Of course, Nassore was a more visible figure than his father, who never appeared in public, but still, the visit had garnered much public speculation and already drawn people by the hundreds to the temple doors. Within days, Graiphen expected that number to swell to the thousands.
When the young demi-god did appear, he seemed happy and disinterested, as though keeping Graiphen sitting in a small, uncomfortable room meant nothing. His aging seemed to have slowed. Even though it had been two days since Graiphen had seen him, he appeared much the same as before. Fully adult, but now somehow ageless.
“Graiphen,” he said, casually draping himself over an arm chair, then frowning, appearing to find the seat uncomfortable.
“Zain,” Graiphen said. “You have heard about the emperor’s request of the senate, I assume.”
Zain raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “Of course.” He raked his hand through his coal-black hair. “I knew of it the moment it happened. Did you just find out?”
Ignoring the question, Graiphen said, “It was your influence, I take it. You persuaded Nassore to speak to his father?”
Zain yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth. “It hardly required much influence. Nassore and Jorek already believed Seba to be dangerous.” He narrowed his eyes, suddenly seeming sharper. “As do you. You can’t tell me you honestly wish to return him to Vol.”
Graiphen kept his anger in check. “My mistress demands it. After I brought Pang here, doing everything required of me, this is how your mother thanks me? What reason could she have to thwart me? Where is Kiarana?”
Zain flinched at the mention of the vessel’s name. “My mother Pang is receiving devotions.”
“You mean she’s feeding.”
“You forget yourself, Graiphen,” Zain said. “You are but a servant, far away from the protection of your mistress.” Despite his lazy and casual manner, his tone carried menace.
“So even as Pang tries to persuade me to break loyalty with Braetin, you work against me?”
“It is not we who work against your interests, but Braetin. She is a spider, spinning a dangerous web. You will perish in great pain, even if you do manage to fulfill her desires. If this is the end you choose, then so be it, but why would you?”
“She saved my soul from the influence of the dark conduit.”
“The very same conduit she now wishes you to bring to her house. The man who will replace you as head of the temple. He will offer her his corrupted powers, and she may grow too strong to stop. You will be dead, or worse, and she will grow stronger. Does the idea of your own demise matter so little to you? Are you so eager to meet your end?”
“A life of service to the Spirits demands perpetual sacrifice, but the rewards are great.”
Zain cocked a half-smile. “And what have your rewards been?”
Graiphen considered. He’d been named Ultim Qardone and gained a great deal of influence in Vol, more than he’d had as a senator, even. But the influence hadn’t brought him comfort or any personal gain. He’d been given authority, the ability to wield firelight, but that power only brought death.
When Graiphen didn’t answer, Zain’s smile widened. “Serve Pang, and Braetin will die. This will not only serve our interests, but that of the empire, even the world beyond. Braetin feeds through fear and death, Pang through desire and passion. The yolk of service to such a goddess surely is a light one.”
“How do I know this isn’t a test, set out for me by my mistress and your mother?”
Zain laughed. “You are so distrustful. I suppose you can’t be certain. But when has Pang ever betrayed you? Braetin certainly has.”
“And you and your mother have betrayed Braetin. She brought Pang into this world. I was there. Would the goddess who betrayed one of her own have any qualms about casting me aside?”
“You fear Braetin, which is right. She is a powerful being. But under the protection of Pang’s temple, you would be safe. Choose life or choose death.”
Graiphen nodded, feeling troubled. Was he really contemplating this? It was a risk, to be sure, but if Zain was right and Braetin planned to kill him no matter if he succeeded or failed, he would be a fool to not weigh the options, regardless of his own feelings of loathing for Pang and what she reduced him to.
Still, was the humiliation of her touch worse than an agonizing death? He’d seen men and women killed at Braetin’s whim. He’d even been the instrument of some such moments. His stomach twisted. What had he become?
“You are considering our offer. Good,” Zain said.
