“When there were eight of you in this world, none tried to do away with the others. You lived in peace and perfect balance. Why should she betray you?” The question, of course, was a false one, but he could not bring himself to acknowledge that Pang’s concerns were rightful.
With a chuckle, Kiarana shook her head. “Because it is her nature. And don’t be so sure none tried to do away with the others. There were rifts and alliances even then. Still, the past is of little importance. I’d rather talk about today.” She shivered as though an unpleasant thought had crossed her mind.
“You, my dear Ultim Qardone, could be master of all eight temples.”
“But if Braetin’s followers uncovered how to summon her here, surely Slondaemon’s and Usher’s could do the same.”
Kiarana smiled brightly. “No, only one rift can appear at a time and remain stable. Two would fork the power, rendering both useless, or worse, deadly. Once Braetin is gone, I can give you the key to ensure no other rifts can ever be created for Slondaemon and Usher to pass through. If the link to this world is severed, none can connect to this place again. I alone will feast on the delights of this world. It is like a banquet to a hungry soul.”
Graiphen studied her. “But wouldn’t that mean you could not return to your own world? I saw your forms. You are not here in the flesh. If the connection is severed, you would no longer be here.”
“If you join with me, I will teach you how to open the rift completely to bring me through in the flesh. It is not something my people do, in this or in any of the other feeding worlds. To do so means never being able to return to our own homeland. But our world is slowly dying. Some try in vain to revive it, but I mean to survive.”
Graiphen considered the strangely segmented body of Pang’s physical form. Would it survive in this world? What kind of power could she wield if she were here in the flesh?
“In exchange for your help, I will free you from Braetin. Her plan to return to the old ways is ridiculous. With four of our brethren dead, it makes no sense to continue the charade of shared power. No, there will be one temple. You will govern it, and with my power, the empire. We will expand our borders. This entire world will be mine, and you will lead the people in coming to me.”
“You’re forgetting the emperor.”
“Have no worries about the emperor,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I have other plans for him. He will either prove useful, worshipping me as I demand, or be crushed beneath my feet.”
Pang’s presence expanded as she spoke, and he felt the heady brush of her power. People believed her to represent love and light, but her true nature was unlike those tales written by philosophers and clerics of old. He wondered if she had dictated those tales herself, or if they had simply never known the truth. Her touch felt completely different from Braetin’s, but he could not deny that she was potent.
“Ruling with fear is one thing,” she purred. “But make people love you, and they will willingly rush to their deaths in your name.”
“Is that what you demand? Death?” he asked.
“Of you, I demand life. You have already given me one. There will be others.” She snapped her fingers and a sheer-robed priestess appeared at the door.
“Yes, mistress?” She bowed low.
“Bring Zain to me.”
“At once.” The priestess padded away urgently.
Kiarana turned her attention back to Graiphen. “His name means light of the gods in one of your world’s ancient tongues. I thought it appropriate.”
Graiphen turned over her offer in his mind. Braetin did not abide betrayal, but she herself had served it up many times. If anyone could protect him from her wrath, it would be another of her own kind. And if his mistress was as weak as Pang claimed…
But would service to Pang be more palatable than service to Braetin? He despised so much about her temple. It seemed soft and weak, indulgent and frivolous. And yet, she had power. He felt it when she had rested in his body, when he’d taken Kiarana and Pang had moved to her new home. The physical pleasure had been unmatched in his experiences. That he could not deny. He suspected this Spirit of Light was Braetin’s equal, and his goddess had perhaps underestimated her rival.
He turned and saw Kiarana watching him. He bowed his head, still unable to form a response, unsure if he should even entertain her proposal. Perhaps the offer was a false one. While he was unconscious on the floor of the inner sanctum or by some other means since then, Braetin could have asked her to test his loyalty. If so, and he failed that test, his life would be forfeit.
