by RJ Blain
“Is this about the escaped convict?” Frolar asked in a low enough tone that Blaise let out a relieved sigh that the man’s voice didn’t add to the pain in his head.
“Yes and no, but I can’t tell you any more than that until Leopold is with us.”
“Leopold?”
“One of the Emperor’s advisers,” Cassius replied. The man let out a sigh. “All things considered, it isn’t wise for His Imperial Majesty to make another appearance, at least not yet.”
Frolar made a thoughtful sound. Blaise pinched his nose again before lowering his hands to clasp them together on his lap. He opened his eyes and focused his gaze on the other side of the carriage, not meeting the stare of either human.
“Understandable,” Frolar said. “It would bring too much notice if the Emperor came to the Cathedral.”
Cassius didn’t laugh loud, but there was no humor in it. “That it would. That it would, indeed.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with us,” Blaise said in a soft enough voice that both Frolar and Cassius cocked their heads toward him to catch his words. “The Emperor saw the exact same thing I did. I was right next to him. Why didn’t he just tell you to tell the Archbishop?”
“That is where the ‘no’ comes into play,” the Colonel replied. The carriage jerked to a halt and Blaise felt the blood drain out of his face from the motion. Cassius reached out to brush aside the dark curtain. “Ah, good. We’re here. I won’t be long. Make yourselves comfortable while I fetch Leopold.”
Cassius let himself out of the carriage and hurried toward a gated manor. Frolar reached over Blaise and shut the door.
“I don’t like this none at all,” the aging human muttered.
“Agreed,” Blaise replied. Something had spooked the Emperor’s man enough the scent of his fear lingered despite him being gone.
“You look ill,” Frolar whispered.
“I’ll survive, I promise you. I suspect I’ll just wish I wouldn’t for a while.” Blaise tried to force a smile, but couldn’t manage to do more than make the corner of his mouth twitch upward. “You did warn me.”
Silence fell between them. Blaise leaned back and closed his eyes.
“Steward Volas returned to God’s Garden during the night. There will be a service in his honor at midnight,” Frolar said. “It seems this is an ill-fated day.”
“May God welcome him with open arms and give him the brightest spot in His garden,” Blaise said. He should’ve muttered the prayer for the dead, but the feel of Volas’s brow on his lips was too fresh of a memory, and he couldn’t force out the words he’d already spoken.
“You don’t seem surprised.”
Blaise shook his head and winced at the throb the motion caused. “He’s been tired these past days,” he lied. “He deserves a pleasant rest until He plants his rose among us once more.”
Frolar made a displeased, wordless sound and Blaise cracked open an eye to tare at the other bishop. The man was frowning.
“He was smiling.”
Blaise’s smile came unbidden, and he didn’t fight it. “Is that not a good thing, Frolar, that his last moments with us were worth smiling for?”
The scent of anger wafted from the man and Blaise’s smile widened. If the steward’s joy bothered Frolar, Blaise could live with that.
Had God held open the Gates for His most loyal steward? Although Blaise’s eyes were divine, all he could see of the Gardens was a shimmer and a glimpse of the glory he’d left behind long ago. Frolar couldn’t understand.
Mortals never remembered the glory of the Garden in their lives, and Blaise wasn’t sure if their lack of memory was a curse or a blessing.
“You know, Blaise, I’ve never seen him smile before.”
Blaise felt his smile fade away, and he struggled not to scowl. “I see. How curious.”
“What could make a man like that smile?”
The temptation to reach over and throttle Frolar dulled the throb in his head and his hunger roused until his mouth watered. He flared his nostrils to catch Frolar’s scent, but Cassius’s fear was too strong.
Blaise swallowed back his desire to devour the human’s soul and shook his head. If the old steward’s smile was even a shadow of its true beauty, it was more than many deserved. If Volas hadn’t smiled for Frolar, Blaise didn’t doubt there had been a good reason for it.
“He had a beautiful smile,” he said, and was rewarded with Frolar’s puzzled frown.