Graiphen gave the barest of nods.
“To ensure your loyalty is more than just words, we ask that you perform a task for us. When it is done, we will take you in and protect you.”
“What task?” Graiphen asked, instantly suspicious.
“The woman Octavia is an obstacle to us.”
“How?” Graiphen asked.
“Our influence with the emperor is impeded by her presence. Every day of late, she is in Jorek’s presence, advising him against us, whispering in his ear about her concern over our relationship with Nassore.”
“But on the other hand, she agrees with you about Seba.”
Zain shrugged. “There her usefulness ends, and we expect Seba to be dead by week’s end. We hardly need reinforcement from one such as her.”
Graiphen’s mind began to turn. If he didn’t accept this offer, he would have less than a week to secure Seba’s release. If he failed, there would be no saving him from Braetin’s wrath.
“You want me to have her removed from the city?” How could he manage that?
“No,” Zain said. “She must die. Once the city is ours, we will see to the others of her kind. Talmor will no longer be a haven for heretics.”
Graiphen frowned. “You want her dead.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?” Zain watched Graiphen. “This shouldn’t be too onerous a task. We know you once tried to achieve this on your own, did you not?”
“At my mistress’ bidding.” He was aware that he sounded defensive, but his mind went to the night he beat her. At her own request. She’d wanted to get the attention of Braetin, and pain and sacrifice were the only way to call the goddess. He remembered the smell of her sweat and the strength in her eyes. A surge of lust welled within him.
“Pang is your mistress now,” Zain whispered. His hand twitched, and Graiphen realized the demi-god was using his power to influence him. His touch grew more subtle and refined by the day.
Graiphen nodded. “I understand what I have to do.”
Zain smiled. “Good.”
“I need time, though. She’s protected at the palace, and she doesn’t trust me.”
“Don’t take too long. As I said, Seba will be dead by week’s end. When that happens, my mother’s dominance over Braetin is assured, and she will make her move. Octavia must be out of the way by then.”
Graiphen inhaled deeply. When he’d arrived, he’d felt conflicted by the many choices. Now he realized he had none. “Very well.”
Chapter 18
Korbin tried to put aside his jealousy with all the time Octavia had been spending with the emperor in the past days. That first day when she’d lunched with him, she’d come back from seeing him looking flushed and happy.
The second day, he’d whisked her away mid-morning, and she’d not returned. When Korbin returned to his own rooms that evening after continuing their research on his own, he’d not so much as seen a light coming from underneath her door.
The third day, she hadn’t even shown up and he couldn’t determine where she was. He reminded himself that despite his attraction for Octavia, the two of them had never shared a romantic moment. She owed him nothing, and he didn’t have any claim on her time or affections.
That didn’t stop the twist in his gut when he imagined her with the emperor, though. He’d hoped in time she’d come to develop an attraction for him. But how could he compete with the emperor?
Octavia was
not one to be swayed by things she could consider foolish, like money and power, but the emperor was a compelling and interesting man. Even Korbin could see that. But wasn’t Korbin also compelling and interesting? That wasn’t a question he could answer with objectivity.
After his third lunch alone, he returned to the library, trying not to focus on waiting for Octavia to return, and leafed through the tomes laid out across the long oak tables. The curator hovered nearby but said nothing, and for that Korbin was grateful.
He read silently, and one of the scribes settled into poring over the catalog ledgers. The curator would not let the stewards handle the books beyond moving them from storage, saying that too many fingers on delicate historical documents would compromise them. So they fetched new tomes when Korbin had determined another was of little use, and he was left to do the reading on his own.
Minutes ticked by, stretching into an hour, then another. In the corridor outside the archive room, a pendulum clock ticked, and the sound began to grate on Korbin, pulling his attention away from the text he was trying to read.
He found one interesting passage that distracted him from his annoyance. A letter from a high-ranking soldier was nestled into a larger text about the Age of Unity. Perhaps the letter meant nothing.