The servant’s footfalls drawing back caught his attention and he looked to the door. She entered carrying a small boy. He had black hair and bright blue eyes. He looked unmistakably like Korbin had at four or five years of age.
Kiarana took the boy from the priestess and turned to present him to Graiphen. “This is Zain. Our son.”
Everything in Graiphen wanted to deny it. How could this be possible? He had only lain with her two weeks before. But she was a goddess. What would be impossible for her?
The child rendered Graiphen speechless. He had another son? A demi-god? He bowed his head. When he raised his eyes and met the boy’s gaze, he saw power thrumming within him. He appeared like a child, yes, but his eyes were ancient.
“Consider my offer,” Pang said through Kiarana. “But don’t delay. I am not a patient creature. Although I find your reticence charming at the moment, that will not always be the case. Do not make the same mistake as your mistress. Do not underestimate my power… or my hunger.”
“I will consider your words carefully.” He bowed to her and the boy before turning to go. My son.
Graiphen knew he must be careful. A wrong choice would mean death. But which path was right?
Chapter 7
Korbin could see that every mile he and Octavia moved away from Vol tortured her. She seemed plagued by guilt at leaving her people behind; still, she did not complain aloud.
Because Octavia was in a hurry to reach Durjin and even more so to do her business and return, she requested the carriage move every moment possible of the daylight hours, rather than a more leisurely, comfortable pace. Since the carriage, the wagon that carried their belongings, horses, two drivers, and a servant had all been commanded by the emperor to assist however Korbin instructed them, he received no argument at the rush.
Each night, they stopped at an inn that had been arranged and prepared for them. They received the best room available and every innkeeper fawned over them, offering anything they might need. Octavia received the offers politely, but she was quiet and distant. She joined Korbin at meals, but immediately afterward, would steal away alone to practice her meditations.
She had brought only one small bag, while he had packed three large trunks. He supposed she had no clothes appropriate for court, and when he spoke to her about buying the necessary garments, she gave him a level look that made him wish he hadn’t mentioned it.
“If the emperor wants my advice so badly that he’ll disrupt my life and work for it, he won’t care what I’m wearing,” she said.
Korbin didn’t agree with the assessment but kept silent, knowing he was fortunate to have been able to talk her into going at all.
More than once, through an inn wall, he heard her shout in the night. The first time, he rushed to her door to see if she was all right. When he knocked, she answered in a thick, sleepy voice, telling him she’d only had a dream. That night, he sat in the darkness, listening hard, but when he heard no more sounds, he eventually went back to his own fitful sleep.
On the journey, they made idle chatter, and he learned more about her new apprentice. He spoke of moving into Eliam’s house and the joys and trials that accompanied that. Octavia told him about some of her more interesting cases and her frustration with her newfound popularity. He talked about the constant jockeying in the senate.
They never spoke about what they’d faced together, of the deaths and pain, how the
y felt, what they hoped for, what they feared. She’d made it clear that talk of the past was off-limits. The wounds were still too raw and painful for her. He wished she could open up but he didn’t want to force his desires on her, so he respected her silence.
After ten days of hard travel, they arrived in Durjin one evening, their carriage taking them through the city to an inn where they would stay as the emperor’s guests. The servant who had accompanied them unloaded their trunks and sent a message to the palace announcing their arrival.
Korbin feared they might be kept waiting for days or even weeks. The emperor had a reputation for reclusiveness, and even though he’d been the one to send for them, Korbin understood the often unpredictable nature of powerful men. His father had been one such man, probably still was. Graiphen would often call a lower-ranked person, even another Dul, demanding to see him immediately, only to keep the man waiting half the day.
Korbin was surprised, then, that the next morning when he and Octavia sat in the inn’s dining hall over breakfast of smoked ham and prune compote, an imperial messenger interrupted their meal with a reply from the palace. Korbin read the scroll before handing it to Octavia.
“After lunch? He plans to keep us waiting all morning?” she asked.
Korbin suppressed a smile. “Perhaps he wanted to allow time to rest and refresh ourselves.”