When Frolar didn’t break the silence, Blaise closed his eyes again and focused on keeping his breaths slow and even. The pain settled to a tolerable ache that promised agony if he moved too quickly or pushed himself any harder. He sighed.
Unless He took pity on Blaise, it’d be a long time until he’d be willing and able to give Alphege the slip and escape the confines of the church.
The door opened and Blaise felt the carriage bench shift under someone’s weight. It rocked when a second person entered and bumped into Blaise’s knee. He opened his eyes to see Cassius sit in front of him.
A young man sat across from Frolar. If the Emperor didn’t wear so many decades, Blaise suspected he would look a lot like Leopold. Blond hair fell over blue eyes and his beak of a nose was best suited for staring down at people with contempt.
“Citizens,” Leopold greeted, his tone far more pleasant than his face.
Blaise was surprised.
“Citizen,” Frolar echoed. Blaise remained silent and stared at the Imperial Prince with a thoughtful frown.
A footman clad in the pale purple of the Emperor’s livery shut the door and the carriage swayed into motion.
“What’s going on, Cassius?” Frolar asked.
“You were seated with my brother, weren’t you, Citizen?” Leopold asked, staring at Blaise with a frown, while ignoring Frolar’s words. “I’m surprised he permitted you to wear the rose at all.”
Blaise lifted his hand and stared at the cuff buttons. His blood stained the heart of the rose red. Silver gleamed at the ridge of each petal. “Who am I to question His Imperial Majesty’s good will?”
“Brother? You’re one of the Imperial Princes?” Frolar’s voice rose in tone and volume, with the last word cracking. Blaise glanced over at the bishop. The man’s face paled to white.
“An accident of birth, I assure you. Still, you must be influential for my brother to have allowed you to sit with him. Wearing my clothes, mind you.” Leopold let out a piercing laugh that kindled the pain in Blaise’s head. “I suppose it’s well enough I wasn’t so fond of those clothes. Cassius, introduce us.”
“This is Bishop Frolar and Bishop Blaise. Frolar, Blaise, it is my hon—”
“I’m Leopold, and I’ll have you executed if you use any title other than my name. I hope you don’t mind.”
Cassius sighed.
“I’m pleased to be your acquaintance, Leopold. I’d say the same, but I doubt I’d be permitted to execute an Imperial Prince. Please, call me Blaise.”
Leopold’s grin was far warmer than his brother’s. “I think I could get to like you, Blaise. As much as I can like a bishop, of course.”
“I’m not sure this is the ideal time for joviality, sir,” Cassius said.
“Do you want to be executed, Cassius?”
“I’ll get back to you on that, Leopold. If you kill me right now, His Imperial Majesty will take your head for a trophy,” Cassius replied in a dry tone.
“You might be right about that. So, what has he told you?” Leopold glanced over at Frolar and gave a nod, giving the aging bishop permission to speak.
“Nothing,” Frolar mumbled. When the man stared down at the floorboards of the carriage, Blaise couldn’t hold back a grin.
The steady rocking of the carriage roused Blaise’s queasiness and he leaned back and swallowed, hoping to settle his stomach.
“You really look like something dragged you face down through the hells,” Leopold said. “Would you rather wait to hear this when we’re at the co
mfort of the cathedral?”
Blaise lifted his hand and waved it in a dismissive gesture before touching his bandaged brow in the futile hope of dispelling the throb in his head. “I’ll live. Don’t wait on my account, Leopold. What’s going on that His Imperial Majesty would send his little brother to the Cathedral?”
“Which problem should I start with first, Cassius?”
“Just how many problems are there?” Frolar asked.
The two Imperials ignored the bishop. Blaise fidgeted under their stares.
“The slave, I think,” Cassius said.
Blaise let his hand drop to his lap and met Leopold’s eyes. “The boy Catsu stole? He wore the Emperor’s unmarked collar.”
“A grand collar, isn’t it? So you’re the one who got surprised by it? Better still! Did you like it? It’s my best creation,” Leopold exclaimed, then grinned.
“It was a jolting revelation. It’s well made,” Blaise replied, careful to keep his voice level and his expression neutral.
