Captain Landis backed away as Dacre shifted forward.
No one moved as Dacre opened it. The door looked heavy, ancient. It settled on the ground with a resounding thud, golden dust drifting upward.
A stairwell led down into the grave. Dacre, wholly transfixed, seemed to forget about the two captains, the lieutenant, and the correspondent who were watching him. He alone descended into the darkness just as the rain began to fall.
Roman shifted his weight from foot to foot, aching with worry. He glanced across the distance at the lieutenant, but Shane was staring at the grave’s doorway, a strange expression on his face.
We aren’t prepared to have a third god wake, Roman thought, shoving his trembling hands into his pockets. Why is Dacre doing this?
But then it hit Roman like an arrow.
Dacre wasn’t waking a third divine. He was killing Luz while he slept.
No sooner had this revelation stunned Roman than Dacre emerged. He hadn’t been gone but a minute, and his face was starkly pale. His eyes gleamed in the storm light as he closed the grave’s door, so roughly it made its own thunder.
“Lord Commander,” Captain Landis said. “Was it a success?”
“Close the threshold,” Dacre replied in a clipped tone.
Roman could see the fury mounting in the god’s countenance, the way his hands curled into fists. How his tongue traced the edges of his teeth.
Captain Landis hurried to draw the circle in reverse. The dirt shifted; the grass wove back together. While the doorway faded, evidence of the circle remained, soft in the loam.
The rain fell in earnest as they strode back to the lorry, tense and silent. But Roman’s thoughts were reeling. All he could think were two things: either Luz had already woken, or he had been killed by someone else.
{28}
When Home Doesn’t Smell Familiar
The return to Oath was not a triumphant processional as Iris had imagined it would be.
It was a dreary gray afternoon, the sort of day that begged for an endless cup of warm black tea and a thick book by the hearth. A persistent soft rain fell, and soon the eastern roads were like swamps, iridescent with motor oil. A few of the lorries got stuck in the mud as a result. Platoons began to walk on foot, tromping through the damp grass on the side of the road. They had to stop at one point to let a flock of sheep pass by.
When they finally reached the outskirts of the city, Chancellor Verlice was waiting for them, standing in the back of a roadster, holding an open umbrella in his white, spindly hand.
“Is that who I think it is?” Attie growled as Tobias cut the engine.
Iris only sighed, watching as Keegan jumped down from the lorry at the front of the line, walking to meet him. Even though Tobias’s roadster was only a few vehicles behind, they couldn’t hear what the chancellor was saying. Before Iris could think better of it, she slipped out of the motorcar.
“Where are you going?” Attie asked.
“We’re the press,” Iris said, her boots sinking in the mud. “We need to hear what he’s saying, right?” She began to hurry up the road, careful not to slip. A few seconds later, she could hear Attie close behind.
The girls stayed back a respectful distance but dared to draw close enough to gather what the chancellor had to say to Keegan and Enva’s army.
“This road needs to remain clear and passable,” Verlice was saying. “And Oath is still declared neutral ground. I cannot permit you and your forces to infiltrate the city.”
Infiltrate? Iris nearly breathed fire at that word. She ground her teeth together as she stared up at the chancellor. He wasn’t going to allow Enva’s army to find shelter and provisions in the city. He wasn’t going to allow the army to protect the people within the city walls.
Keegan was silent, as if she too was shocked by the chancellor barring their entrance. But she only said in a strong voice, “If that is what you have decided for Oath, then so be it. We will make camp here on the outskirts. All I ask is for my wounded to find care and shelter in the hospital.”
The chancellor narrowed his eyes. It was apparent he wanted Keegan to return from where she had come, taking the trail of lorries and troops with her. But he only inclined his head and said, “Very well. As long as the road remains passable, and your troops cause no inconvenience for the citizens of Oath, remaining outside of the city limits, you may camp in this field.”
“And my wounded?” Keegan pressed. “They have been traveling for days and need medical attention.”
“I will take this up with my council,” the chancellor replied. “In the meantime, the wounded will need to camp here with you until I gain approval for their admittance.”
Iris set her jaw. She couldn’t believe this was happening until the chancellor sensed her stare and glanced up to find her and Attie standing side by side, ankle-deep in mud. Irritation pulled his mouth into a thin line, made his brow slant heavy over his beady eyes. Iris could almost hear the trail of his thoughts. How annoying the journalists at the Inkridden Tribune were, writing about things he didn’t want the people to know.
A wordless challenge was set down between them, and the chancellor took his seat in the back of the roadster. His driver stirred the engine to life and drove away, and Iris shivered as her damp clothes chafed against her skin.
The mist was growing thicker, transforming into a hushed rainfall. But she watched the chancellor disappear into Oath, and she knew exactly what article of hers would be in the paper tomorrow.
* * *
“Are you sure, Marisol?” Iris asked for the third time. “You and Lucy are more than welcome to stay with me and Forest.”
Marisol smiled as she set down a crate. Her black hair shined in the rain, falling loose from her long braid. “I’ll be fine here. I want to stay with Keegan, you know.”
Iris nodded, although a knot of guilt and anger soured in her stomach at the thought of leaving Marisol and Keegan and all the soldiers behind to sleep in tents on wet ground. They didn’t even have a way to stoke campfires and cook a warm meal or make a pot of coffee, and Iris wondered what she could do to help.
Marisol read her thoughts.
“You must remember that they’ve been through much worse than a little rain, Iris,” she murmured as tents continued to rise from the ground like mushrooms. “A little foul weather won’t hurt us. Perhaps the sun will be shining tomorrow.”
Iris couldn’t hide her grimace. The weather in Cambria was notorious for being ornery.
“Do you still have the bird book I gave you?” Marisol asked suddenly.
“Yes. It’s in my coat pocket.”
“Have you read the page on the albatross?”