“Of course,” she said, her gaze distant.
They went, and Korbin watched Octavia. “What are you thinking? Does that mean something to you?”
“No, she said, “not particularly, but it’s not a bad thought. Eurmus could be a place or some archaic word I’m not familiar with. I must remember to keep an open mind.” She turned to the remaining steward. “Where are old maps kept?” she asked. “I’d like to see some from the relevant time period, before the war at least. But the older, the better.”
“Those are in the map room, Senne, not here in the library. They weren’t part of our instruction or permission. I can inquire for you.”
“Yes, please do that.”
She turned to the other scribe. “What of the main library in the city?”
“Senne?” he asked.
“Well, I assume there are books there about the Spirits, too.”
“Thousands, I would wager,” he said. “Senne, nearly every book on Talmoran society, culture, history, or law will be about the Spirits in one way or another.”
Octavia grumbled. “It’s too much. There’s no way we can go through it all.”
“Perhaps,” Korbin offered, “we should start with a narrow focus. Ignore anything for the time being that is less than two hundred years old. That should narrow it down.”
“Substantially,” he said. “Not many books have survived that long.”
“Then we start with ones that we know reference Kilovian religion.”
“It might narrow us down to nothing,” the scribe said. “Heretical documents are rarely preserved.”
Octavia failed to hide her annoyance, but she didn’t reply as the first batch of books had just arrived. Lish and Hekare laid them out, and Octavia appeared stunned at the size of the tomes. The largest of them had pages an arm’s length across and half again as high. When it was laid out, it covered nearly an entire table.
The library curator hovered nearby, not seeming to relish the idea of anyone actually reading any of the documents in his care. He winced when Octavia opened the book’s cover and the leather creaked. Every turning of a page was supervised with his careful stare.
She glanced up at Hekare. “What would you think about extending our research to the main library in the city? Specifically any documents or books older than two hundred years that also reference the Kilovian religion. Would you mind going to see? Bring anything relevant back here?”
Hekare’s eyes lit up at the prospect. “I relish the opportunity, Senne, but books are not meant to leave the library. I could make a list and arrange for you to visit if you think any of them will suit your research.”
Octavia frowned. “You mean to tell me that if the palace requests books to be temporarily moved here that the library of Durjin would refuse?”
“Well, no, not if you put it like that.”
“Then let’s put it like that,” she said.
He grinned. “I’ll inquire, Senne.”
“What we really should be looking for,” Octavia said to Korbin after the scribe left, “is the earliest references to the One.”
At first, Octavia had declared they could each look in different books to shorten the work, but she needed frequent help with the ornate ancient script and the peculiar spellings of the older Talmoran language, so she and Korbin ended up working on one book together, carefully turning pages and scanning each one for relevant passages.
The others helped as well, but it was slow work, and by the time midday approached, Korbin’s head ached.
Octavia looked up, her eyes bleary. “Nothing,” she said. “Just… nothing.”
“It’s only the first morning,” Korbin said, hoping to reassure her.
“We don’t even know that there’s anything to be found.” She sighed loudly, pushing her chair back. “I need to go for a walk.”
“I’ll join you,” he said.
After a moment of hesitation, she said, “I appreciate the offer, but I’d like to walk alone. Clear my head. We’ll keep going this afternoon. You’re right. It’s too early to be discouraged.”
“Of course,” he said, feeling deflated at her rejection, even though he realized he was overreacting. He turned to Lish. “Can you inquire about lunch in an hour or so?”
“Of course, Dul,” the man replied with a bow. “Perhaps I might suggest taking your meal on one of the third floor balconies. There’s one just off the main corridor that has a lovely view of the gardens and is often enjoyed by guests. I dare say you might welcome the fresh air after a morning spent indoors.”
“Perfect,” Korbin said, wondering if he’d judged the man too harshly before.
“What’s perfect?” came a voice from the door.
