Page 104 of This Dark Descent
She expected the voice to say something about that, but it was quiet inside the walls of the temple. Ari didn’t know what to make of missing it.
“I found a page he’d translated.” Her nails dug into her forearms. It didn’t feel odd telling all this to someone she barely knew. If anything, it was easier, like talking to the gods, or the ocean, or a wind that would carry her words far, far away. But tell her she did. Of the golem, the attack, of Rivkah running to the sound.
“I couldn’t take the fear and blame in my parents’ eyes,” she finished. “So I ran.”
Shira’s expression didn’t change. She took in all of Ari’s story without reaction, letting her empty the fear, the guilt, the pain. And when Ari finished, she didn’t look at her any differently than before.
“People always want to blame someone when horrible things happen,” Shira said. “But sometimes they’re no one’s doing. Sometimes they just happen.”
Rivkah had tried to tell her that. She’d tried to say it wasn’t Ari’s fault.But Ari had been terrified she might hurt one of them again. Terrified of herself, of the thing lurking inside her mind.
“What about the times when you make them happen?” she asked. “When you answer bad things with more bad things, but instead of canceling each other out, they just create more darkness?” They multiplied, like shattered glass crumbling underfoot, a single piece turning into thousands.
“It is easy to lose yourself to even a fleck of darkness,” Shira replied solemnly. “Each new thing you do doesn’t seem that bad because it’s not much worse than the thing before. But eventually you look back to the beginning and you realize how far you’ve drifted.”
She held Ari’s gaze as she spoke. “And if you stop, if you stand still for even a second, it catches up to you. So you keep going and going, until it consumes you.”
Ari was suddenly sure they weren’t talking about her anymore. This wasn’t the first time Shira had considered this, perhaps not even the first time she’d had this conversation.
“And what if it already has?” she asked quietly.
A surprisingly gentle smile pulled at Shira’s lips. “Do you know the termchet?” Ari shook her head. “It is an archery term used to describe when an arrow has gone astray. It is the same word Kinnism uses to describe sin. Because that is all sin is, Arielle: a straying from the right path. You can always find your way again. But first you must find forgiveness.”
Ari shuddered. “They’ll never forgive me.”
“There are many types of forgiveness,” Shira replied patiently. “The forgiveness between yourself and the gods. That between you and another. And the kind that comes from inside yourself. The strength to forgive ourselves is often the hardest to find.”
“What if I can’t?” she whispered.
Shira placed a gentle hand on hers. “You can. To forgive is to make whole. Only once you forgive yourself can you make whole the rest.”
She stood, running her fingers along the back of a bench. “All you cando now is keep moving forward. It is only when you stop that you lose the path.”
She offered Ari her hand. “Now, if you’re feeling up to it, my brother needs you.”
Ari didn’t hesitate. She let Shira pull her to her feet, and like a shadow snipped from her heel, she left the weight behind.
CHAPTER 37
ARIELLE
THE ANTHIR HEADQUARTERSwere a squat, gray stone building in the Wrenith District. Ari was aware of every step she took inside, from the cold foyer to the monochrome waiting room. This was where she belonged. She should be in a cell right beside Damien after what she’d done.
You protected yourself, said the voice.Nothing more.
Where have you been?Ari thought back, but only silence answered.
Shira barely set foot in the place before someone was at her side, asking if they could help. Ari’s attention strayed to the wall of faces to her left, depicting criminals the Anthir were hunting. Their crimes were printed beneath sketches or photographs. Most of them simply saidREBEL.
“Arielle.” Shira’s voice pulled her back. “This way.”
They entered a corner office with a plaque on the door that readINSPECTOR ELRIHAN.
The inspector was a broad-shouldered man with tawny skin, a thick black beard, and bright eyes. He sat behind a desk that took up most of the small, windowless room, the surface stacked with endless piles of paper.
Damien had told her about his friendship with the inspector, how he’d listened as the man, several drinks in, detailed how understaffed they were. How he felt trapped in his small office and longed to do something moremeaningful, more recognized. In turn, Inspector Elrihan had accepted a generous donation for staffing and a renovation on the precinct due to start next month, and always had a minute to hear the Adairs out.
“Lady Adair.” Inspector Elrihan leaned back in a too-small wooden chair. “I apologize for Lord Adair’s treatment. If I’d known he was here earlier, I’d have seen to him immediately, but the paperwork has yet to be filed. I can assure you Sergeant Haraver will be suitably reprimanded.”
