dragons. And at night, well... he wasn't going anywhere in the open at night, not anymore.
He reached the tavern, stepped inside, and found more soulless people. They lay on the tables and floors, drooling. Kyrie tried not to look at them and stepped into the pantry. His eyes widened, his nostrils flared, and he sighed contentedly.
"Lovely," he said to himself, admiring the smoked hams, biscuits, jars of preserves, turnips, and best of all—caskets of ale. He licked his lips, prepared for a solid few hours of dining and drinking.
Hooves sounded outside. "Kyrie Eleison!" came Gloriae's voice from outside the tavern. "Are you in there? Come. I have a fresh horse. We ride."
Kyrie snorted. "You ride, I eat."
Her voice darkened. "Don't make me come in there to get you."
Kyrie took a bite of ham, chewed lustfully, and called out with his mouth full. "I'd like to see you try."
Not a minute later, Gloriae was dragging him by the hair out of the tavern.
"Ow!" he cried, sausages and bread rolls falling from his arms. "Let go, I'm carrying food and drink here, for stars' sake."
She glared and gave his hair a twist. He groaned. "You're lucky I'm dragging you by the hair, not your ears... or worse. On the horse. Now."
She finally released him. Muttering, Kyrie collected the fallen food. He hadn't grabbed much—the sausages, the rolls, two jars of jam, and a skin of ale. He stuffed them into the saddle's side bags.
"Gloriae, this new horse stinks," he said. "Hasn't anybody washed it?"
Gloriae mounted the horse and settled herself in the saddle. "No, Kyrie. The stable boys were gone. I reckon they fled into the countryside when the nightshades arrived. The horse is dirty, but it's rested, and has been eating leftover hay. I released our old horse into the farms; it's too weary to keep journeying."
Kyrie muttered and climbed onto the saddle behind Gloriae. His thighs protested, but he drowned the pain in curses and grumbles. Gloriae kneed the horse, and they left the village and resumed journeying north.
"So how many more horses are you going to break today?" he asked.
Gloriae shrugged. "As many as it takes. Benedictus gave us a time and place to meet him. I expect to be there."
"Benedictus can go eat a toad's warts," Kyrie said. He sighed. "I wonder if the old man found anything. Stars know we haven't found much at Confutatis. Unless you count the fact that Dies Irae is obsessed with glorifying himself, which I think everyone has sort of figured out by now."
Gloriae turned in the saddle and glared at him. "Kyrie, do you mind not whining and complaining so much? Do I have to hurt you again?"
Kyrie rubbed his neck. He sighed deeply. "You're right, Gloriae. It's just... I miss your sister. And I'm worried about her, and Lacrimosa, and yes, even Benedictus. I know I've been snapping at you a lot. I also haven't been sleeping much, what with those nightshades shrieking all night, which isn't helping."
As Gloriae bounced in the saddle, pressing against him, Kyrie knew he was speaking only half-truth. True, the nightshades kept him up a lot. But half the time, maybe most of the time, it was Gloriae who kept him awake. Gloriae's hair in his nostrils. Her body close to his, sometimes pressed against him. Her green eyes, cruel and mocking, and those freckles on her cheeks, and the curve of her—
Kyrie gritted his teeth. Stop that, he told himself. It was bad enough that thoughts of Gloriae filled his mind all night. He didn't need to think of her—not like that—during the daytime too. He forced himself to think of Agnus Dei again, and his heart melted like butter on hot bread.
Agnus Dei. As beautiful and tempting as Gloriae was, Kyrie knew that Agnus Dei was his true love. He thought of her brown eyes, her mane of bouncing curls, the softness and fullness of her lips. He thought of her pride, her strength, and the softness she showed only to him. Her heart was pure and good, even if she kept it wrapped in fire. Kyrie missed her. Badly. It ached more than his blisters.
"Are you okay, Gloriae?" he asked her. "You seem so strong. As if you feel no pain. If you ever want to talk, we can—"
"Kyrie, save it for my sister. I'm Gloriae the Gilded. I feel no pain."
Kyrie nodded. He remembered how Gloriae had wept over May's body. How much pain that one must carry... to have grown