I think about it for a moment, dread sinking in. It couldn't be though. A noctis had definitely been here. They’d eaten that other human’s throat. If another human had fallen here, there'd be no blood left because every last drop would’ve been lapped up.
Which means that whoever fell here was one of us, perhaps even fighting alongside Ursulette.
Maybe they were ambushed by the Shadow Crusade, and she took the higher ground to cover him. The prisoner we saw back there could've just as easily been caught in the crossfire, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe they'd been hunting him when they were attacked.
Suddenly, Iremember who else had been eager to be stationed with the northernmost group of the Hunt, and he fits the build of the man Caz is describing now.
"Harland."
Caz whistles, an exaggerated sound of impending doom. "Well, I'd hate to be on his shit list right about now. Judging from the way he's marching, he's out for blood."
"What a pair," Renee chimes in. "Ursulette and Harland, out on a suicide mission for revenge."
That sinking feeling of dread unspools in my chest.
Charlotte had been on Harland'sshit list, as Caz would put it. For murdering his two brothers. Could she have been the one who murdered Rhain as well? A confliction of emotions rises up inside me at the thought. But with no time to address them, I’m forced to ignore them. We are on a mission.
"Then let's follow after them, before they get themselves killed. Again."
27
ARISEN
Sable feels strangely heavy where she rests atop my lap, my knees bent and back pressed up against a column near the middle of the room. It was the only place in the entire downstairs that wasn’t covered in broken glass.
I don't know how long I've been sitting here, but the sun is starting to set, a suffocating sort of darkness seeping into the cathedral like my own personal demons have finally found me.
I can't shake the look in her eyes out of my head. The horror that cleaved her in two at my callous words.
"She would've killed me," is something I've uttered repeatedly to my black weapon as the minutes have ticked by. “I had to kill her.”
There's no absolution in those words though. Because, despite them being true, despite all of the hardship I've experienced, all the towns I've fled while an army of ghouls or a pack of noctis were hot on my heels and I barely had the will to survive, despite being held prisoner and then hunted like a terrified doe, I might’ve had to kill her, but I didn't have to tell her I killed the man she loved. I didn't have to show her the same malice they've shown us for decades.
I'm no longer sure I can tell the difference between the monsters and myself. Maybe it's been that way for a while now. Maybe it's why I've always kept my distance, all these years.
Maybe deep down I knew the truth: that we're not so different from them.
The heavy double doors swing open, casting me in a ray of dying sunlight. It's all that the day has left to offer as the moon fights for her turn in the sky.
"Charlotte.” Rowland breathes my name like it's both a prayer and a pinch to his arm.
I barely lift my head to greet him. The dark chasm of remorse and self-loathing that I've fallen into is going to be difficult to climb out of. But I register the figures following behind him—one, two, three of them—as they enter the cathedral and close the door behind them.
I'm only dimly aware that there's one fewer than there had been before, but I’m grateful to find that it’s not Rowland or Mira.
Rowland takes his time making his way to me. With a sword readied in his grasp, he checks behind every column, around every bench to make sure the space is empty except for five of us. He doesn't bother checking upstairs. I'm relieved for that.
"Hey, I almost forgot,” he says, appearing beside me. “I found these outside.” Two bolts plop on my lap. I glance up at Rowland in disbelief. “They were in the pasture. I’m guessing she shot them at you on your way here?”
I nod and fasten the bolts into their holding bracket. I would ask him about the two that struck Lewis and Julian, but I’m guessing that they had to break the one in Lewis’ leg to get it out, and Julian—well, I’m guessing they let Julian rest where he fell.
“You okay?”
He moves to sheath his sword, but stops himself, thinking better of it. Finally, I'm able to crawl out of my fugue long enough to glance up and see why. Blood drips from the curve of his blade and I wonder how many other noctis he had to kill on his way over here.
We exchange a somber look and I know he's thinking the same thing that I am. It’s the same thing everyone’s thought since the day the realm fell to the noctis: when will this nightmare end?
Breaking eye contact, Rowland wipes his sword on his trousers before stowing the thing away.
