Spirits of Light and Shadow (The Gods of Talmor) (16 page)

With a motion of his arm, the priest guided Korbin out of the hall of worship. “Then you, too, are making a sacrifice for the benefit of our mistress, and she will be pleased with you. She will teach you to bear the pain of your cost like the honor it truly is and you will find glory in her presence.”

“This is ridiculous,” Korbin said and turned around to go back to the hall. He strode up the main aisle, directly to the chair where Graiphen sat. “Father, I need your help. The senate believes I attacked you. I need you to tell them Octavia and I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The figure didn’t move, nor did the chanting of the acolytes slow.

“Father,” Korbin said. “Please.” Now that he was close, he could see Graiphen’s mouth, chanting softly along with the acolytes. Korbin wasn’t even certain Graiphen could hear him. “Father?”

He stood in front of Graiphen’s seat for long moments, but his father didn’t move nor overtly acknowledge his presence. Only a slight shift of his head made Korbin certain Graiphen knew he was there.

The priest who led him in appeared at Korbin’s side. “He will be in a state of meditation until he begins his final sacrifice later this morning.”

Final sacrifice? A shiver ran down his spine. He hoped that wasn’t as ominous as it sounded. “When can I speak with him?” Korbin asked, turning away from his father and facing the priest.

“Tomorrow,” he said.

“I’ll come back in the morning.”

“No. Be at Centennial Square at midday,” the priest said. “He will speak with no one before then.”

Korbin sighed. He should have known Graiphen wouldn’t make anything easy for him. With a final glance at his father, he nodded, then turned to leave. He could wait one more day, he supposed. One more, but no longer. One way or another, he would make his father do the right thing, if not for him, then for Octavia.

Without another word, he left the worship hall and walked into the morning light, relieved to be away from the oppressive darkness of Braetin’s temple.

Chapter 12

With his meditations complete, Graiphen felt calm, centered, refreshed—things he hadn’t felt in as long as he could remember. Standing in a small, dark room, he extended his arms outward as two acolytes removed his red robe. He reflected on his son’s plea and was not without sympathy. The senate had gotten out of control, and clearly Graiphen’s enemies were attempting to use Korbin to further their political agenda.

Soon, their efforts would mean nothing and Korbin would discover the truth. Still, although his intentions had been good, he had involved himself with a witch. This was where Graiphen’s sympathies ended.

A shadow moved across his thoughts, and he let it float away rather than dwell on the unpleasantness as he once would have.

“Bal qardone.” A voice interrupted Graiphen’s reverie, calling him by a title he wasn’t sure would ever feel familiar.
Elder brother.

“Yes?” he replied without turning to see who it was. He recognized the voice of the priest who had escorted Korbin into the worship hall earlier that morning.

“The others are ready for you.”

Graiphen nodded. He didn’t mind keeping the priests waiting. One of the most important tools in a politician’s arsenal was to be able to evaluate the relative power of every player in any situation.

These priests were but tools, and interestingly, they seemed to understand and even relish their position as such. They had fashioned themselves into tools of their goddess. Every moment of their day was dedicated to making themselves better, more efficient, more worthy tools. Graiphen appreciated that in the same way he might appreciate any devoted servant. He only wished those of his household were as loyal to him as these priests were to their goddess.

He would not, however, keep Braetin waiting. The shadow goddess demanded respect, and his relationship with her was only newly forged. She had given him freedom from the vile witchcraft that had plagued his mind for many months and which had nearly driven him to insanity. Now he felt clear, focused, and eager.

The priests told him that all the Spirit of Shadow wanted in return was for Graiphen to facilitate a return to the old ways. The legislator might have scoffed had he not seen evidence of her power. She paid handsomely, and she paid up front. He could have walked away, but why would he? This was true power, not the silly, scheming games of old men played in dusty libraries, trying to use technicalities to entrap one another, their most effective weapon being gossip and scandal. Soon, none of that would matter.

