The Church (The Cloister Trilogy 3)

“Oh, God.” I swipe at my eyes and stand. “I have to get you down.”

“No.” He flexes his legs again, standing. “Don’t.”

“You’ll die.” I’m wearing a light jacket, but I can feel the cool air seeping through. “When it gets dark, for sure. You’ll die of exposure.”

“Maybe.” He peers down at me, constant pain etched into his face. “But you can’t interfere. You don’t want to be up here with me.”

If I wasn’t such a coward, that’s exactly where I would be. I should have listened to him, taken some chances. Instead, here I am, drunk, useless, and a fucking disgrace. “I can’t let him kill you.”

“He won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“If he wanted to kill me, he would have done it already. With more show. And probably with fire or some sort of over-the-top crazy shit.”

“You’re just guessing.” The cross seems pretty fucking over-the-top crazy to me.

“Maybe.” He shakes his head a little. “But I’m not what’s important. I need you to help Delilah. Save her. Don’t let that senator take her.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, and I can’t do anything about it at the moment.” He lets out a raspy laugh. “A bit tied up. Really nailed.” He winces, his false bravado cracking under his own weight.

“How did we get here?” I dig my palms into my eye sockets, trying to rub away the image of my brother, naked, nailed to a fucking cross. It doesn’t go anywhere. Will it ever leave?

He doesn’t offer an answer.

I look up again, the sacrilege and horror melding into a desperate need to vomit that I force down. My panic rises instead. “I can get you. I just need—I don’t know—a ladder or something.”

“You can’t.” His hoarse voice drops to a whisper. “You can’t save me, Noah.”

“When it gets dark, the temperature will plummet. You won’t last up there.” Will Dad let him die like this? No matter what Adam says, I don’t know the answer, and that scares the shit out of me.

He lets his head hang. Maybe he’s only been holding it up this whole time out of pride, or worse—to show me that he can take it. He can’t. No one can.

“Leave it, Noah. I told you. I can’t have you up here next to me. Look after Delilah. Keep an eye on Dad. Don’t let on about Mom. And … talk to Grace. See if you can work with her to help Delilah.”

“Grace?” I must be hearing things. Thanks, liquor.

“Yes. She will want to keep Delilah safe.”

“Did I just enter some other, I don’t know, reality or something?”

“Just trust me. But not her all the way. Or Mom.”

“Mom. Right.” The booze still forms a film over my thoughts, but she cuts through it. “Maybe she can do something.”

“She won’t tip her hand. Not yet. Not until she’s ready to take over.” He narrows his eyes, my shrewd brother still alive inside his aching shell. “Don’t believe anything she tells you. Not really. She’s a snake. Don’t show her your weaknesses. Spin lies with your truth. If you’re honest with her, she’ll use that information to gut you when the time’s right.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that’s how I’d play it.” His brow furrows. “I need you to go.”

“What? Why?”

“I can’t hold on much longer. My legs. They’re already worn out. I have to let go again. But when I do …”

“Fuck.” I step toward the cross. Maybe I can scale it and give him some sort of relief.

“Don’t.” He tenses. “Can’t risk it. Please. Go.”

I want to roar and tear the fucking cross out of the ground. But I got him here. My actions—or, really, my inaction. Because I wouldn’t back him, he’s here. My eyes tingle. Fuck.

“I’m sorry.” I won’t cry. Not again. Not ever. I don’t deserve it. “I’m so sorry.”

“None of this is your fault. You were so young when this all started.” His scratchy voice softens. “You didn’t have a chance, Noah. Not at all.”

“Don’t make excuses for me.”

“They’re not excuses. Just the truth. You can’t help it. I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you.”

Just hearing him say it knocks the breath out of me.

“Please.” His voice breaks. “Go before I can’t—” His words cut off on a wretched groan as his toes slip off the edge. “Please,” he gasps.

“Fuck!” I’m desperate to climb up and help.

“Go.” It’s not a request, he’s begging me. I’ve never heard him beg, not like this, not broken to the point that I see the boy inside the man—the same scared kid that I was when our father started Heavenly and tore us away from everything we knew. The same scared kid I am.

Against every instinct I have, I turn and stride away, my steps still wobbly but with renewed purpose.

I’m barely out of the punishment circle before his searing cry tears through the chilled air, cutting through bone and straight to my heart.