“Oh, yes, yes,” Rellius nodded, his smile wide and trusting. “But, doesn’t Garrett already know?”
“No,” Garrett said as he made to follow, his eyes glancing at Dnara as she kept pace. “Garrett does not already know, and furthermore, I should’ve been informed the moment I returned to town.”
“Why?” Athan asked. “Last I checked, you were the mayor’s son, not the mayor.”
Garrett flushed. “And who do you think has been running Lee’s Mill these past weeks? I’ve been the one managing our trade, keeping our treaties, assuring our security and oiling our alliances while my father has been spending night and day in this temple.” He turned to the priest then as they reached the top of the stairs. “I must speak with my father.”
“I’m sorry, my boy,” the priest kept the same peace laden smile. “But he wishes not to be disturbed.”
Garrett let out a perturbed huff. “You’ve said that for the past two weeks.”
Rellius nodded and spoke with the patience of age. “And for the past two weeks it has been his wishes. All his energy is directed where it should be. Perhaps you, too, should stay a while at the temple and offer up your voice to Faedra?”
Garrett’s eyes began to roll northward, but he caught himself and gave a stiff smile to the priest. “As much as I would love to kneel before a statue for three hours, I have matters I must attend too, like making sure Lee’s Mill doesn’t become completely shrouded in darkness by the end of the festival.”
“Ah, of course,” the priest acquiesced, but not without one last word of advice. “But do not forget, in times of great darkness, Faedra will always offer her light to the faithful.”
“Yes, of course.” Garrett offered a stiff bow of respect to match his ever stiffer smile.
“Are you certain you would not like to visit her?” the priest pressed.
Garrett’s pale complexion grew gaunt at the thought. An unspoken longing passed through his eyes, but in the end he merely shook his head. To this, Elder Rellius nodded and gave no further argument, as if it had been the expected answer. Garrett let out a slow, uneven breath as the priest walked onward into the temple.
Garrett straitened his vest and looked to Athan with a cautioned glance past Dnara. “We should speak later. In private.”
“I’ll check my schedule and let you know,” Athan teased before growing more serious. “Don’t tell anyone about Dnara.”
“And strike a match in a town already primed to burn in the fires of desperation?” Garrett replied, sounding offended. “You truly do think me an idiot.”
“Well,” Athan shrugged.
“Jerk.” Garrett muttered then eyed Dnara with less cold aloofness than before. “Be careful,” he whispered cryptically before making his departure, his gaze skirting the temple entryway’s shadowy recesses. “The statues have ears.”
17
The numerous statues dotted throughout the temple did indeed have ears, as one would expect, but Garrett’s warning followed Dnara as she and Athan followed Elder Rellius into the temple. From the steps outside, they passed under a carved wooden archway and into a great stone cathedral. Having seen it all before, Athan and the priest walked on, but Dnara’s steps paused as she took in a breath within the sacred space. In this place, even sunlight looked different, filtered and scattered by decorative clear and stained glass windows to illuminate the cathedral in angular strokes that touched marble statues, wooden pews and etched stone columns with the soft embrace of whispered secrets. The vaulted ceilings called for quiet, lest your words be echoed, and those coming to and from the pews moved with hushed, reverent steps, more like ghosts than people. Along each wall were carved murals depicting stories or lessons for those faithful who were unable to read the teachings written around the borders. Standing between the murals were the statues, and Dnara felt as if they were all looking right at her.
All but one. One had its back turned to the cathedral, its face lost in the shadows of its alcove. In one hand, it held a long knife raised to the sky. The other hand held nothing, its empty fingers curled around an unseen weight. Dnara stepped closer to it, past Retgar and his sharp axe, past Faedra and her central place of the most honored, past Brodan the Betrayed, Valda the Silent and Thalisa the Just. Each statue’s beautifully carved details crooned for her to stop and express devotion, but Dnara’s gaze never strayed from the shadows of her destination, the lone statue kept separate from the rest, face hidden from those who may pay it attention. She wanted so desperately to know its face.
“Dnara?” Athan’s hand settled on her shoulder. Dnara’s startled gasp echoed upwards into the high rafters, causing a lone, trapped ashbird to take wing. “Sorry,” Athan said, removing his hand. “I looked behind me and you weren’t there.”
“Sorry,” she said in return after catching the breath that had been scared out of her. “I didn’t mean to wander, but... I’ve never been in a temple before.” And as she spoke, she leaned forward in an attempt to peer around the backwards statue. Another surprised gasp escaped her when she realized the statue had no face, only an uncarved flat surface where one should be. “It has no face.”
“And no name worth speaking, some would say,” Athan replied. “This is Demroth.”
“This is the Shadow King?” Dnara leaned back to take in the rest of the statue but found its limbs too decrepit and its back too hunched to be Demroth. “What have they done to him?”
“What do you mean?” Athan sounded as surprised by her words as she by Demroth’s lack of a face.
She looked to him, confused