All the servants, the scribe, and the curator bowed as Korbin turned to see the emperor standing in the door. Korbin bowed as well, wincing when Octavia simply nodded her head.
“Hello, your highness,” she said, sounding much brighter than she had a moment before.
“Hello,” he replied with a grin. He turned to Korbin. “So, what’s perfect?”
“Lunch on the third floor balcony in an hour or so,” Korbin said.
“Ah, that does sound nice. I wish I had time to join you.”
“It would be an honor,” Korbin said, noticing that the emperor had his eyes locked on Octavia.
“Perhaps another time?” the emperor said, seeming to address only her.
“You’re busy all day?” she asked.
“I’ve spent the morning with the senate and I have another meeting in a little bit regarding trade negotiations.”
“Then come walk with me,” she said, sweeping over and taking the emperor’s arm. “Surely you can spare a few moments to walk.” Korbin stared at her. So much for her being too tired for company.
“Very well,” he said. “And you can tell me what you’ve found here today.”
“Nothing much,” she admitted. “I have young Hekare over at the library in the city looking for more, but so far, I’m mostly reading about the regulation for temple construction, troop movements during the war with Kilovia, and supply routes.”
“Sounds dull,” he said with a sympathetic smile.
“It is. I was hoping for something about the gods themselves, the origin of the Talmoran religion.”
The emperor looked thoughtful. “I suppose we all take it for granted that the Spirits of Light and Shadow have always been and always will be.”
Despite his irritation at the abrupt switch in Octavia’s attitude, an idea sparked in Korbin’s mind. Perhaps they should be looking for was the first mention of the Spirits themselves. It wasn’t specifically what Octavia said she wanted to know and perhaps had nothing to do with the Children of Eurmus, but now the emperor’s comment made him wonder what had Talmor been before the Spirits arrived, assuming Octavia was correct and they truly did not originate in this world? Knowing that would go a long way to proving to himself that her idea was correct.
He realized then that Octavia had spoken to him. “I’m sorry?” he said.
“I just said that I’d see you after lunch.”
“You aren’t coming to eat on the balcony?”
“No,” she said, then smiled. “You weren’t listening.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I was just thinking where we should look next. You’re not eating?”
“His highness invited me to dine with him now.” She turned to the emperor. “If you’re sure it’s no trouble to have another place at the table on such short notice.”
He chuckled. “It’s kind of you to ask, but no, it’s no trouble. Shall we?”
Octavia nodded, then shot Korbin a smile that looked a little apologetic, but happy.
He stared after her as she left on the emperor’s arm, unable to believe what had just happened. He’d definitely missed something. When the two of them left, Korbin sat heavily at one of the research tables.
Lish cleared his throat. “So, do you still wish to dine on the balcony, D
ul Korbin?”
Korbin started to decline but then sighed. “Yes. I need a break,” he said, suddenly feeling very alone in this strange place, almost wishing he was back in Vol. Even being a senator would be better than this, he thought bitterly. Octavia didn’t need him here. He had little to offer and even his “lessons” on protocol were falling on deaf ears. The scribes here were more useful. Maybe he should return to Vol.
Chapter 16
Graiphen sat in his private chambers at the temple of Braetin. Although he had an office in the palace, he preferred to do much of his work here where he felt more at home and had many priests, acolytes, and servants at his command. He visited the palace daily, but this was his own domain.
Like every place bearing the Shadow Spirit’s name, the room he’d been assigned was hard, bleak, and uncomfortable. The floor was cold and bare and the hand-sized windows were surrounded with iron spikes. His tall, straight-backed chair faced the door, and his visitor gave a polite bow.
“Ultim Qardone.” The stout man’s legs had a wide bow to them, and the paunch of his mid-section made him look like a fat bird. His beak-like nose and small eyes only added to the appearance.
“Qardone Eng,” Graiphen replied. “I trust the journey from Vol was uneventful.”
