“An unfortunate necessity.” Selena sheathed it with a snap. “Thank you for the use of your sanctuary this afternoon.”
“Not at all.” The abbot smiled. “We are indebted to you. Hilda Youn’s baby is hale and hearty once more when all had seemed lost two nights ago. And we were certain young Tylan would never walk again, and now the boy doesn’t even suffer a limp. You truly have the god’s ear in every way…” His words trailed, as did his gaze, which flitted to the place over her heart where the wound lay, and then to the ground.
“Not in every way.” She smiled gently. “You know who I am?”
He nodded.
“And yet you have been so kind to me. To the Tainted One…”
The abbot met her eye and spoke in a low voice. “That name is ill-spoken and unbefitting. There are so few Aluren left in the Temple and none who make the healing pilgrimages anymore. But for you.” He bowed his head. “You are always welcome.”
Selena felt hot tears sting her eyes. Such courtesy towards her was rare.
They stepped out of the sanctuary and onto the path. It snaked down before them, to the beach. Sage scrub lined the path on both sides, permeating the air with a dusty green scent. They started down the path and a shadow fell over them both.
The abbot fell back and clutched his sackcloth. “My poor heart…”
A Vai’Ensai glared down at them from a height of seven spans, his eyes starkly human in a face that more closely resembled the dragons of old. His scaled gray skin appeared silvery in the dying sunlight, though it didn’t gleam so bright as his immense broad sword. He kept the weapon strapped to his back, between his wing and the tangle of exposed bone and scarred flesh that marked where its pair had been. Selena could almost see the abbot bite back the word “dragonman” to say Ilior’s name instead.
“Master Ilior. …”
Ilior’s voice was as two stones grinding together. “Sorry to startle, abbot.”
“We are called back to Isle Lillomet,” Selena told Ilior. “If you would hurry to the inn and collect my belongings, I’ll meet you at the ship.”
“At once.” Ilior loped down the path, his lone wing furled tight to his scarred back.
To the abbot, Selena said, “Would you please have your man send a peliteryx to the Temple? Let them know I only just received their letter and will arrive on Lillomet tomorrow morning—tides, winds, and luck permitting.”
“Of course.”
“Hear and be Heard, abbot.”
He took her hand, shocking her with his willingness to touch her. His hand felt damp and calloused and wonderful. She fought the urge to grab it and hold on. He’s the same age my father would have been…
“And to you, Paladin. Hear and be Heard.” He smiled sadly. “I pray that you will be.”
Selena met Ilior on the deck of the Silver Wind, the hundred-span schooner the Temple reserved for Paladins on their healing missions. There had once been a small fleet of ships for such a purpose. Now there was one. With the bustle of the crew scurrying to obey Captain Wymer’s orders behind them, Selena drew Ilior to the portside of the main deck.
“It’s an Alliance meeting,” Selena said in a low voice. “One of the Justarchs and the Admiral are to attend.”
“Trouble?”
“I don’t know. But I’m afraid.”
She watched the sun sink behind the Calling Sea. It seemed as if burning embers floated atop the deep blue expanse. In the west, Isle Lillomet was a distant shape looming in the fading light, while the dozens of smaller islands scattered before it were bathed in ochre hues. The air smelled thick and salty, and though she could not feel it, she knew the summer heat had not yet left the Western Watch. It was there, on the faces of the crew that were flush and sweaty, and in Ilior beside her, who needed the heat to keep his cool reptilian blood warm. But winter would come, taking the heat with it. Soon. She laid a hand over the cold draft in her chest.
Ilior saw the gesture. “You submitted another petition to drink from the God’s Tears, did you not? Perhaps this time it has been granted.”
“If that were true, there’d be no reason to include the Admiral or a Justarch.”
“What then?”
“War, I fear. The rumors have been growing louder.” Selena’s heart thudded against her chest. “And if it is another war, the only reason to include me in any council is because they want me to Summon again. But I will not. I will not.”
Ilior’s heavy arm went around her shoulders and she sagged against him.
“I’m tired, Ilior. When I think of enduring another winter with the wound…”
“We’ll sail to one of the meridian island as we did last year. That helped, yes?”
“It did,” she said, not adding that tropical heat was like a candle standing against a bitter, chill wind.
Ilior looked down at her, his brown eyes—the most human part of him—narrowed slightly. “That is what you call a half-truth, is it not? It helped, but not enough.” He shook his horned head and spat over the side. “And one sip from the God’s Tears might close your wound…”
“Or it might not,” Selena said. “The God’s Tears is ultimate healing from the god. My wound is the god’s punishment. The Temple likely still feels it’s not their place to undo one with the other.”
Ilior snorted his disgust.
Selena smiled reassuringly up at him. “The Two-Faced God has not forsaken me,” she said. “I have hope. If I lose that, it will not matter where I spend my winters.”
At dawn, the Silver Wind was only a few leagues out from Isle Lillomet. The isle where she’d spent the last week was one of many that spilled out of the archipelago of the four big islands that dominated the Western Watch, and not far from Lillomet. She had intended to sail among more of these small outer islands for a fortnight at least, to tend those who needed the god’s healing magic, and to keep away from the Moon Temple for as long as possible. Both pleased the High Reverent Celestine, Selena thought with a pang.
I am not welcome in my own Temple.
It made her official summons even more confusing.
The sun was high in a clear sky when Isle Lillomet drew near. The city hugged the coast, white marble gleaming on the eastern end, multi-colored homes and shops of clapboard on the west. Old King’s Harbor churned with skiffs and trawlers but Captain Wymer navigated the busy port swiftly, to a section of the docks reserved for the Temple. The berths were empty but for the High Reverent’s ceremonial barge, rusted and in want of barnacle scraping. The schooner dropped anchor and the captain provided a skiff and a man to row it to take Selena and Ilior to the docks. There, a young man swathed in the blue and silver of an Aluren adherent was waiting.