Andrei, Delphia

It was the final week on my pilgrimage in preparation for taking my vows, and of the six territories I'd toured, Delphia was certainly the most outrageous. On the whole, the people were colourful in personality and in dress, and they were entirely enamoured by Partisans—obnoxiously so, at least from the perspective of an introvert.

Over the past few weeks, the excitement around the city was rampant and would only grow more fervent in the coming days. The arrival of Delphia's Tear from Palisade was fast approaching, and preparations for the unveiling were well underway. The signage outside the local shops alerted the patrons of once-in-a-lifetime sales—special discounts on everything purple—while the performers outside those shops traded out their usual repertoire for inspired ballads and short-form stories celebrating the goddess of illusion.

Of all the houses of worship I'd visited during my pilgrimage, the church in Delphia was the most decadent. The estate-like exterior with its sprawling floral landscapes, topiaries in all shapes and sizes, and intricate hedge mazes was a sight in itself. Indoors, the floors, pews, and walls were made of solid marble. The banners and runners were woven from the finest cashmere and silk, and the large ceramic pots lining the aisles of the auditorium were filled to capacity with plump, purple roses. It wasn't long before Brother Delasalle—my guide and mentor during my stay in Delphia—discovered I had a black thumb when it came to handling plant life. I was henceforth forbidden from interacting with the flowers.

The religious fortitude in the territory was almost universal, and one would be hard-pressed to find a local whose faith in Delphia was anything but steadfast. This meant there was always something to do around the church, although none of it was particularly interesting to me. I'd only studied theology and petitioned for priesthood because, as you know, it was the only thing other than death that would spare me an eternity in a cell. Few Partisans were eager to give up their weapons or their life-long companionships for dusting, reading, and preaching. Furthermore, I knew, and the Assembly knew, there'd be little room for me to misuse my power from behind the walls of a church.

The day everything changed was the day I was left to my own devices. After five weeks, I was familiar enough with the ins and outs of the day-to-day. Brother Delasalle had enough on his plate, so I kept busy mending the hems of the tapestries in the auditorium.

Generally speaking, I ignored the sound of the front doors opening and closing, the footsteps that followed, and the quiet chatter. The traffic was nothing new, and as I wasn't a Delphi myself, there wasn't much I could offer the locals in the way of religious counsel.

As someone near and dear to us has been known to say, one can anticipate a lot by the way a door opens. That said, there was something different about the way the door opened that morning—something boisterous and uniquely fragrant about it. Leather, dirt, and cloves. Pausing mid-stitch, I glanced over my shoulder toward the door. In that same instant, my stomach collapsed in on itself, and my heart rate doubled.

Her platinum hair was secured at the ends with a pair of blue ribbons, and while the braids themselves were skillfully woven, there were enough stray hairs poking out the sides to suggest they'd been slept on more than once. Her tattered black clothes were tight-fit, and the crimson armband she wore accentuated a well-defined, freckled bicep.

It took a moment to register the searing pain when the needle turned red-hot under my touch. I dropped it, shook my hand, and rather unceremoniously stuffed my forefinger and thumb into my mouth. The most beautiful woman I'd ever seen stepped into the church with the scraggliest man I'd ever seen, and though I'd never met them face-to-face, the second they opened their mouths, there was no question in my mind as to who these individuals were. Rhian Sinclair—the one who'd taught me everything I knew about the outside world through the walls of our prison cells—and her faithful companion, Feargus Finlay. The Strachan approached.

"Wow," Sinclair said. "Did we catch you at a bad time, Strauss?"

I pulled my throbbing fingers away from my lips and shoved my hand into the over-sized pocket of my robes. When I felt the twitch in my left cheek, I formed a tight fist.

"No, I was—hello," I said. "How, ah—? I mean, what, ah—it's nice to see you?"

"Was any of that supposed to be a question?" Finlay asked.

"I have no goddess-be-damned clue what that was," Sinclair said. She then tilted her head back to address me directly. "We'll be needing a room for a little while."

Apparently, formal introductions weren't on the table, but no matter. I'd heard so much about their antics from Sinclair, I may as well have known Feargus Finlay my whole life.

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"Right, of course," I said. "Although, availability is rather limited at the moment."

