Page 24 of The Half King
She smiled. “I’ll look for the volume titledReversing the Great Betrayal: A Guidebook for Novices.”
Though she teased, inwardly she felt dark and heavy, a sensation that could only be described as the pain of broken trust. Father Padron could have mentioned the archives to her at any time during the hours she had spent with him in the sanctuary. She hated to think that he’d deliberately concealed the archives from her, but the interaction with the priests in the city weighed heavily on her mind. Perhaps the Mortaran priests had a taste for deception. Even though they toiled in the service of the goddess, they were still human.
She followed Daerick inside the palace and continued up the sweeping staircase to her suite, where she changed out of her peasant garb and into a fresh temple gown. She washed her face and hands and then tidied her hair. When she had made herself presentable, she returned to the first floor, crossed the open-air corridor, and pushed open the sanctuary doors.
The prayer room was empty, the priests having been dispatched to the dining hall for lunch or into the city to perform their duties. When she peered down the adjoining hallway to Father Padron’s private chamber, she noticed his door was slightly ajar, indicating he was inside. She could ask him for a tour of the archives, but what if the catacombs were forbidden to novices? If so, then she would have no choice but to accept his rule. But if she discovered the catacombs on her own—before learning they were forbidden—she could claim ignorance if anyone caught her.
Yes, she decided. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.
As she crossed the prayer room, her shoes clicked against the floor tiles with an echo that loosed a chill down her spine. A sudden urge compelled her to stop and look over her shoulder. She turned slowly and checked behind her.
No one was there.
Releasing a breath, she continued to the altar and walked in a circle around it. As she studied its marble construction, she ran her fingers along the sides to check for any hidden hinges or cracks. When that yielded no results, she hitched up her dress and knelt on the floor, using both hands to probe the tile for irregularities.
“What are you doing?”
She gasped so hard she nearly collapsed her lungs. Craning her neck, she discovered a priest standing a few paces away from her—a middle-age redheaded man who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Though he stood poised and tranquil with both hands folded in front of him, his eyes betrayed a cold edge that prompted her to crawl backward an inch. This was exactly the kind of man she had avoided at the temple.
“You startled me, Father.” She brought a palm to her sternum and attempted a smile. “You must have silent feet. I envy you. It’s a skill I never mastered.”
“I said,” he gritted out, “what are you doing?”
She licked her lips. She couldn’t lie and risk him using magic to extract the truth from her, so she chose her next words carefully. “I was looking for something, but it’s not here.” Before he could press the issue, she stood up from the floor and curtsied. “We haven’t met. I’m Cerise Solon, emissary to the king.”
The man picked a bit of lint from his robe. “Yes, I know. I’m Father Bishop.”
“Oh, yes. I’ve heard of you,” she said. “You’re the priest who rescued Lady Champlain from the desert panther in her chambers. I’m glad to see you recovered from the ordeal. Did the sweet cakes help?”
He lowered one brow. “How did you know…”
“Father Padron told me you have a weakness for them.”
“I do,” he said. But the way he raked his gaze over her face made it clear that he considered her unworthy of the information.
“Yes, well”—she inched toward Father Padron’s office—“I should go and find His Grace. It was an honor to meet you, Father Bishop. Shiera’s light upon you.”
“And may her wrathful eye look away,” he replied, but probably only because decorum compelled him to.
As she strode briskly out of the room, she blotted her dewy palms on her skirts. She hadn’t decided whether or not to mention the encounter to Father Padron when she knocked twice on his door, and the motion pushed it farther open. But as soon as she saw him standing behind his desk with his back to her, her mind emptied of everything other than the patches of blood seeping through his gilded robes. He turned and met her gaze with a grin that instantly fell when she rushed forward, calling, “Father, you’re hurt!”
His sea blue eyes blinked.
“Your back is bleeding,” she said.
“Oh, is that all?” He smiled again and settled in his chair. “It’s nothing but a little atonement. We are all sinners in our own way.”
Alittleatonement? Cerise shook her head. He clearly didn’t know how badly he was wounded. “Let me call for a healer. The temple isn’t far. It won’t take long to—”
“If I require a healer,” he interrupted, “I’m fully capable of summoning one. Or healing myself. I possess many gifts.”
“But—”
“Cerise.” In the single utterance of her name, he warned her to remember her place.
She held her tongue, feeling like a scolded child and hating it.
“Now tell me.” He folded both hands atop his desk as if their quibble had never happened. “What brings you here?”