Leopold smirked. “It wasn’t too much of a shock for you, was it?”
“Oh, yes. We had quite the blast together,” he replied.
The Emperor’s brother snickered. “I think I could like you a lot, Blaise. Anyway, my brother wants that boy returned to his owner immediately. Alive and unharmed, if at all possible. I’ve been ordered to give the command phrases and unlocking keys for the collar to all bishops. He wants the collar returned intact.”
“What’s so important about this slave, Leopold?” Blaise asked.
There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence. “He’s the vessel for the Hand of God,” Leopold whispered.
Blaise stiffened and a low groan forced its way out of his throat. “You let a child hold the Hand?”
Rubbing at his forehead antagonized the gash and pain radiated through his head. The boy hadn’t shown any of the common signs of Obsession, but if the slave had been taken over by Lucin, it explained the way the slave had withstood Catsu’s attacks.
It also explained the restlessness in the song at the Arena. But, how had Blaise missed the signs of Lucin’s presence?
“An accident, I assure you. There’s always someone trying to steal it, you know. One of them got into the room with it, but the combat slaves on duty stopped the fool. Well, one of them fell against the case during the scuffle and the Hand landed on him. Of course, he cracked his head on the floor and knocked himself out for a week. I’d thought for certain he’d be mad like the rest of them. Surprised us all when he woke up as though nothing happened. He doesn’t remember any of it, but I don’t think I’d remember much either if I hit my head like that.”
“Unbelievable,” Blaise muttered under his breath.
“What was he doing in the Arena, then?” Frolar asked.
Leopold shrugged. “It seems his master sent him to do something for my brother, and he botched it. It happens. The Arena isn’t much of a punishment for a slave of his caliber. It would’ve served us all well if he’d killed Catsu.”
Blaise weighed the consequences of devouring the Emperor’s men against the satisfaction of ridding God’s Garden of both of them. It wasn’t their fault he disliked the Emperor. They hadn’t been responsible for his fall, either. Part of him wanted to like both of the mortals, although Cassius was too firmly leashed to the Emperor.
Leopold, at least, seemed to be too irreverent to be completely under the Emperor’s thumb.
“Instead, Catsu kidnapped the boy,” Blaise said, when he tired of the expectant silence.
“Stole,” Leopold corrected. “Bad luck, really. Only His Imperial Majesty, those in the room, myself, and now you two, know what he is.”
“You want the Erelith Church of God to get him back for you,” Blaise said on a sighed breath. He closed his eyes and wished the problem would vanish in a puff of smoke and flame, but when he opened them, Leopold and Cassius remained, staring at him with somber expressions.
The fact that Lucin left the boy’s soul intact chilled him more than the fact that the Emperor, for the first time in hundreds of years, possessed someone capable of holding the Hand of God. Memories taunted him, awakening from at least a thousand years of slumber, and roused fear he hadn’t felt in centuries. He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat.
“It gets worse,” Leopold said in a cheery tone. “I don’t suppose I can convince you lads to pass on the news for me, can you? I’d appreciate it.”
“I don’t understand,” Frolar burst out. “How can this get any worse?”
Leopold and Cassius both sighed.
Blaise’s apprehension erupted into fear that kept him silent for a long moment and drove away his pain. The memory of destruction long-since forgotten by mortals haunted him. “You lost the Hand, didn’t you?” he whispered.
Silence answered him. Blaise groaned, rested his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands.
~*~
As if sensing their salvation lay in the hands of the church and the military working together, the people of Upper Erelith City swarmed the Cathedral in a pack so thick Blaise yearned to unleash his true nature to scatter them. He wasn’t sure if he trusted himself to pass through them without devouring a few of them due to his frustration.
Blaise leaned against the carriage and considered sitting on footman’s step.
“Is there another way in?” Cassius shouted over the incessant murmur of the crowd. While the people didn’t scream or shout or run, their fear clung to them in a miasma so strong that Blaise’s stomach churned.
“We could try entering through the gardens,” Frolar suggested.
