“That’s wonderful, Octavia. You deserve it for all you did for the senate, for the empire. See, I told you he didn’t want anything.”
“Oh, but he does. He has invited me to come to Durjin. He wants my advice.” She took the token from Korbin and placed it back in the bag, then wrapped it all up in the original pouch and pushed it away from her.
“Advice? Did he say about what?”
“Seba.” She shivered.
Korbin hesitated. The haunted look on her face told him not to press, but he wasn’t sure she understood the significance of the gift or the request.
As though reading his mind, she met his gaze. “I’m not going. I’ll send back the token in the morning.”
“Please don’t be offended, but I feel I should offer some advice—”
“You think I should do what he wants? What if I don’t?” Her tone had become snappish and her tiredness showed more than ever.
He tried to keep his tone soft and gentle. She clearly had no idea the value of what she was holding and handling so carelessly. “You’re free to say no to the invitation, of course. You won’t be condemned for that. My advice, though, is that you not send back the token. It would be considered an insult to turn down Talmoran citizenship, something that many born here are never able to attain, much less someone of foreign birth. I’m certain he intends it as an honor. I would accept it in that spirit. Even if you do not wish to go to Durjin, you should still send a formal letter of thanks for the Investment of Citizenship.”
She ran her fingers over the packet. “I don’t wish to offer an insult.”
Korbin felt relief. He would hate to think what would happen if she’d bungled something like that. She didn’t bow to anyone, didn’t have the same ideas of rank and importance. She wasn’t a fool, but neither was she Talmoran born, and that meant she had different concepts of what mattered.
“Would you like my help?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t take offense at the offer.
She nodded.
“If you don’t mind me asking, would you consider his request? Although I only met him briefly, the emperor doesn’t seem an impulsive man. His request might represent a matter of importance, something he didn’t wish to put into the letter of invitation.” Korbin itched to read the letter himself but didn’t dare ask.
Pain and anger flashed in her eyes. “I won’t go near Seba, and I have no desire to discuss him. The temple of Braetin said they would advise the state on how to control his power, and I have even less wish to encounter Braetin’s followers than I do him.”
The emotion in her voice startled Korbin. “Are you all right?”
“I already gave too much blood,” she said. Korbin didn’t know the meaning of what he assumed was a Kilovian expression. She sipped her black tea slowly, as though trying to collect herself. When she spoke, her voice had a noticeable tremor. “I’ve been having nightmares. I see Seba’s eyes, feel his touch. And Graiphen…”
Korbin’s gut twisted. His father. Korbin had been forced to watch Graiphen beat Octavia bloody. That the man would feature in her nightmares was no surprise, but made anger boil inside Korbin. He put his hand over Octavia’s. “I’m sorry I haven’t come sooner. I was trying to allow you time to heal. I wasn’t sure you would want to see me.”
She breathed in deeply. “Why wouldn’t I? I know you’re not your father.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s nothing. I’ve been working night and day.” She cast a longing look toward the bedroom. “I’m so tired all the time. I am the only conduit in the city, and my one hope lies in a girl who can barely prepare a sleeping draught. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t go to Durjin. I’m needed here.”
“All right,” Korbin said. “Then tell the emperor that. I’m sure he’ll understand. Do you have paper? I’ll help you form a reply that will sound proper to his ears.”
She brought him some sheets of cheap brown stationary and they drafted her letter together. She supplied the ideas, and he couched them in polite and deferential language. It took several attempts before they were both happy with the result.
When they were finished, Korbin folded the page into an intricate square, something he’d learned to do with formal correspondence when he worked as a Talmor Rider. “It’s late. I’ll give this to the messenger on my way out.” He stood, and Octavia followed suit.
“I sent him away. Remember?”
“Trust me. He’s still there. He may well consider this message the most important he’s ever been entrusted with. If the emperor’s steward left instructions that he wait for a reply, he will not budge until he gets one.”
