Ninth summer.”

“Why would they take her?” Cinzia wondered aloud. “What need would the Crucible have for a child?”

She saw Olan shift uncomfortably out of the corner of her eye.
They are not telling us something
.

“Don’t know,” Knot said. “But I’m getting her back.”

“We need to keep our numbers small,” Kovac said. “Perhaps just the two of us would be sufficient.” He indicated himself and Knot.

“I’m going,” Olan said.

“I can go, too,” Eward said. Cinzia turned in surprise; she had almost forgotten he was there. “It’s Jane,” he said, looking around at each of them. “It’s
Jane
,” he repeated.

“You are not going, Eward,” Ehram said, stepping towards his son. “We need you here.”

Cinzia turned to Kovac, who seemed to be exchanging a glance with Knot. The two seemed to have developed a connection. Despite Cinzia’s misgivings about Knot, this comforted her. She might not trust Knot, whoever he was, but she trusted Kovac.

“Too many,” Kovac said. “Our attempt would be stopped before it began. Knot and I are the only people with combat experience. It needs to be the two of us.”

“
I’m going
,” Olan said, “whether you like it or not. It’s my
wife
, for Canta’s sake.”

Kovac and Knot exchanged another glance. Finally, Knot nodded.

“Are we sure this is what we should be doing?” Cinzia’s father asked quietly. “Jane said it was Canta’s will that she turn herself in. Won’t Canta get her out of it? What if we interfere with Her plan, somehow?”

Cinzia shook her head. “If Canta’s plan is to deliver Jane, it will be through us.”

Her father watched her, torn. He genuinely
did
believe Jane, Cinzia realized. She had known it before, of course, had heard him say it. But she had never fully believed it until this moment. He truly believed this impostor goddess would rescue his daughter.

But Cinzia also knew that he wanted Jane back, safe. Ehram must have been torn to pieces over it all.

“We need to do this, Father,” she told him. “We are Canta’s best tools. We are Jane’s only hope.”

“Very well.” Ehram turned to Eward. “Kovac is right, son, it will be too many. I already have one child in the hands of a Crucible; I do not want to watch another do the same.”

“Two children, actually,” Cinzia said. “I am a priestess, and the best hope any of us have of getting close to the prisoners.” She looked at Kovac. “You know I’m right.”

Kovac nodded.

Eward was not convinced. “Father,” he began, but Ehram cut him off.

“No, son,” he said. “You stay here with us. We still need looking after, you know.”

Eward looked down. “Yes, Father.”

“Very well,” Kovac said. “Let’s get started.” Cinzia felt a thrill of excitement at the thought that she was finally doing something. They could do this. They could save Jane, and Nara, and Knot’s daughter. And, when Jane was back, Cinzia would get to the bottom of this mess. She would not let her sister be lost to whatever shadow had gotten her into this in the first place.

She listened intently as Kovac presented his plan.

* * *

Later that night, Cinzia, Kovac, Knot, and Olan approached the Assembly Hall. The Holy Crucible had temporarily taken over the building—a strange move in Cinzia’s opinion. The Cantic Denomination, when possible, retained distance from matters of government. Three members of the High Camarilla holding permanent seats on Khale’s minor council made it difficult, but it was a distance the Denomination was supposed to respect. Cinzia had assumed the Crucible would work from Ocrestia’s cathedral, or one of Navone’s chapels.

“Who goes there?” a voice called out as they approached. A pair of Sons guarded the large doors to the building.

“Sister Alla Shethon, of Triah,” Cinzia said. They had decided on false names, in case anyone had already mentioned to the Crucible that Jane had a sister in the Ministry. But if that information had already leaked, their mission might be doomed to begin with. Cinzia dried her palms lightly against her dress.

“I offer prisoners for the Holy Crucible, as well as my services in purging this city.”

The Sons regarded her, then Kovac, their eyes finally resting on Knot and Olan, bound behind them.

“Very well, Priestess,” one of the men said. “Enter, and report to Laurent.”

Cinzia smiled. “Thank you for your service,” she said. The Sons opened the large oak doors, and one of them went inside to report their arrival. Once the doors were fully open, Cinzia and her small company entered.

