The Cathedral of the Sun was a marvel of optical engineering, designed to channel every stray beam of daylight into a single, blinding pillar of "divine" radiance that illuminated the high altar. But as we approached the massive marble steps, I wasn't looking at the light. I was looking at the way the snow melted three feet before it touched the foundation. I was looking at the way the birds refused to perch on the southern eaves.
"The ambient temperature is up by twelve degrees," I whispered, checking the brass thermometer-gauge I'd clipped to the Centurion's shoulder. "The 'divine' heat isn't coming from the sun, Cael. It's coming from the basement."
Cael gripped the hilt of his blade, his eyes scanning the white-robed acolytes moving through the plaza. "The Inquisitors are in position at the side entrances. Lady Vesper said to wait for her signal, Armand. We can't just walk into a holy site with a ten-foot skeletal war-machine."
