Inside, darkness reigned, with the exception of a few flickering candles. Our footsteps echoed through the temple as we went in. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust, but, when they did, I could make out a lot more. The shrine was where I’d last seen it, loaded with fresh fruit, grains, and other small offerings.
On both sides of the rectangular hall, curtains of red-and-yellow silk flowed from the ceiling, trembling whenever the air moved. A single step was enough to make them ripple like the surface of a fiery sea.
“This is incredible,” Riza murmured, looking around.
Every detail was worth taking in. The worshippers had put a lot of work into this place, breathing life into every nook and cranny. It was spotless, too, which meant that someone was here at all times, making sure the surfaces were wiped clean, and that there were always fresh offerings on the shrine.
“It certainly is,” I said. “They’ve recently revamped it, I see, judging by the additional artworks.”
“How often do people come here?” Amelia asked.
“I don’t remember exactly. I think they have big weekly gatherings. Besides that, I’d think they have morning and evening worship hours. Or maybe people can just come in whenever they want, hence the pristine state of this place,” I replied.
Herakles pointed at the shrine. “What happens to all the food? I doubt the fire gobbles it all up.”
“Hungry already?” Raphael chuckled.
“Shut up.”
“They give it to the less fortunate,” I said, then pressed my lips into a tight line to avoid laughing, as well. Herakles’s appetite was legendary.
“So, you should find some other place for dinner, Herakles,” Varga quipped.
A familiar voice traveled across the hall. “Milord! You’ve returned!”
Vikkal scuttled through the semi-darkness, coming from the far-left corner. There was a side door there, from what I remembered about the building’s original layout.
“It’s been a long time,” I said to him as he reached us.
He hadn’t changed a bit. Still thin and bald, wrapped in crimson-and-gold silks… and the tattoo on his forehead. A stylized flame. Only, it wasn’t the only mark he had anymore. Others adorned his temples and his cheeks, then more down the sides of his neck. I found it safe to assume there would be symbols beneath his clothes, too.
“It’s an honor to have you here, milord!” Vikkal said, his smile full of warmth.
“And a pleasure to see you again, Vikkal,” I replied. “How have you been? I noticed you’ve made some changes to the place.”
Vikkal shrugged, quite close to blushing. “I do my best, milord. The worshippers made suggestions and helped with some of the supplies. I delivered the artworks. They make the temple more homely, in my humble opinion.”
Noticing his curious glances around at my crew, I proceeded to introduce everyone. Vikkal shook each hand with firmness and a broad smile, as he measured everyone from head to toe. His attention was drawn to Raphael, in particular.
“You must be a Perfect,” Vikkal said. “I’ve never seen one of your kind until now.”
Raphael seemed doubtful. “We have GASP agents stationed on the Fire Star, as well. I know at least four who were assigned here from Strava.”
“You must forgive me, Raphael. I don’t often leave the temple,” Vikkal replied, then turned his focus back to me. “Did you bring your friends over to worship the Fire Hermessi, milord?”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid not, Vikkal. I suppose you’ve heard about the incidents with some of our people.”
The smile faded away with impressive speed. Sadness and concern took over, drawing deep lines between his slim eyebrows. Even the color of his skin seemed to vanish. Oh, he’d definitely heard about our woes.
“I am sorry, milord. Word of the explosions has come to this temple, too,” he said. “Please, accept my condolences. I understand you lost many people during your crowning ceremony. I must apologize for being unable to attend, but I wasn’t feeling very well that day.”
Why did that feel like such a hard pill to swallow?
“Oh, damn!” Amelia burst out, her eyes bulging as she stared at Vikkal’s forehead. “The… The symbol! I… I knew it! I knew I’d seen something like it before!”
“What do you mean?” I asked her.
She quickly produced one of the case files from her backpack, frantically flipping through the autopsy photos. I ignored the nausea and focused on the image she wanted to show me.
“Crap,” I heard myself mutter.
Amelia was right. One of the symbols on Myris Fenn’s charred limb was identical to the stylized flame on Vikkal’s forehead. Only, the photo had been taken from a different angle, hence the additional seconds it took all of us to get to a collective conclusion.
“Vikkal,” I managed, then showed him the file directly, ignoring his horror once he realized what he was looking at. “Can you explain why the exploding fae wore symbols like yours carved into their skin?”
My tone was perhaps a bit more clipped than I’d intended.
But I had a good reason. We’d finally found a connection between the attacks and the Hermessi, and it was bound to lead to something much worse. My instincts were screaming.
Raphael
One of the reasons I’d been brought on this mission was my ability to read people. Sure, Varga was good at analyzing someone’s emotions, whoopee for him—but I studied the body language. I heard the heartbeats and the blood swooshing through veins. I smelled the chemical changes that produced emotions. I was able to sense the confusion in Vikkal.
The poor guy seemed to have no idea what we were talking about. He was also utterly grossed out by the autopsy photos. No one could blame him for that. We all had trouble keeping our breakfast down after perusing that file.
“Milord, I… I don’t know,” Vikkal finally said, his voice wavering.
“It’s the same symbol,” Taeral replied. His gaze darted between Vikkal’s face and the bloody carving in the printed photo. “You can’t possibly tell me there’s no connection.”