“The place looks surrounded on all sides,” Leopold said, gesturing to the crowds flanking the cathedral grounds. “Bishop Blaise? Will you be well?”
Blaise winced. “I will be once we find out if the Heart is where it belongs.” No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t sense his tail’s bone with the pain ripping through him.
“We don’t need more trouble, Blaise,” Frolar snapped.
“Someone did try to steal it last night,” Blaise admitted with a shrug that worsened the ache in his head.
“Are you serious?” Leopold groaned.
“They tried,” Blaise replied.
“No wonder the Archbishop was in a panic when searching for you this morning. Don’t you know what the word ‘moderation’ means?” Frolar asked with a shake of his head. Blaise wrinkled his nose at the gray-haired man.
Blaise opened his mouth to reply when Leopold cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Please don’t argue, bishops. You’re drawing attention.”
“Of course I’m drawing attention. You did happen to notice I’m covered in blood, right? I’ll take care of this problem,” Blaise said, letting out a snort despite the pain it caused him.
“Moderation!” Frolar snapped.
“Cassius?” Turning to the Colonel, Blaise took off his gloves and handed them to the man. They were brown and red with his blood.
“And what do you want me to do what with these?” Cassius replied, taking them and waving the gloves in Blaise’s face. The scent of his blood tickled his nose and he sneezed.
“Hold them for me a moment.”
“I’m not your burden slave, Bishop.”
“You wanted to get to the Cathedral, right? You can be quiet and hold my gloves, or you can expect to get through sometime tomorrow. Frolar, if I can’t manage to follow, take them both to Alphege. I’ll join you when I can.”
“Blaise, can you please use a little moderation? Your face is white,” Frolar replied. “Please?”
“Can you handle this crowd?” he challenged.
“No, but…”
“I can. I’ll be fine,” Blaise replied, hoping it wasn’t a lie. While he didn’t doubt he could clear a path, he wasn’t sure how long his tired human shell would last before it forced him to hibernate and heal. “Alphege needs to know what’s going on now. Not tomorrow, and not in an hour or two, which would be
our best hope otherwise.”
“Do what he says,” Leopold ordered. “Go on, then. Make us a path, Blaise.”
“Don’t waste any time once I start. Understand? If I can’t follow, I’ll catch up later.” Blaise drew a deep breath and let it out in a slow and controlled breath. The simple act of standing tired him, and the thought of calling out enough of his very essence to drive away so many exhausted him.
Leopold gestured to the driver and footman on the carriage seat. “Keep an eye on him.”
“Yes, Leopold, sir,” the driver replied, saluting the imperial Prince.
“Don’t get in my way,” Blaise warned before holding out his hands and splaying his fingers. The caked blood cracked and pulled at his skin. He didn’t Speak, instead he focused on a more primitive part of him. His flesh shivered and twitched, and Blaise struggled to contain the desire to embrace his true form.
The part of him predating Lucin and Mikale cried out for release, fighting against the binds keeping his divine nature contained within a mortal shell. Blaise whispered a prayer, not sure which one he uttered or who it was meant for.
“Move.” Blaise whispered the word, and allowed some of his essence to escape through his lips. Without turning around, without so much as a curious glance, the humans shuffled out of his way. A gap large enough for them to file through opened. Blaise forced his breath to remain even. Sweat beaded on his skin and chilled him.
Frolar and Leopold dove through the opening and shoved their way through the crowd. They shuffled into a jog before breaking into a full run. Blaise grinned and wondered if either of them realized what they fled from.
Cassius’s hand wrapped around Blaise’s wrist and pulled him into the crowd. His startled cry didn’t make it out of his throat, smothered by the exhaustion weighing him down. With each ragged breath, Blaise’s strength flowed out of him.
He didn’t remember crossing the distance from the carriage to the cathedral steps, or how his arm ended up draped over Cassius’s shoulders.
“I told you to leave me,” Blaise mumbled.
“And risk the Archbishop’s wrath? A good Colonel knows which battles to pick,” Cassius replied. “Get us inside before he collapses, Frolar.”