Although interesting, it didn’t appear to be of strategic significance. An imperial soldier had written to the praetor who commanded his legion. The tone of the letter was nearly one of panic. His company had been slaughtered in what he claimed was an ill-advised attack.
The line that caught Korbin’s eye read: Anyone who had seen what I have seen would know the foolishness of attacking the Children.
If he’d read that a year ago, he might have thought nothing of it. He would have assumed the hand of the soldier wavered, making the C of the word Children appear capitalized. Korbin would have understood that the solider was declaring that to kill children was unworthy of the empire, and that humanity must be maintained, even in war.
“Hekare,” Korbin said, breaking the crisp silence in the archive room.
The scribe looked up. “I’m Cledilion, Dul Korbin. Senne Octavia sent Hekare to the city library to work there.”
“Of course.” Korbin frowned. “My apologies. Yes. Cledilion. Would you take this letter and copy it for me?”
The scribe stood and came to examine the piece. “Certainly. That’s easily enough done.”
“Make sure it’s exact. Mistakes and all. The author was in a rush and seemingly in distress. I want to preserve his precise words. To the letter.”
The young man nodded, not seeming peeved at being told how to do his job. “Of course, Dul. Right away.” He took the piece to a small side table and Lish brought him ink and parchment. The curator watched closely to make sure not a drop of ink was spilled near the original document, but Cledilion worked with care.
Korbin returned to the book where he’d found the letter, reading closely for any more references to Children. He discovered none, but still asked Cledilion to note the name of the book so Octavia could have a look at it.
He moved on to another tome, then another, then a third, and the afternoon stretched into early evening. When the sound of footfalls from down the corridor finally interrupted the monotonous clacking of the pendulum clock, Korbin felt a wave of relief.
To his dismay, however, it wasn’t Octavia who approached, but another steward. She stopped inside the open door and bowed to Korbin. “Dul,” she said.
“Yes?” Korbin rubbed his hands over his face. He needed to see sunlight. The walls were closing in on him.
“Ultim Qardone Graiphen Ulbrich requests your presence at the prayer alcove on the fourth level.”
Korbin sat back. Part of him wanted to laugh. “Does he now?” he said, more to himself than the steward.
“Yes,” she replied, confused.
“Well,” Korbin said, standing. “At least this time he didn’t send the Red Manus after me.”
The steward flinched at the mention of the name. The fear they invoked had spread beyond Vol, it seemed.
“So did my father say what he wants?” Korbin asked.
She glanced briefly at the two stewards, the scribe, and the curator before meeting Korbin’s eyes. “Only that the matter could not wait, Dul.”
Korbin stretched out his aching back and turned his neck until it made a satisfying crack. Normally, he wouldn’t rush to do his father’s bidding, but Korbin was curious and sitting around doing Octavia’s research while she was with the emperor didn’t suit him any better. “Very well. He’s there now?”
“Yes, Dul Korbin.”
“Lead the way, then.” To the curator, he said, “Thank you for your tolerance these past few days. I’m not sure when we’ll next return.” He didn’t see any point in continuing to work without her. “If you’ll make a note of which books I had out, we can pick up where we left off when the Senne’s schedule allows.” He silently chided himself, regretful at how bitter his own voice sounded.
The curator merely bowed and said, “Dul.” The others also stood when Korbin left the room and followed the messenger away.
The pair took the main, curving staircase up toward the parts of the palace it seemed visitors rarely went, closer to the imperial family’s quarters. A passage and another side stair led to a wide walkway, the walls on either side covered by tapestries woven with symbols of the eight Spirits of Light and Shadow. In the older pieces, the Spirits of Shadow were depicted as nightmarish embodiments. From an outsider’s perspective, he could understand why they might find it odd that Talmorans revered them. Even the Spirits of Light appeared grotesque to modern eyes.