She shook her head in bemusement. “Well, thank you. For everything. It was good to see you. Will you come again soon?”
“Of course,” he said. “Or you could come to Eliam’s house.” He couldn’t bring himself to call it my house yet. “The cook works miracles with pastry.”
“I’d like that.” Her tone told him she was simply being courteous.
He didn’t want to let the opportunity pass. “How about three nights hence? What’s your favorite pie? Do you like mildenberry?”
She tilted her head. “You’re not going to go until we agree on a night, are you?”
“Nope,” he said, flashing a warm smile.
She returned the smile and shook her head. “All right. Three nights hence. Thank you.”
He wanted to kiss her cheek or perhaps hug her, but something in her posture was closed, so he gave her a bow of his head. “Until then.”
After thanking her for the tea, he took the stairs down and shut the door behind him. As expected, the imperial messenger waited outside.
Korbin offered Octavia’s letter of reply, and the messenger thanked him profusely. He likely hadn’t fancied the idea of standing on the street all night. Back in Korbin’s days as a Talmor Rider, he’d had a few assignments that turned out to be nearly as tedious, so he accepted the gratitude as genuine.
Even as he walked away, though, Korbin’s thoughts were heavy. Octavia obviously believed that with the mannerly refusal of the emperor’s request, she’d tidied away whatever he wanted from her. As he’d left, she’d even suggested perhaps the invitation had been made for the sake of politeness, commenting that Talmorans did such things. Although it was true Talmorans sometimes did things for the sake of appearances, she didn’t seem to understand that the emperor had no reason to be polite to someone with no power or influence except what he himself had bestowed on her with his recent praise of her work.
If the emperor truly wanted something from Octavia, she hadn’t heard the last of him.
Chapter 3
During the long trip to Durjin, taken in a procession of carriages, Graiphen had grown accustomed to Pang’s presence. She filled him every moment of the day, infusing his thoughts and even, he had to acknowledge, influencing his behavior. It was intoxicating, but not in a pleasant way. He felt perpetually drunk, unable to control his thoughts and emotions or speak with his normal good judgment and reserve.
He had been accompanied by both priests of Braetin’s temple as well as followers of Pang. There was surprisingly little argument or demand of proof when Pang spoke through him, instructing the leaders of her temple in Vol to aid her in her plans to rejuvenate the temple in Durjin. Several offered themselves as alternate hosts for her spirit, but none complained when she said, using Graiphen’s own mouth to project her voice, that she wished to use the vessel provided for now, as he might prove useful. She would, she told them, be choosing another in Durjin, and each would be allowed to serve in his own way.
Pang, in the days when her temple was first constructed, was depicted as the goddess whose realm was passion and beauty. Graiphen now understood these depictions to be human constructs rather than true representations of complex beings; however, the difference between Pang’s presence and Braetin’s could not be understated. She never inflicted pain. Instead of feeding off her followers’ fear as B
raetin did, she feasted on their pleasure, sending her priests into an erotic frenzy and drinking in the energy they produced.
Graiphen felt less comfortable with this mode of worship than he did with Braetin’s demands. His goddess came from a position of power. She demanded subservience, and the submission of her followers was straightforward. Pleasure and love were foreign to Graiphen, tools he’d never found useful. He did, however, have time to observe that the devotion of Pang’s people was perhaps even more bonding than the fear Braetin inspired. The contrast could not have been starker.
As they journeyed westward, he could not hide himself away, despite longing to do so. Pang was as hungry and demanding as Braetin. Still, Graiphen found himself able to segment his thoughts, to ignore the rituals and frenzied pleasures Pang demanded, and to ignore his disgust when two men died on the journey. They’d been exhausted, broken, and spent. She was no less a cruel mistress than Braetin. She might have been a Spirit of Light, but her commands were often arduous to fulfill.
