“I almost wish He would go ahead and get it over with,” he murmured.
Other courtiers filed in shortly, all unusually quiet. Ever since Lore was banished, since Jax was welcomed into court, the nobles of the Citadel had treated morning prayers with more gravitas than before. They arranged themselves in their seats, waiting silently for services to begin, their clothing plain and subdued by court standards.
It made Alie nervous, how much more pious the nobles seemed even now. Made her wonder what the court would look like once Apollius revealed Himself.
Alexis had fulfilled the default role of Priest Exalted since Gabe left, even though they hadn’t been officially given the title. But today, rather than standing behind the lectern and finding the day’s Tracts, they sat next to Alie, boxing her between them and Jax. “Any idea what this is all about?” they murmured.
Jax turned to look at Alexis, anxiety in the shape of his mouth. “Whatwhatis all about?”
Alexis shrugged uncomfortably. “I received a note from the King this morning. Apparently, he wants to lead the prayers today.”
Jax stiffened. With a truncated nod, he sat back, his hands curling to fists on his knees.
Apollius entered from the main doors at the back of the Sanctuary. He seemed frazzled, and it made Him look more like Bastian, enough that Alie’s breath caught.
The god in Bastian’s body didn’t acknowledge the crowd. He went to the lectern and braced His hands on either side of it, the grip blanching His knuckles. One finger twitched.
Alie’s skin rose in gooseflesh. He was channeling. She could almost see it, flecks of gold in the atmosphere. A slight tug in her center, the threads of her life grasped in a godly hand to be woven or spun or snapped.
For a moment, she wondered if He would channel all the Spiritum out of every living thing in this room, turn it all to His will. That would certainly send a message, to Caldien and everyone else. That would give them something to fear.
But the charge in the air softened, the divine hold on her life letting go. Alie let out an unsteady breath and wondered if anyone else had felt it.
A brief look of relief crossed Apollius’s face. As if He’d been testing Himself.
Apollius flipped through the Compendium. Then He shut the book, lifted His head, and surveyed the room. “First Day prayers are generally about peace. Asking for a pleasant spate of days to follow and giving thanks for those that have come before. But the time for peace is past. Today we speak of war.”
No sound, no movement. The Court of the Citadel watched their King like mice made aware of an owl.
“When I became your King,” the god continued, “and I took up the holy mantle of the Arceneaux rule, I promised that I wouldprotect us. Do My best to make the continent a place that pleases our god.” He raised a hand, gesturing to Jax. “By uniting with the Kirythean Empire, I have brought us one step closer to making the world as it should be. But there are threats to our dream of global harmony. They must be snuffed out.”
Slight rustling in the pews, sidelong looks.
Apollius dropped His hand and looked down, flipping through the Compendium to find the Tract He wanted. “When you are threatened by the unfaithful—”
“Warmonger!”
The cry came from the back of the Church. Alie’s head whipped around.
Olivier. It was the first time Alie had seen him since she and Lilia searched the storeroom, and he looked worse for wear—gaunt, eyes sickly bright. He stood framed in the open double doors, the light of morning seeping in around him. His finger was raised, pointing at Apollius, his face flushed. Not with anger, though. The emotion looked closer to triumph.
“You were never fit to be King, Bastian Arceneaux.” Olivier advanced down the aisle, finger still pointed like a bayonet. “You will lead us into ruin!”
Gasps rang through the sanctuary, nobles looking at one another with shocked faces, but none of them moved. None of them wanted to be involved in whatever this was.
Up on the dais, Apollius dispassionately watched Olivier walk toward him, still spouting accusations. He moved slowly away from the lectern so nothing stood between Him and the shouting courtier.
At the braziers, Olivier stopped, chest heaving. His hand was in his jacket, a fact none could see but the first row.
“Shit,” Jax said, standing and tossing back his coat to reveal the handle of a pistol.
But he froze before he could draw it, a choked sound in his throat. Alie felt the frisson of channeling, the hum in the air, sawApollius’s fingers twitching toward Jax. Holding his Spiritum, his life captured in a fist. Holding him still.
It was only then that Alie realized there were no bloodcoats in the Sanctuary. No Presque Mort, either, other than Alexis, sitting still as a prey animal beside her.
Apollius looked to Olivier. Gave a tiny, almost-imperceptible nod.
Olivier lurched toward Him, something shining in his fist. A dagger. A dagger that he plunged straight into the Sainted King’s heart.