“I don’t need rest.” Irritation bled through her voice. “We hurried on the road because I want to speak to him as soon as possible. If we meet this morning, perhaps we can begin our return journey at once.”
“Perhaps,” Korbin said. “I suspect we will be expected to stay at least a short while as the emperor’s guests. It’s been a long journey. Aren’t you tired? I know I am.”
“I’m needed in Vol,” she said, her tone irritated and insistent.
“I know.” He wanted to touch her hand, but didn’t.
Although he understood her impatience to see the emperor and return to her life in Vol, he was glad for the morning’s respite. His body ached after being cooped up for so many days and he longed to stretch and relax a while. After breakfast, he went for a walk in the city. Octavia declined to join him, which was no surprise. He suspected she was tiring of his presence and of constantly avoiding the unpleasant memories this journey forced her to face.
Durjin was an immense city, four times the size of Vol, at least. More crowded, too, with houses towering four or five stories into the air. The roads wound and twisted, and the area was hillier than he’d expected. The more elevated a district’s position, the richer the inhabitants. The emperor’s palace sat atop the highest hill overlooking the city. The spires of some of its taller points could be seen over the walls that encompassed it, even from the merchant quarter of the city. Fashioned of brilliant white stones, it shone like a beacon in the morning sun.
Around the palace, twisting roads with manor houses and expensive shops covered the hillside. About halfway up was the inn where Octavia and Korbin had spent the previous night. He was a minor Dul himself, so normally he would have been housed somewhere at the bottom of the hill, perhaps near the temple complex. But he was the guest of the emperor, so that meant he warranted a better place.
Octavia had voiced both surprise and relief that they weren’t expected to stay at the palace. Even the inn that had been chosen for them was too rich for her taste. No doubt someone had spent some time evaluating the implications of every detail of the visit to be sure Korbin and Octavia were honored the right amount, but not too much. It was the kind of nonsense Korbin hated about the senate and being of noble birth in general. The longing to return to the simple life on Chelotti Strand nearly overwhelmed him again as he wandered the cobbled streets.
In one shop window, a long sash caught his eye. He thought it would suit Octavia, her olive skin and lovely dark eyes. On impulse, he bought it. The shopkeeper offered to wrap it in a manner “the Dula would find pleasing” and deliver the purchase to Korbin’s inn, but Korbin declined and took the parcel with him.
Lost in thought, Korbin kept walking, carrying his package and wondering if Octavia would like the gift or think him presumptuous. The road wound down toward the city, and he took one turn, then another, paying little mind to the direction he took. A half-hour later, he found himself down at the temple square. Eight spired buildings loomed overhead, and Korbin stood a moment, staring.
He stepped back, then laughed at himself when he realized he was actually worried about running into his father. They hadn’t spoken in many months, not since he and Graiphen had met the emperor together, unmasking Seba as a dark conduit. Only then did Korbin realize he hoped he wouldn’t have to encounter his father on this journey, but avoiding him might not be possible.
Octavia obviously felt the same way, and Korbin wasn’t convinced she was prepared to confront the man, either. Her evident fragility surprised him, considering that their time spent together before had revealed her to be fearless. Something had changed. She’d never spoken about what was done to her at the temple of Braetin while he and Graiphen had confronted Seba. Korbin didn’t want to imagine. He kept picturing the way he’d found her, lying on the stone floor, cold, pale, motionless.
Retracing his steps, he moved away from the temple complex and headed back up the hill to the inn where Octavia had said she would be waiting for him.
When he walked up the glistening steps of the small but elegant establishment, he caught a glimpse of her through the window. She sat in the dining room, speaking with one of the serving girls. She looked tired, but had an expression of firm determination that made him smile. Her fortitude was one of the many things he liked about her.
He went inside to meet her. When she saw him, a flicker of impatience showed on her face, but it disappeared quickly and she smiled. “How was your walk?”
