The thought came that she could ask Gabe to hold her again, but she shook her head, physically pushing it away.
When she emerged from her room, Gabe was dressed, morosely rolling his voluminous sleeves to the elbows in an attempt to make them more manageable. He gave her a wry look. “I suppose you’re wanting to go straight to the Church library?”
She gestured grandly. “Lead the way, Mort.”
After a moment of consideration, Lore placed the dinner tray Bastian had brought her beneath the Bleeding God’s Heart candelabra across the hall. He’d said he’d send around a maid—hopefully they wouldn’t mind picking this up, too.
Lore scowled down at her dirty dishes. She’d successfully avoided thinking about the Sun Prince for at least an hour while she and Gabe got ready, but now she’d have to reset her internal counter. It felt strange to think about Bastian when she could still recall the press of Gabe’s chest against her back.
None of them had time for silly romance games—were this any other situation, she’d just sleep with them both and have done with it, so they could concentrate on the important things like finding a stash of dead bodies, figuring out why August and Anton had hidden them, and learning what made them dead in the first place.
But one was the Sun Prince, and one was a celibate monk, and thus the circumstances were a bit more complicated.
One had chased Mortem away from her with nothing but the touch of his hand, and thus the circumstances were extremely more complicated.
When Gabe arced a pointed glance from her to the dishes, Lore shrugged. “Bastian said he’d make sure a maid came up here sometime soon. He was less than impressed with your housekeeping.”
Gabe rolled his eye, then reached up and itched at his patch. He’d removed the bandage on the tip of his finger, and Lore was relieved to see that the damage wasn’t all that bad—part of the appendage was simply gone, as if someone had amputated it right below the nailbed. Dark stitches still showed in the skin, but it looked like it was healing cleanly.
He followed her gaze, but didn’t comment. Apparently, they weren’t going to talk about his wound or how he’d gotten it. That suited Lore fine.
They took the back staircase without needing a discussion first, both of them wanting to avoid running into anyone who might ask what they were doing. Especially Bastian.
Despite the connection she felt—despite that he cared—Lore didn’t want Bastian to know about her suspicions regarding Spiritum. Something about the knowledge felt volatile, as if it could tip a perfectly balanced scale.
No one was on the narrow stairs, and no one but two bloodcoats were at the southern double doors leading out of the Citadel. The guards let them through with no comment, expressions bored. It made Lore think of the guards who’d seen her enter two weeks ago in a borrowed dress flanked by Presque Mort, made her think of what Gabe said about them being sent to the Burnt Isles.
“The Church library is in the south wing?” she asked as they stepped out onto the green. “That’s unexpected. I thought it’d be near the North Sanctuary.”
Gabe shrugged. “The nobles don’t have much use for a bunch of old manuscripts and Compendiums.”
“But they’re extremely valuable, right? That seems like the kind of thing the Church would want to keep away from the common rabble.”
“Malcolm gets far more requests to view manuscripts from commoners than from nobles, actually.”
Surprise nearly made her foot get caught in her skirt. “That’s allowed?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure what the protocol is,” Gabe answered. “But ever since Malcolm was promoted to head librarian, he’s tried to make sure everyone who wants to view a manuscript has the opportunity. At least, all the manuscripts that don’t need special dispensation. No one can waltz in and ask to look at prophecies without Anton’s permission.”
Lore thought of Anton, of his scarred face and how he’d gotten it. She frowned.
“Malcolm told me a story, once,” Gabe continued thoughtfully. “From when he was a kid, before he had the accident that scarred up his arms and led to him joining the Presque Mort. He was fascinated by books, but his family only had a few, and he heard there were more in the Church. He walked right up to a clergy member and asked to see the books. It didn’t even occur to him that it might not be possible. Books are for everyone, he thought.”
“Did the clergyman think the same?”
“He did, fortunately. He took Malcolm to the library, and the head librarian at the time let him look at whatever book he pleased.” Gabe’s voice was quiet, contemplative. “After, when Malcolm got the ability to channel Mortem and joined up with the Mort, he insisted on being able to work in the library. Eventually, he took over from the other clergyman.”
“Seems like he stays busy.”
Gabe huffed a brief laugh.
She peered at him from the corner of her eye as they made their quiet way across the green, the walls of the Church looming up ahead to block the thin morning light. Gabe held his lips pursed, contemplative. Lore wondered if talking about his friend’s life before he joined the Presque Mort made Gabe think of his own, of the boy who had a father and a home and two working eyes.
The Church door opened on soundless hinges, and they stepped into the quiet darkness inside. Gabe went in the opposite direction he’d taken on the day of the Mortem leak. The highly polished wooden rafters reflected the light of the stained-glass windows.
Six such windows lined the hall they walked down. The first was Apollius, in shades of white and gold, dark hair flowing around His shoulders and blood on His hands. The second was Hestraon, god of fire, pictured bent over a forge and engulfed in orange flame. Lereal of the air was third, Their face upturned to the drifts of iridescent wind carved into the glass above Their head. Then Caeliar of the sea, Her arms outstretched in a sparkling blue wave, followed by Braxtos of the earth, flowers sprouting from His hands. At the end of the hall was a window made of nothing but panels of dark glass, deep blues and purples and shimmering black.
Lore frowned as they passed, the light dappling her skirt. “It’s strange that you have depictions of the other gods. I thought Apollius was the only one you were allowed to revere?”
“Depiction isn’t reverence,” Gabe said quietly. His eye swung to the dark window, then away.
The hallway ended in a short wooden staircase; Gabe jogged up and turned to an arched doorway on the right, rapping a knock.
Lore came up the stairs much more slowly. The walk from the Citadel had left her winded; that week abed was doing her no favors.
The door creaked open. Malcolm cocked his head curiously. “Gabe? Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“We have some questions,” Lore said, trying not to sound as out of breath as she felt.
“Questions that will probably involve a lot of religious theory and other technically heretical pursuits,” Gabe grumbled.