“All blessings to Saint John,” said Brother Simon. “All blessings to the beloved of Lord Thanatos.”
As the others echoed his words and bowed low, Lilah saw Mother Rose cut a quick look at her bodyguard. Was that a smile they shared? Or a sneer? Lilah was not well practiced at reading faces, but she had spied on Charlie Pink-eye and his crew many times, and she could recognize deceit when she saw it. Whoever this Saint John was, Lilah guessed that he should be worried about how much Mother Rose truly respected him.
And what was that name Mother Rose had mentioned?
Thanatos.
Lilah frowned. The name tugged at a memory. Not someone she’d ever met, but something she’d read. She didn’t push at it; instead she relaxed her thoughts and let the memory float to the top.
Thanatos. One of two aspects of death from ancient Greek culture. Her frown deepened because as she remembered it, Thanatos was the nonviolent death god. The one who came to relieve suffering. And yet all these people were heavily armed. Lilah decided that whoever this “Carter” person was, she was glad she was not in his shoes.
Below, Brother Simon clamped his jaws shut, clearly struggling with something else that he wanted to say, or perhaps feared to say.
Mother Rose saw this and touched his face. “What is it?”
“A few of the scouts have sighted a, um . . . girl with a slingshot among Carter’s refugees.” He spoke as if prying the words from his mouth. “The descriptions match Sister Margaret.”
Everyone gasped and took involuntary steps away from Brother Simon, as if they expected lightning to strike him for some great sin. Suddenly the giant dropped his sledgehammer and caught Brother Simon by the throat, lifting him effortlessly until the reaper stood on the very tips of his shoes.
“We do not speak that name,” he growled. Brother Simon’s face turned red and then purple as the giant squeezed his hand.
Mother Rose leaned past the giant. “Are you sure, brother?” she asked in a voice that was as cold and hard as a knife blade.
“Y-yes,” croaked Brother Simon in a strangled little voice.
The giant glanced at Mother Rose, who studied the choking reaper with narrowed eyes. She touched the giant’s arm, a soft brush of fingertips over the landscape of his bulging muscles.
“Brother Alexi . . . ,” she said, and the giant released Brother Simon, who collapsed to his knees, gasping and honking as he fought to drag in a breath. The giant, Alexi, picked up his sledgehammer and returned to his station just behind Mother Rose.
The woman reached out and touched Brother Simon’s cheek. “Tell me,” she said.
“I—I have it from five separate scouts, your holiness,” stammered Brother Simon, his throat still raw. “The description matches, even to the markings.” As he said this, he touched the pattern of flowers tattooed on his scalp. “Wild roses and thorns.”
“Sister Margaret is dead,” said Mother Rose in a harsh whisper. “My daughter abandoned her family and her god. She runs with heretics and blasphemers. She is dead.” Mother Rose spat this last word. “The gift of darkness is not for her. I hope that her flesh lives on forever. Lost, alone, and damned.”
The reaper placed his forehead on the dirt by Mother Rose’s feet. “Holiness, forgive this foolish sinner for causing you pain.” His body shook with sobs, and Lilah could not tell if his tears were from grief, regret, or fear.
The scene below held for a moment longer, and then Mother Rose bent to the man, kissed his head, and drew him to his feet. “There is no sin in telling the truth, beloved Brother Simon,” she said. “Be at peace with the knowledge that the darkness waits to enfold you.”