Bastian twirled his wrists. He flexed his fingers. He bent his neck from side to side.
Then he grinned.
There was no real time to enjoy being back in his own body. It wouldn’t last long. Already, the back of his mind was stirring, the place where Apollius waited, where he’d felt Him taking root right after the eclipse ritual, back before he knew what it was.
He had to find Alie.
He’d come to in his bedroom, blessedly empty—he could feel enough impressions of Apollius’s emotions in the golden sea to know that was a rarity. For a being who’d been so singularlyfocused on making sure His wife had no other options but to stay by Him, Apollius had no issue with sleeping around.
The stray thought brought Lore to the forefront of his mind. Thinking of either of them—Lore, Gabe—and where they were, the dangers they could be facing, was enough to quicken his heartbeat.
No time for that. They could take care of themselves. Well, Gabe, anyway. He loved her dearly, but Lore’s recklessness often got in the way of her common sense.
He had to hope she’d improved on that front.
Bastian threw on clothes and practically ran from his apartment. There was no guard outside the door; Apollius was in no danger from any mortal. Bastian kept to the shadows as he crept down the turret toward Alie’s room, staying out of sight.
When he reached her door, he tried to keep his knock from sounding frantic. Apollius was fully awake, now, scrabbling at the back of Bastian’s mind, trying to claw His way back into control. Bastian had practice keeping the god at bay, from those weeks when Lore was here and his affliction was mostly a secret, but it still wasn’t pleasant. His head felt like it was being continually bashed with a hammer.
He could hold out now that he knew where the ring was.
Alie came to the door, brow creased. When she opened it, she flinched backward, made to slam it closed again.
“Alie, it’s me.” Bastian put out his hand, held it open. “It’s me.”
Her eyes searched his, closed in relief. Then she was all pragmatism. “How long do we have?”
“Not long. We have to go to the Church library.”
She didn’t question him. She just nodded and grabbed a shawl, wrapping it over her shoulders, toeing into slippers. “Let’s go.”
Miraculously, they didn’t encounter any courtiers as they went out the Citadel doors—also unguarded, as if Apollius was daring someone to try something—and moved quickly across thesouthern green to the Church. The nobles that gathered there to try speaking with Apollius mostly kept to the North Sanctuary, and the majority of the others had already retired. Having a god among them had renewed their sense of propriety.
They didn’t run into anyone until they reached the South Sanctuary.
It’d been stupid of Bastian to assume that there would be no one here, for all that it was the middle of the night. Honestly, it was lucky that tonight there was only one penitent, a young woman who couldn’t be much older than he was, kneeling in the first pew.
A Presque Mort melted out of the shadows. Sophie, one of the monks he didn’t know very well, a thick scar running over her forehead. “Holy One,” she said with a deep bow, “I can escort You wherever You need to go, so that You aren’t disturbed. I know You don’t care to meet with anyone in this sanctuary.” She glanced at Alie. “Should I send for the Emperor, as well?”
“No need.” Apollius’s voice sounded different from his own, brighter and more resonant, but Bastian didn’t try to imitate it.
He thought he’d spoken quietly, but apparently it wasn’t quietly enough. The woman at the front of the Sanctuary turned around.
Sophie moved in front of Bastian. “I’m sure You don’t want to deal with this—”
“God?” the young woman asked, her voice raspy. Tear tracks gleamed on her cheeks.
He should leave. Their clock was ticking down; whispers of pain began in his head, his chest. But she looked so sad.
And so hopeful.
Bastian waved aside Sophie and started down the aisle. Behind him, Alie followed, silent.
The young woman couldn’t decide if she should stand or kneel at his approach, getting halfway up before sitting down again. She finally landed on staying in her pew, her tear-shined eyes wide.
He didn’t know what to do here. Apollius was a god; Bastianwasn’t. And the last thing he should want was to give anyone hope that Apollius was good, to sink them further into the delusion that this world was a just place, run by just gods.
But what would it accomplish, to stomp out hope?