Meanwhile, he considered his situation. Braetin blamed him for everything that had gone wrong. That much was clear. And she still wished to incorporate the witch Seba’s power into her own. He’d been aware that his goddess attempted to lure Seba once before, betraying her pact with Octavia to do so.
Graiphen had considered the power of the One many times in the recent months. The witches wielded a true power, one he’d dismissed before. What he didn’t know was how the balance of power would change in the temple once he returned with Seba. It depended on how she intended to use the man.
Graiphen must do as Braetin demanded and secure Seba’s release. There would be no debate about that point. But he could not trust she would forgive him when he returned with her prize. Every follower of Braetin must be constantly and perpetually useful; the necessity for sacrifice never ended. One could not store up favor. It was a thing to be earned day by day, even moment by moment. She was capricious and demanding, but her favor worth the effort.
Messenger birds bearing multiple requests and directives for each temple in Durjin had been sent with word of Graiphen’s arrival. When at last, after nearly two long weeks on the road, the travelers arrived at the city gates, he was not disappointed with the greeting he received. A procession of high and mid-level priests and acolytes met them at the southern gate and walked beside their carriages, guiding them to the temple complex with many curious onlookers watching them pass through the capitol’s wide streets.
As in Vol and the largest cities in the empire, eight temples of equal size and spaced equally apart had been built in the heart of Durjin’s central district. As they arrived, Graiphen looked out his carriage window and up at the pristine plaza. Pang rumbled greedily within him. Whatever pact had led the original eight to a place of balance and peace was no longer in place. What kind of accord had Braetin and Pang come to before he’d awoken? And would their agreement last or dissolve into bitter rivalry? Eight might hold a balance that two would find precarious to maintain.
He stepped out of his carriage and into the square, and high priests from all eight temples received him with an elaborate and well-choreographed display.
A small, crimson-robed brother of Braetin’s temple stepped forward from the others. He tapped his pudgy fingers together in front of his chest and bowed. “Ultim Qardone. Welcome to Durjin. We are well aware, as you might imagine, of the glory you have brought to our Mistress and the favor you have with her. I am Qardone Arisean.”
The representatives of the other temples bowed as well. Pang fluttered in Graiphen’s chest but remained silent. She seemed eager but was biding her time.
Arisean tilted his head to the side. “Your missive puzzled us. You wish to treat with the temple of Pang?”
A tall man with long, flowing black hair stepped forward. “We welcome you, of course, Ultim Qardone. Although Braetin and Pang are of opposite sides of the spectrum, we celebrate the return to the old ways that your rise has heralded. We offer you any comfort you desire. I am Qardone Vono, First Servant of Pang.”
His robe was light and open to the waist, almost like a bathing robe. Graiphen had never been interested in Pang’s followers before, but now he studied the man with curiosity. Yes, he could see why he would have risen to power in a temple that revered passion and sexuality. He seemed a primal creature, but the light in his eyes told Graiphen he was not unintelligent.
“We in Braetin’s service have little use for comfort,” Graiphen said gruffly, “but it is she who sent me, and I will obey, for my mistress instructed me to do so.” He turned to the others of his own temple who had accompanied him on the journey. “You will serve Braetin here until I call for you. Go with Arisean.”
Pang stirred impatiently. To Vono, Graiphen said, “I herald the return of your Mistress to your presence. She has awoken and has chosen to favor Durjin.”
Vono bowed his head, but Graiphen could see him thinking, his expression showing disbelief, surprise, and confusion. “Forgive my hesitation, Ultim Qardone, but we had not considered that Mistress Pang had been asleep.”
The goddess would no longer be contained. She urged Graiphen forward, and under her influence, he placed his hand on Vono’s bare chest. Using Graiphen’s voice, causing it to warble and blur with her more powerful presence, she intoned, “Soon, you will know my presence so clearly, you will realize that before now, you have participated in but a shadow play, a mockery in comparison to the days of old. I have made a bargain with this one’s Mistress. Durjin is mine. Will you give yourself to my will, or shall I find another?”
