No. That would never have been. Cénzi wouldn’t have allowed it. He wanted to rage and deny the accusation, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t feel Cénzi at all; he hadn’t felt Him since he’d watched Liana fall. Cénzi had forsaken him. Nico had spent his time praying as best he could in the midst of his black despair. Save me if that is Your Will. I am in Your Hands. Save me if there is still more that I need to do for You here, or take me to Your Bosom. I am Your servant, I am Your Hand and Your Voice. I am nothing without You . . . He had once felt so full of Cénzi that it seemed impossible not to be one with Him. Now, he was empty and alone. Instead, it was Varina who offered to save him, not Cénzi. He stared at the food and wine atop the leather, which he had been certain contained the instruments of torture that ca’Rudka was rumored to carry with him whenever he visited the Bastida. Sergei was already breaking off a piece of the bread. He handed it to Nico, and his stomach growled loudly in response.
