Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 134898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
“That’s not why we’re here—” Arrod begins, frowning.
Kipp pushes against his leg while I elbow him. Seriously, and this guy is going to keep my secret? I’m doomed. But that’s a problem for me to worry about in the future.
“Right, sorry,” Arrod whispers and gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Glyphwork.”
Oh boy. “Are you sure this is a good time, Sparrow? I don’t want to be a bother….”
“Follow me,” Sparrow says, ignoring my words of protest. “I know just the place we can study. It’ll help you think to be outdoors and enjoying the afternoon sunlight. I know I always study best with a delightful breeze on my face.”
It takes everything I have not to snort with amusement at that. A breeze on her face? Please. Sparrow is very much an indoor sort of woman, and she absolutely hates the wind when she’s trying to read something. But if someone else notices the strangeness of this declaration, they don’t say anything. They’re too busy unpacking and talking amongst themselves as we head out of the archives, following Sparrow.
She marches with authority down the street.
I follow her, doing my best to wear an “I’m about to study now” expression on my face. We head through the central plaza at the heart of the city, past the statue of Sparkanos the Swan, and then head away from the guild buildings entirely. We pass several nests and the training grounds, and when we get to the outer wall, I eye Sparrow. “Where are we going exactly?”
“You need his body, right? He’s going to be with Romus’s people.”
“Oh, mucking hells,” Arrod moans from behind me.
All five hells indeed. Of course he’s at the god of the dead’s temple. All the dead go there to have blessings said over them and to be interred in one of the god’s sacred houses so they can be welcomed into one of his five realms. It just didn’t occur to me that when I said I’d be speaking with the dead, I’d be going to their house. My skin prickles with goose bumps.
I rub my arms, shivering despite the warmth of the sunshine. I wish Raptor were here.
A small hand touches my knee. I look down at Kipp, who’s trotting at my side. He glances up at me and gives me a reassuring lizardy nod. Even if my lover—no, my mate—isn’t here, I’ve still got friends at my side. “Thank you, Kipp. I can always count on you.”
He gives a reassuring little huff and nods again.
We approach the temple of Romus, Lord of the Five Hells. Sparrow takes the lead, and we step inside. The moment we do, my skin prickles with awareness, as if the dead in the vicinity are suddenly becoming alert to my presence. I dig my fingernails into my palms and pretend to admire the temple. All buildings of Romus are created in the same manner—there are rows of benches like church pews, all facing the murals of the five hells. In front of each mural is an altar, along with the offerings for each realm. Worshipers give offerings to each realm to push them away, and there are no offerings in front of the Hell of Release, because everyone wants to pass through its gates. The Hells of Misery, of Despair, of Penitence, and of War are all flooded with offerings of rotten foods and aversion symbols. Near the doors to the temple stands a nun in front of a stand with a basket of old vegetables. “Rotten turnip for hell?”
I’m tempted to purchase a few myself just out of superstition. It’s tradition, after all.
In her heavy archivist robes, Sparrow flounces up to the nun and gives her a haughty look down her nose. “My friends and I have come to pay our respects to one of the deceased. Where can we sit with him and pray for his Divine Release?”
The nun points to the back of the temple. “You’ll want the head priestess. She’s in charge of purifying the bodies.”
“My thanks.” Sparrow nods at her and then flicks a hand at us, indicating we should follow close behind.
A shiver moves up my spine as the faint nonsense babble of the dead begins to whisper in my ears. I don’t recognize the voices, but then again, the dead never sound familiar. We follow behind Sparrow, bowing to the nun as we pass by her. “She’s a little scary like this,” Arrod comments. “Mistress Sparrow. I thought she was an archivist.”
“She’s got holder blood,” I tell him.
“Ahhhh. That explains it.”
It really does. Even though she’s working as an archivist now, Sparrow can put on the invisible mantle of a holder as easily as breathing. She takes on an air of unquestionable authority, as if it’s her gods-given right to go wherever she pleases. And it works, more often than not. I’m grateful that she’s helping us, because I probably would have flailed the moment I got through the doorway and felt the presence of the spirits inside.