The church was required to provide Partisans with shelter if requested, but between those who worked at the church, petitioners like myself on their pilgrimage, visiting clergy from the other isles, and tourists, we were running short on options.

"We'll take just about anything," Finlay said. "We've probably slept in worse places."

Judging by the state of the pair, they'd just crawled out of worse places.

After gesturing them to follow, we made our way silently through the auditorium, down a corridor, and up three flights of stairs. All the while, I wondered why they were here. From Sinclair's stories of their work, I knew the pair were often assigned to Delphia, but they preferred to stay at the inn. Sinclair knew my pilgrimage schedule, and that Delphia was the last stop, but she had no control over her own deployments. There had to have been some degree of luck they'd be in town at the same time I was.

Sinclair—she and I had never spoken about our feelings for one another. Our conversations while in solitaire took place in a public forum. Being loud about such things would not only be futile but also against the law. Still, there was a part of me that believed she felt the same way I did, and that belief overshadowed the doubt that someone like her could feel anything for someone like me.

I opened the door to the room I had in mind for their stay.

"If there were anywhere else I could place you, trust that I would. It's not ideal, but…"

The pair stepped inside and looked around. There was a bookshelf, packed to capacity. A nightstand. A desk. A bed, meticulously made. The velvet drapes on the arched window were pulled shut, and there were no lanterns anywhere in sight.

"This is a heck of a lot nicer than the places we normally stay," Finlay said.

"You've been spoiled lately if you think this isn't ideal," Sinclair added.

"I didn't hesitate to bring you here because of the quality of the accommodations," I replied. "I hesitated to bring you here because the accommodations are mine."

I hadn't shared a room with anyone since I was a child at the orphanage, let alone two Strachan with a busy schedule. Not to mention, I'd be sharing the room with Sinclair. I winced when the companions tossed their bags on the bed. Finlay's, at least, appeared to be brand new. Sinclair hopped up on the corner of my desk, while he took the chair.

"I suspect your business on the Isle will see you frolicking about at night?"

"Most likely," Sinclair said. "Don't worry, Strauss. We'll be quiet as mouses."

"Mice," I corrected.

"Aye, we'll be quiet as mices." She nodded. "Say, Strauss, what do you know about that thing—the Tear or whatever? Coming in from Palisade."

I shrugged. "Not much more than any Partisan should. Were you not paying attention during your history lessons?"

The two started laughing. Now, I wasn't aware I'd said anything humorous, but whatever I had said, I would say it repeatedly for the rest of my life if it meant making Rhian Sinclair laugh. I was captivated by her chipped-tooth smile.

"History lessons," she added between snickers. "That's a good one, Strauss."

I continued, "They say the Tear—which is just that, a sizable gem shaped like a teardrop—was blessed by an avatar of Delphia Herself. It will be arriving tomorrow night in the care of a band of Amali soldiers. It will be kept at the Museum of Our Blessed Mother, but the unveiling itself will take place in the city centre. What else would you like to know?"

"How much is it worth?" Sinclair asked.

I raised an eyebrow. "More than our combined lives."

The Strachan looked to each other, then back to me.

"What do you reckon would happen if it were to… disappear?" Finlay asked.

I looked between the two, squinting. "Chaos, no doubt. Some Barrens might find reason to blame Palisade's negligence for the lost opportunity. Councilwoman Blanchett would have a lot to answer for. She's going to be here, by the way, for the ceremony. Does that have anything to do with why you're here?"

"Probably not," Finlay said.

"Does it have anything to do with the Tear at all?"

"Probably not," Finlay repeated.

"Does it have anything to do with the missing guardsman?"

"Probably not," Finlay said again. "But while we're at it, what do you know about that?"

"Not overmuch," I said. "The man failed to return home after one of his shifts. While beside herself, Misses Deville requested the matter be kept private while insisting the search continue without interruption to the festivities. I thought perhaps the Liaison had finally reached out to Palisade for help."

"Nope," Sinclair said. "Why are you so curious about why we're here, anyhow?"

"It's only natural, isn't it? And besides," I said. "I thought I could offer you my assistance. I've been privy to plenty of gossip without being bound by confidentiality, and quite frankly, Sinclair, I'm bored."

Sometime, somewhere, I believe those were someone's famous last words.

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