“It was four nights and three days of fast riding. But when the Mistress demands…”
“We obey.” Graiphen’s frown deepened. The priest must have ridden like a demon night and day, changing horses several times along the way, to cover the distance in so short a time. No wonder he looked as though he might collapse at any moment. “So tell me what demands the Mistress would make of me through you. That is why you came, is it not? Tell me, then you can take the rest you have earned.”
Eng bowed his head solemnly. A shadow passed over his features as though he contemplated dark thoughts. “Thank you, Ultim Qardone. The moment we received your message about releasing the conduit, I was commanded to deliver two things: a message and a set of tools for you to give to Seba.” He tilted his head, listening to something only he could hear. “I tire of waiting.” His voice warbled strangely. “I gain strength, and am displeased you have taken my favored meal. My displeasure grows, as will your pain, should you fail in this task I have given you.”
Graiphen stared. Eng did not appear possessed of Braetin, or her presence would have been palpable to him, but clearly she was channeling power through him somehow.
Eng smiled wearily. “I understand your surprise, brother,” he said. “Rather than explain, I will show you. This will complete the second part of my task: to deliver the thorns you will implant within Seba for his return to Vol.”
“Can the Mistress hear through your ears?” Graiphen asked.
Eng widened his narrow eyes as a presence flashed within them. “Yes.”
“But she is not here.”
“No, I am but a catalyst for her power.”
Graiphen nodded, wondering how the connection had been achieved. Surely if this method had been available when he left Vol over a month ago, she would have used it with him or another so she could keep in contact with him. Of course, he’d been Pang’s vessel, so perhaps the two would not be compatible, but he wondered why his mistress would have kept such a technique hidden from him. Or had she wanted to keep it hidden from Pang?
As though answering the unspoken questions, Eng pulled back the sleeves of his red robe. Embedded in each wrist between the tendons appeared to be a disk or button. With some effort, Eng grabbed the end of one between his fingers and pulled. A wide, stubby thorn slipped out and blood gushed from the hole. With the same smooth motion, Eng removed the thorn from the opposite wrist.
Graiphen stared, watching incredulously as Eng removed another thorn from each foot, and one from each shoulder. He lifted his robe and removed one from each hip. Trails of blood ran down his skin where the thorns had been.
“Our Mistress grows more distant.” Eng sounded almost relieved. “You will take this and implement them into Seba exactly as they have been within my body. They will guide themselves to the correct point when they are close enough. I would suggest, therefore, not holding them against your own skin until you are ready to implant them.”
“When I do this, the mistress will see through his eyes?”
“And hear through his ears.” Eng sounded weak and his already pasty skin had paled even further. “Though it is my impression the effect is faint.”
Graiphen sat back in stunned silence as Eng pulled his robe open at the front. One thorn the width of a fist protruded from his chest. “This one must go in first, or the others will not take hold properly. It acts as an anchor.” With those last words, Eng yanked the thorn out. His eyes widened and he let out a strangled gasp. Blood seeped over the front of his robe, making the red a deeper, truer shade around the wound.
Eng fell to his knees and whispered, “Mistress.” His eyes went black for a moment, then faded to their natural shade. Eng and Braetin were gone.
Graiphen sat motionless in front of the grisly tableau. The door opened and one of the young acolytes who tended to him walked in, barely seeming to notice the heap on the floor. He bowed before Graiphen.
“Ultim Qardone,” he said. “A message has arrived for you from the senate.” He held out a folded, sealed envelope.
Graiphen took it, grateful for the momentary distraction. “Qardone Eng is holding eight small thorns and one large one. Gather them all and put them in a suitable bag. Handle them with a heavy cloth, for they are dangerous and may seek out your skin.”
The acolyte looked down at Eng. “Is he dead?”
“In our Mistress’s service.” Turning the envelope in his hand, Graiphen said, “Now go. These thorns are holy relics and should be treated as such.”