The Assembly Hall was more than just the massive hall in which the city council met to discuss policy. It consisted of meeting rooms, and a dozen or so offices in which the members of the government worked. Cinzia walked quietly down a hallway towards a tall blond man, in full Goddessguard armor, waiting for them. The Son from the doorway waited at his side.

“Priestess Alla, I presume?” the man asked. He was handsome, his features strong and defined.

Cinzia nodded.

“I am Laurent, Her Grace’s chief Goddessguard. She will meet with you momentarily.” He glanced behind Cinzia, towards Knot and Olan. “Gad and the others will keep your prisoners under close watch. They are in our care now. What is the nature of their crimes, if I may ask?”

Cinzia steeled herself. “I am afraid I must discuss that with the Holy Crucible first,” she said, with as much authority as she could muster.

Laurent looked at her, and for a moment Cinzia feared he would refuse. But then he nodded, and indicated the Son, Gad, should step forward. Gad gripped Knot and Olan by their arms.

Cinzia gave Knot and Olan one last meaningful look as they were hauled off down the corridor. Olan returned her gaze, his eyes determined. Knot did not look at her.

“Come with me, Priestess,” Laurent said, beckoning her to follow.

“Come, Fernac,” she said to Kovac.

“I’m sorry, Priestess, but the Crucible would like to meet with you alone first,” Laurent said. “Your Goddessguard may wait here with my men, until you return.”

Cinzia looked to Kovac, who nodded.

“Very well. Lead the way,” Cinzia said.

She followed the blond man up a set of wooden stairs, then across the hall to the magistrate’s quarters. The Goddessguard knocked at the door, and a voice resonated from within the chamber.

“Come in, Laurent. Introduce me to this priestess so willing to help our cause.”

Laurent opened the door, motioning for Cinzia to walk in. Standing behind a large desk, awaiting her entrance, was not who Cinzia would have expected.

“Nayome?” Cinzia asked.

The woman smiled. “Sister Cinzia,” she said. “Welcome. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Cinzia stared at the woman. Cinzia
knew
her. Nayome Hinek had been two years ahead of Cinzia in the Cantic seminary. They had been… friends, once.

Nayome was very small, shorter even than Cinzia, and her blond hair formed a tight bun high on her head. Nayome’s clothing was typical of the upper levels of the Ministry—fine silks and bold colors, deep red and creamy white, and the Trinacrya she wore was made of plates of real gold and silver, woven into the cloth of her dress.

“Goddess rising,” Cinzia whispered. “What in Canta’s name are you doing here?”

Nayome’s smile faltered, but returned quickly. “I appreciate our friendship, Sister Cinzia, but I would appreciate your adherence to traditional honorifics even more, as is appropriate.”

Cinzia inhaled sharply. “Of course, Your Grace, I did not mean to—”

Nayome waved a hand. “Think nothing of it. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t care for such formalities, but the High Camarilla insists, of course, and all we can do is follow.”

Cinzia’s mind raced. Nayome knew her, knew her as Cinzia. Of course she would know of Cinzia’s connection with Navone, with Jane.

It was over. Their plan would fail. Strange that she did not feel shock, or sadness, or even fear at a moment like this. At a moment when she realized all was lost.

“You are surprised,” Nayome said as she walked around the desk, towards Cinzia. “Of course, why wouldn’t you be? I am the youngest Holy Crucible appointed in decades.”

Cinzia frowned. If she remembered one thing about Nayome, it was her arrogance. Something that, apparently, had not changed.

“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?” Nayome continued. “You were not expecting someone you knew. You were expecting someone you could fool?”

Despite how short the woman was, Cinzia felt very small in her presence. The mantle of a Holy Crucible had changed Nayome.

“Do not worry, Cinzia, I’m not angry. The false names you gave us, the lies you have told, it’s all understandable. Forgivable, even. This is your family, after all. Your own sister. What wouldn’t a woman do for her sister?” Nayome’s eyes narrowed. “But you are difficult to read, I must say. You and your sister have that in common. Curious.”

Cinzia had heard the rumors: even within the Denomination, Holy Crucibles were said to be different, somehow. Endowed with Canta’s power of discernment. But the Arm of Inquisition was the most secretive of the three branches of the Denomination, so it was difficult to say what rumors were true and which were not.

“What are you going to do with her?” Cinzia asked. She felt no fear, which disturbed her. Nayome had complete power over her and Jane.