“Good,” he said. “I barely recognize parts of the district. I was a child the last time I was here, so my memories are unreliable.” He placed the package in front of her. “I found something that reminded me of you.”
She threw him a questioning look. “You bought me a gift?”
He shrugged.
“Thank you,” she said, looking flustered. With her small, delicate fingers, she carefully picked the wrapping apart. When she pulled out the long scarf, she ran her hand over the soft material. “It’s beautiful.”
“You gave me your scarf one time. I don’t think I ever returned it.” That day had been bitterly cold, and that scarf had been a woolen one. He’d used it to cover his features and hide the blood talisman she’d given him to protect him from magical attack the day his father had killed a dozen people in Centennial Square.
She paled, and he knew she was recalling the day as well. Why had he brought that up? Why, when she’d so carefully avoided painful topics during their entire journey? He inwardly berated himself for the slip.
This scarf was much more delicate than the one he’d borrowed from her, light enough to be worn even in warm weather. “It has a hidden pocket in the center edge with a double-fold to securely keep a small item,” he said. “You can keep your identity token in there. That’s what many ladies do. Often, sashes or belts have a small compartment.”
She put it around her neck and tied it loosely in front of her.
“Here,” he said. “It’s meant to be worn at an angle.” He reached over and tugged it to the side so the knot was just over her heart. He twisted the ends in the popular style. The color suited her, even though she wore a dress of Kilovian manner and not the latest Talmoran fashions.
“Thank you,” she repeated, touching the fabric. “It’s lovely.”
“Are you ready to go?” he said. “Or do you want to eat first? We have a little time. I have to confess, I’m not very hungry. I think seeing the temples below ruined my appetite.”
She nodded. “I don’t think I could eat a bite. Perhaps we could just go. We can eat later, before we begin the return journey this afternoon.”
“We may no
t be able to leave tonight,” he said gently. “I have no idea how long this will take.” He feared it would be much longer than Octavia understood.
“That’s fine. I’m eager to return home, but tomorrow morning will be soon enough.”
Korbin nodded but knew her plans were far too optimistic. He didn’t want to be the one to tell her, though.
Chapter 8
Four imperial guardsmen stopped the ornate wooden carriage that had been sent to fetch Octavia and Korbin to the palace. She fingered the scarf around her neck, trying to keep her hands moving lest they shake. Although she was, of course, worried about having left Vol and her people there in the hands of Liara, an inept, untrained young woman, the thought that occupied her mind right now was confronting Seba and Graiphen.
She supposed it was unlikely that either of them would be in attendance today. Of course they wouldn’t let a criminal like Seba anywhere near the emperor. And Graiphen, well, he’d have already made his arguments. Although logic told her she was safe, she kept remembering lying on the ground, bleeding from the thigh, surrounded by Braetin’s priests, hearing the Spirit’s wailing in her ears. She’d been bruised and battered by Graiphen’s own hands, with Seba’s dark magic thrusting and flailing all around her.
She’d slept for two months. The healers expressed their surprise that she had woken up. When she did, she felt as though she’d been someplace dark and terrifying. Always before, she’d been calm and serene, finding comfort in the presence of the One. Now, she couldn’t stop her mind from returning to the nightmares from which she woke screaming so many nights. Although she tried to meditate as before, too many times she gave up. Her work load had exploded, but her ability to do her work had evaporated. How long could she pretend that she could handle it? Had she accepted this summons from the emperor simply to hide her own fear and ineptitude?
Korbin showed a guardsman his and Octavia’s identity tokens. She wanted to cling to him, but she couldn’t let herself. Some dark fear screamed at her to hide, and only pure stubbornness kept her from bolting. Coming to Durjin only made things worse. She’d been hoping to shine some light on her fears, thinking that like the monsters of children’s dreams, they would fade with exposure. Instead, the light cast long, horrible shadows.
Born Of Fire And Darkness (Book 2) Page 6
