The Deepest Truth
Wealthgiver 15
This is the fifteenth chapter of Wealthgiver, an alternate history serial romance about nationalism and cave-Thracians. For the back-of-the-book description and an index of chapters, click here. For the beginning, click here. For the previous chapter, click here.
Andrei's lamp gave out when they were halfway down the corridor.
He stopped, Vlada a hot weight in his arms, blinking in aggravation at the swimming spots in his vision.
Kori's hand found his elbow. "Áida éla."
He followed her touch and the sound of her clicking slippers and the scent, he fancied, of her hair.
She turned, and he put out a hand to catch the frame of the door and swing around it.
"I need to—" He began, but winced at Kori's imperious double-clap. The sound bounced off an ordered array of flat objects—cots—stretching to the walls. One cot was higher and softer-sounding than the others, and two other soft things stood on either side of it. Priests watching the concussed Brother Murad. Or, not watching, exactly, but doing whatever it was Andrei was doing.
He took a confident step toward the nearest empty cot and cracked his knee against something.
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