“Very well.” Graiphen cast a glare, and the two acolytes helping him change his robes hurried to finish their task. After removing the red garb in which he’d performed his meditations, they wrapped him in pure white, a color only worn during sacrifice ceremonies. When the last strand of his woven white belt was fastened about his waist, he signaled for his caller to lead the way.

“Of course,” the priest began as they navigated the temple’s catacomb-like underbelly, “I will not be allowed to enter with you. You may take as much time as you need, provided you complete the sacrifice by morning.”

“It won’t take that long.”

“Perhaps, but there is no need to rush. Remember those qualities that will most please our mistress. Consider this an act of worship, not merely a task to be completed.” He paused. “You will have no difficulty, I assume.”

A question lingered in the statement. “I understand what is required,” Graiphen said.

“Good. I will be among those observing from above. You will not see us.”

Graiphen didn’t care who would be watching, and he wasn’t certain if their presence was meant to comfort or to ensure he performed the rite correctly. Some of the priests were nervous of how quickly he attained a position of power and were loath to trust him with temple secrets. Those voices were few and had been quickly quashed by others who understood the opportunity he afforded them.

If the Spirit of Shadow delivered what these priests had promised, he was more than happy to usher in the societal changes they desired. If She did not, Graiphen would simply slip back into his old life, his former persona. The thought brought him little pleasure, but he believed the possibility of their failure to be remote. For the first time in his life, Graiphen had faith.

They stopped on the lowest level in front of the sacrifice chamber. “This is where I leave you,” the priest said.

Graiphen fought impatience. “Very well.” He swung open the large door, stepped inside, and heaved it closed behind him.

He hadn’t been told who he would find inside, but he had worried it might be his son. He felt deep relief when he saw the figure chained upright in the center of the room was a middle-aged woman.

He recognized her as a servant who scrubbed floors at his manor. In all the time she’d been a part of his household, however, he’d never noticed her comely figure. But now, seeing her naked and bound, arms and legs splayed, he felt a spark of arousal.

“Dul!” she said when he approached. “Thank the Spirits you’re here. Those fanatics kidnapped me only this morning, and I thought none would know where to look for me.” Her eyes were wild and bright.

“When the priests brought you here, what did they say was the reason you had been chosen?”

“Please, Dul, take me down and cover me. I can’t bear for you to see me like this. I’m begging you.”

“Answer me.”

His tone shocked her into obedience.

“That was the crazy thing. They said I was disloyal to you, that I brought witches into your house.” Struggling to meet his eye, she said, “Never in my life would I betray the Ulbrich name.”

“I’ll have the truth.” As his brother priest had told him, Graiphen had all day and all night to finish the job. “Someone came to you. Someone asked you to place an item in the house, or perhaps to remove something.”

“I’d never steal from you,” she said, mustering as much dignity as she could with her heavy breasts exposed and swaying, the flesh of her pubis exposed to view.

“So you placed something in the house.”

She looked startled, shaken, as she realized he wasn’t moving to release her from her bonds. With a hard jerk, she made a futile attempt to wrest herself from the clanking chains. She turned her attention to him again. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

A clever cover. She didn’t answer the accusation directly, just stated her belief that what she had done wasn’t wrong. Graiphen allowed himself a smile. He’d barely noticed the woman before today. He felt a strange wistful sadness, thinking her life as a servant had been wasted. He’d seen high-born women who couldn’t lie so well.

He strode forward. Closing his fist, he struck her squarely across the jaw. It was a good first hit, a solid one. A fine mist of blood sprayed from her mouth and landed across his white robes. He would not be finished until the vestments were crimson. When told he’d be allowed no tool except his bare hands, he’d thought it wasteful, but as he saw the fear in her eyes, he understood. The mistress demanded pain and terror in a sacrifice, and Graiphen would supply it.

“No!” she screamed just before he hit her a second time. “Dul, please!”

Her effort to persuade him of her innocence was wasted. After less than an hour, she had confessed all. Sadly, she didn’t know who was behind the plot to infect him with foreign magic, but she gave him the name of the person who persuaded her to help.