Vono’s brown eyes were fixed on Graiphen’s, and the priest held his breath as she spoke. He went to his knees. “Of course, Mistress.”
Graiphen felt a tinge of discomfort at being addressed as such, but he knew Vono spoke to Pang and not to him. Only then did he notice every knee in the plaza was bent. Pang surged with pleasure. I will have them all, she said inside Graiphen’s head.
Graiphen wanted to question her, to ask about the balance of the eight. Would not each of the others want their places in this world, or did Pang and Braetin intend to see that they alone were the two living goddesses? He wondered what would become of Talmoran society with such a dramatic change in culture, but he’d already seen life begin to shift in Vol, where he led the one temple that maintained any power. Until Pang came, he had thought he alone would lead the return to the old ways. But his Mistress had her reasons for bringing Pang to this world.
“I wish to see those who serve me faithfully,” Pang said through Graiphen. “Present my servants to me.”
“Of course,” Vono said.
The other priests of the other temples, including those of Graiphen’s own, looked troubled, but Graiphen had to do what had been commanded of him. These others would soon find that their schemes and personal interests meant nothing in the face of the desires of the two living goddesses.
Vono rose and guided Graiphen to the temple of Pang, followed by her other priests who had accompanied the group from Vol. The white tower loomed above, detailed with golden eaves and laced with red and pink flowers in full bloom. Two young men opened the doors as the group approached. Graiphen felt distaste for everything he saw within. From the ornate lattices to the carved pillars, it seemed a place where shadows couldn’t exist.
A laugh rumbled in Graiphen’s chest.
Vono stopped, confused. “Ultim Quardon?” He paused. “Mistress?”
“This one,” Pang said, “prefers his own temple’s bleak spires and severe stone to the light and comfort of our home.”
Vono hesitated and then allowed himself a nervous laugh. “That is peculiar indeed.”
“It has been a long time since I have walked these halls, and yet, I still remember.” Pang turned Graiphen’s head, forcing him to look around the huge entry. “The Halls will shine with my Light once again, Vono.”
“Yes, Mistress. They already do.”
“We will go to the inner sanctum. Have
you prepared it as you were commanded?”
“Of course. We began the moment we received the message bearing your directives.”
“Go. Fetch for me my female servants, but only the most pleasing in appearance. I tire of being in this one’s body.”
“You seek a new host? If I may offer a thought, perhaps you would find it interesting to inhabit a man’s form. Even mine, Mistress. I assure you, I do not have the taint of darkness this one does.” Vono gestured at Graiphen’s body.
“I will enjoy your body, Vono, but not until I am in my new home.”
The priest bowed. “As you wish, Mistress.” He took his leave and went to do as she commanded while Pang led Graiphen through the temple to the inner sanctum. He waved off any assistance. Pang knew where she wanted to be, and although she enjoyed the attention and subservience, she was hungry and needed to feed.
Graiphen felt revulsion at the presence within him. Her voice echoed in his mind as he walked. I will use you because it pleases me to do so. I will teach you the pleasures of the Light, and you will come to love me.
“I belong to Braetin,” he said quietly.
She who has given you away, instructed you to seek the very one who will take your place the moment he sets foot in Vol?
“I am hers to do with as she chooses.” As long as Pang possessed his body, she would not be fooled by his show of confidence. Even so, he knew she was right, but he had been claimed by Braetin, and if that meant a life of lowly sacrifice rather than being her most exalted servant, he could do nothing about it.
You will love me, she repeated. You may choose pain, but pain and pleasure can reside in the same moment. It does not have to be one or the other.
In spite of himself, Graiphen’s mind turned to times when he had experienced both together. The memories both excited and, in some instances, repelled him. It was only through pain that one could worship Braetin, but when she was pleased, the gratification was bliss.
Born Of Fire And Darkness (Book 2) Page 3