In this section of the palace, the fourth level was the highest. Grand, ornate windows between the tapestries showed that the sky had begun to darken, and Korbin realized it was much later than he’d thought. Following the steward’s measured footsteps, his mind wandered back to Octavia, wondering what she’d been doing these past two days. He smirked to himself when he recognized that if not for her keeping company with the emperor, he might have told his father to take himself to Usher, rather than agreeing to meet on a moment’s notice.
The steward stopped in front of the heavy wooden door at the furthest end of the walkway. “The Ultim Qardone is within,” she said, barely suppressing a shiver.
“Thank you.” Korbin reflected that he also might have that reaction to Graiphen had he not known the man all his life. He despised his father but no longer feared him.
Pushing the door inward, Korbin stepped into a surprisingly compact room. It contained six high-backed wooden chairs, set in front of a stone altar and facing away from the door. In one of the chairs sat his father. Even without the red robes of Braetin’s priesthood and viewed from the back, Korbin would have known the rigid posture and short salt and pepper hair anywhere.
Graiphen didn’t turn when Korbin entered, so Korbin walked amongst the chairs and chose one to sit down. The door closed quietly behind him. Only candlelight illuminated the room, casting long, flickering shadows.
The two men waited in silence for a moment until finally Korbin grew impatient. He opened his mouth to speak, but Graiphen cut him off. “Octavia is in danger,” he said.
“What?” Korbin turned and met Graiphen’s hard stare. “From whom?”
“Zain.” Graiphen’s tone was flat. “She speaks against him to the emperor.”
Was that true? Korbin hadn’t heard her do so, but over the past days, she had many conversations with the emperor he hadn’t been privy to. “Is he what he claims to be?”
“Yes.” Graiphen sighed. “Unfortunately.”
“He looks like you used to. He has your jaw.”
Graiphen sat, staring ahead. “Yes. I noticed that.”
“How can that be? When? Has he been at the temple all his life? Is this why we rarely came to Durjin when I was a child?”
Graiphen chuckled without humor. “No. The boy was conceived of Pang’s vessel the day of my arriv
al in Durjin three weeks ago.”
Korbin didn’t know what to think, but he did believe Graiphen. “And you…”
“I had no choice,” Graiphen snapped. He turned and met Korbin’s eyes. “They are gods.” In barely a whisper, he repeated, “I had no choice.”
“And Zain, a demi-god, my brother, wants Octavia dead?”
“Take her away from here. She’d be safer in Vol.”
“She won’t leave,” Korbin said.
“She will if you tell her that her friend Pendra is alive.” Graiphen swept an invisible piece of dust off his robe. “I assume she doesn’t know, since I doubt she’d still be here if she did. Will she feel betrayed, I wonder, when she finds out you hid the truth from her? You could remedy your mistake before it’s too late. Tell her, and save her life at the same time.”
The truth of his own actions hit Korbin hard. He’d been ordered by the emperor not to tell Octavia. If he wanted to, he could use that to drive a wedge between them. The idea both appealed to and repelled him at the same time.
“Why are you warning me?” Korbin asked.
“Because I’m tired.” Graiphen muttered something to himself. “Braetin and Pang play me against one another, and I no longer have any say in what becomes of me. One or the other of them will destroy me. I have no doubt about that.”
“Why should I believe you? You’ve betrayed me and Octavia many times. How can I be certain you speak the truth? This could be a ploy to convince us to leave Durjin. Perhaps it is not Zain’s plans that are thwarted by Octavia’s presence, but yours. He agreed with her that Seba should be executed, while you work to keep the murderer alive. Perhaps being a murderer isn’t a character flaw in your mind. How many people have you killed?”
Graiphen didn’t flinch. Instead, he nodded, looking defeated. “I understand.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “I can’t prove what I’ve said is true. I can only appeal to whatever part of you might have loved me once, when we were family.”
Born Of Fire And Darkness (Book 2) Page 14