This man had wormed his way in to the heaving cow’s bed with little difficulty. The stupid woman had believed his request that she place odd items around the manor to be a test of loyalty, a dangerous lark. She claimed she had no idea they were unholy. Whether she was lying about her motivation or not, Graiphen would know before the day finished. In truth, he didn’t care. He stopped hitting her in the head only because he didn’t want her to lose consciousness. She needed to be capable of fear.

He needed more blood to stain his robes crimson. Letting her breathe for a moment, he pondered how to cut the flesh. He could break her arm and use the bone, but she might pass out. He would rather not risk it, but that remained an option. Sometime before, he’d heard the clink of a tooth hitting the stone floor. It would be small but might prove useful.

The effort he’d expended beating her had caused him to sweat. He felt a compulsion to remove his clothes as well. In her agony, the woman had become a work of art, driving him to frenzy with the beauty of her pain. Still, he had to keep the robes on. This had been explained to him. He could do anything he wanted, take as much or as little time as he needed. He could even allow her to live, although that outcome seemed unlikely if he was to dye his robes with her blood.

He touched her breast and she flinched, causing him to tighten with pleasure. Her hands were calloused from hard work, her back slightly bent, her knees had clearly seen much use as she scraped and cleaned in her daily work. But she had also soft, delicate places.

He ran his hand down her body to the cream of her tender belly, supple as any high-born woman’s. Graiphen went to his knees.

Through swollen eyes she stared at him. “What are you doing?” she wailed. “Dul, no. What are you doing?” She thrashed at her chains.

He wondered if this would be her last great effort. His face close to her body, he smelled her blood and her fear. Using the only cutting weapon he had, he lunged forward and bit through her buttery flesh. The tang of blood filled his mouth and her screams filled his ears.

Pressure built in the room and the stone floor shook. The mistress was coming.

∞

Korbin kept his face down and his pace steady, taking care when he approached the large houses of the North Circle. After today, he wouldn’t come here again until his name was cleared. He couldn’t allow Eliam to continue to endanger himself. A senator couldn’t explain away harboring a criminal.

Before Korbin arrived at the manor, he saw Saqine standing near the turn to Eliam’s manor. He subtly beckoned Korbin. When he approached, Saqine greeted him as though the two were friends. At least he hadn’t called him Dul this time.

“Hail,” he said, then lowered his voice. “I have instructions where you should meet my master.”

“But what of Senne—”

Saqine cut him off. “Your lady-friend is safe.”

“Did something happen?”

“My master didn’t tell me. He only said to give you this message.”

“Very well.” There was no point blaming Saqine for Korbin’s worries.

With the merest of bows, the servant said, “The Twining Rose.”

Korbin blinked. This was a brothel in the center of the city, an establishment frequented by merchants and those of the upper class. Still, once the initial shock wore off, Korbin realized this wasn’t a terrible location for a secret meeting. They were known to be discreet.

“A bit early in the day for such a place, isn’t it?” Korbin replied lightly.

Saqine shrugged. “I couldn’t comment on the habits of those above my station.”

Korbin could almost hear the implied honorific
Dul
at the end of the sentence. He nodded his thanks before turning to go.

A half-hour later, he stood in a side alley off one of the city’s busier streets, outside The Twining Rose’s main entrance. He was relieved to be away from the growing throng. On one hand, the crowd gave him cover, but on the other, it was only a matter of time before someone recognized him.

Any time someone met his eye, he feared the spark of recognition, so he avoided looking directly at anyone. It also seemed there were more of the city watch on the streets and in larger groups that he’d encountered before. He considered whether he was only noticing them now in his paranoia.

When he entered the brothel, he found it deserted. A shiver of fear crept up his spine, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d been betrayed.

“Dow?” a woman’s voice called from across the wide reception room.

“Yes,” he said after a moment of surprise. Of course Eliam wouldn’t have given Korbin’s true name.

“This way,” she said and turned to climb some curving stairs.

He followed her into an upstairs corridor, surprised she looked like any high-born Talmoran woman. He would have expected a woman in this establishment to dress more provocatively, but then, perhaps she was not a prostitute.