“Yes, Ultim Qardone.” The acolyte went into an adjoining room and returned with two velvet bags. Using one as a glove, he unclenched Eng’s fist and removed the thorns, placing them in the other bag.
Graiphen broke the seal on the message and unfolded the page. His eyes scanned the script. What he read froze his heart. He read it a second time and then a third. The missive came from a man called Dul Potes, a Durjinian senator Graiphen had counted amongst his allies, back when he himself sat on Vol’s Council of Eight. The letter revealed that two days prior, the emperor had asked the senate to strongly consider execution for Seba. He had stopped short of demanding it, saying that of course the decision must ultimately lie with the senate itself. They had only finished their deliberations on the matter that morning.
Graiphen thought back. The request had gone to the senate the day after Zain had met with the emperor. In the two days that had passed since then, the emperor had denied his requests for an audience. “Curse the light,” Graiphen muttered.
The acolyte hurried to finish his business and rose. “What shall I do with this?” He indicated the bag in his hand.
“Give it to me.” He accepted the bag from the boy and gestured for him to go.
When the heavy door closed, leaving Graiphen alone with Eng’s body, Graiphen felt the rage and panic rise in his chest. He was trapped. If Seba died before Graiphen could implant the thorns, Graiphen’s fate was set. He would be killed or worse.
Not only was Braetin already displeased with him for Seba being taken out of her reach to begin with, but now she’d lost the conduit she’d been feeding on for so many months. Pendra. She’d been one of the ones taken at Dramworthy Farm months before. In his missive to the temple, Graiphen had explained why her release was vital, that it was part of the emperor’s price for Graiphen bringing Seba back, but Braetin was not a patient or rational creature.
On the other hand… Graiphen considered as he felt the thorns within the bag. They were surprisingly heavy, for such small things. These were meant for Seba, not him. Seba was Braetin’s chosen vessel, not him. He saw with clarity that she was using his position, knowing he could get to Seba, but that she no longer had any real use for him.
&nb
sp; He scanned the letter again. Zain had to be behind this. Zain and Octavia. Graiphen had to believe it was coincidence that their aims intersected, but together, their voices might sway many. Of the two, Zain was the more pressing threat. And the more Pang tried to seduce Graiphen to her side, and therefore Zain’s, the less Graiphen trusted them.
Yet those were his choices: to remain faithful to the goddess who betrayed him or align with the goddess who wished to use him. The two Spirits were the same, in many ways, but he had cast his lot in with Braetin the moment she’d freed him from Seba’s influence, back when they knew Seba only as the dark conduit.
It occurred to him once again that Pang was testing Graiphen’s loyalty to Braetin. If so, was she doing it at Braetin’s request or merely for her own amusement? The more he thought about the possibility, the more he wondered if this was an elaborate test set up by his mistress. If he passed this test, perhaps all would be forgiven.
As he sat and pondered, he glanced down at Eng one last time. No, he thought with a sigh. Braetin did not forgive, nor did she come up with elaborate schemes. How had things gone so wrong when he’d done exactly as he was told to do? At this point, he had only one choice.
“Uwer!” he shouted.
The acolyte came rushing back into the room. “Yes?”
“Have this mess cleaned up.”
“Yes, Ultim Qardone. Should I have his remains returned to Vol?”
Graiphen frowned. “I don’t see why. He’s of no further use to the Mistress.”
A sickly look of disgust passed over Uwer’s face, but he nodded.
He was young. Someday he would understand.
“Before you do that, though, send a message to Pang’s temple, requesting an audience immediately with Pang’s vessel Kiarana and her son Zain.” He stood. “I will arrive there in one hour’s time.”
“As you command, Ultim Qardone.”
Chapter 17
As Graiphen waited for Zain and Kiarana to arrive, he sat in the strange little side-room and reflected on the rumors floating about. Everyone in the city seemed to be talking about Nassore’s visit to Pang’s temple a few days before and his apparent friendship with Zain.
Born Of Fire And Darkness (Book 2) Page 13
