Then there is a blur, and Captain Mivsk suddenly feels as if he’s swallowed a large chunk of ice.
He looks down and sees the handle of a very large knife sticking out from between his ribs. The ship begins to spin around him.
“It is good for a captain to die,” says the man’s voice, “before seeing the death of his crew. Go quietly, and with gratitude.”
The last thing Mivsk sees is the giant man standing behind Saint Toshkey, using the blade of his hand to imagine lining up the cannon with the good ship Usina far away.
*
They’re forced in a familiar path, to Shara: down the little blank hallways, back to the room that held the mhovost—the ring of salt still sitting on the floor—and back to the tunnel leading down to the Seat of the World, which, she now sees, is completely restored.
“You caved in this tunnel, but it was easily fixed,” says Volka. “I doubt if you can guess at which miracle I used to make it.”
Shara had not imagined that the tunnel’s creation was miraculous, but now that she considers it, she jumps to the obvious conclusion. “Ovski’s Candlelight,” she says.
Volka’s face tightens, and he waves a hand and leads them down the tunnel, holding his invisible flame. Vohannes chuckles.
He hasn’t freed Kolkan yet, thinks Shara. Maybe Mulaghesh … Maybe she can … If anything, Shara realizes, Mulaghesh is raiding the Votrov estate right now. That, or fortifying the embassy. Neither of which could possibly save either of them. And Sigrud is miles and miles and miles away, outside of Jukoshtan. They are alone.
The tunnel stretches down. Shara imagines Kolkan waiting for them at the bottom, the man of clay seated in the back of a cave, his eyes gray and blank.
“I’m sorry, Vo,” whispers Shara in the dark.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” says Vo. “I’m embarrassed you had to meet the little shi—”
“Quiet,” says one of their captors, and he jabs Vohannes in the kidney. Vohannes, whimpering, struggles to keep walking.
They enter the Seat of the World. Vohannes gasps in shock. “My word …” Shara wishes she could feel as amazed as she did when she first discovered this place, but now the temple feels dark and twisted to her, full of black corners and whispers.
Over two dozen Restorationists, all in Kolkashtani wraps, stand in Kolkan’s atrium before the blank window. Beside it, Shara sees, is a ladder.
This is really happening.
Volka walks to the stairs leading up to the Seat’s defunct bell tower. He raises his hand, which glitters with orange light. “First to restore the temple to its glory,” he says. He points at Shara and Vohannes, mutters something. There is a squeaking sound, like fingers being rubbed against glass. Shara’s hands are still bound, but she sticks a toe out, testing, and feels an invisible wall. The Butterfly’s Bell again.
“Don’t breathe too much,” says Volka, smiling. “That one’s much smaller.” Grinning like a pompous head boy, he mounts the stairs to the bell tower. Soon he is out of sight.
“He must have found a way to restore the bell tower, too,” says Shara.
“Quiet,” says one of the Restorationists.
“That was just filled with earth a few days ago.”
“Quiet!”
“What are you going to do, punch us through the barrier?” says Vohannes.
The Restorationist makes a threatening pose at him, then abandons it, as if he has better things to do.
“I should have seen this coming,” says Shara. “I should have seen this all coming.”
“Shara, shut up,” whispers Vohannes. “Listen, you . … You’ve got something hidden up your sleeve, right? You always do?”
“Well … No. No, actually, I don’t.”
“But you’ve got the army coming in, right? They’ll notice you missing—right?”
“They might, but they definitely won’t look here.”
“Okay, but … Shara, please. Please think!” he hisses. “You’ve got to think of something! You’ve got to, because I definitely won’t. I don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on! So please—is there anything?”
Shara thinks hard, but she has no idea how to penetrate the Butterfly’s Bell, a miracle she never even knew existed until now. And even if they got out, what could they do? A wounded, limping man and a drugged ninety-pound woman against twenty-five Restorationists? I could blast our way out of here with Ovski’s Candlelight … if I actually knew Ovski’s Candlelight. But I don’t. I just know of it, which is not the same thing. If only there was some other way to hide, or maybe tunnel into the ground, or …
… or disappear.
“Parnesi’s Cupboard,” she says quietly.
“What?” whispers Vohannes.
“Parnesi’s Cupboard—it’s what your brother used to kidnap me. It puts people into an invisible pocket of air—one that can’t be seen through by either mortal or Divinity.” Because it was made by Jukov, she remembers, so one of his priests could sneak into Kolkan’s nunnery. So it would work excellently here.
“So even if Kolkan himself shows up …”