Pancras considered asking Milena about her brother to make conversation as they walked, but her pinched expression and rigid posture suggested it would not be a welcome topic. Perhaps I will invite her to dine with the draks and me tonight when we return to the palace.
* * *
Kale awakened before his sister, not an unusual occurrence whenever she conjured. She didn't tax herself too much when they explored the mines, but the magic coupled with the running and climbing were enough to send her straight to bed after she filled her belly.
Pancras had already departed by the time Kale awoke, so he took advantage of the empty parlor in which to spread his wings and examine them carefully. He wanted to do it as soon as they returned from their expedition, but his grumbling belly and Delilah's protestations that he wait until Pancras awakened delayed his exploration of them.
They reminded him of Terrakaptis's wings, on a much smaller scale, of course. He flapped them a few times, taking note of which muscles they required. He found if he concentrated, he could move each individually and was sure that with practice they would become as nimble as his other appendages.
Jumping up into the air, Kale flapped his wings as hard and fast as he was able. He hovered for a few moments before he fell back to the ground. His wings caught the air, but he was disappointed that flying was a skill he needed to practice. An idea formed in Kale's head, and he grinned as he climbed up on the table. Looking down at the floor, he realized he still wasn't up far enough, so he pulled a chair onto the top of the table and climbed on its seat.
“Higher. I need to get higher.” He looked around the room and his eyes stopped on the chandelier suspended from the ceiling above the table. He stretched, but his fingertips only brushed the bottom. Kale jumped and grabbed the bottom of the chandelier. He heard a crack from the ceiling, and flakes of stone rained down on his head.
The chandelier held, however, and Kale kicked his legs forward. He swung back and forth, building momentum. The chain holding the chandelier in place groaned in protest, and when it reached its apex, Kale let go and spread his wings. They caught the air, and he held them as he glided across the parlor and straight toward the double doors.
His breath quickened, and his eyes widened when he realized his descent was slower than the speed at which he covered the distance between the table and the doors. He swung his legs around and flapped his wings to slow down, but the sudden loss of lift caused him to plummet, and he hit the floor, rolling across it and slamming into the bottom of the doors.
“Ow.”
Kale’s head spun, but he found the cool stone comforting. He rolled over on his stomach to free his wings from being folded up underneath him. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he stood up and tried again.
Delilah exited their bedroom, rubbing her eyes and yawning as he climbed onto the table. She blinked and put her hands on her hips. "Just what in the name of Maris's bloody spear are you doing?"
"Getting used to my wings." Kale jumped and grabbed the chandelier again. The support gave way, and the entire fixture came down, accompanied by a shower of debris from the ceiling. Kale fell back onto the table and sent the chair flying. Dishes shattered and cracked as he rolled to the side in a desperate attempt to avoid being flattened by the chandelier.
Delilah clucked her tongue as she helped her brother up. "You broke the bloody room! Next time throw yourself off a building. I'm trying to sleep!"
"Sorry, Deli." Kale brushed himself off. He jiggled the chandelier where it lay on the table, and in so doing he tipped over a pitcher of wine, spilling its contents on the table. Red wine ran along the surface, soaking into the table runner before dripping onto the carpet. "Do you think they can fix this before Pancras gets back?"
* * *
As he looked up at Aurora's Sanctuary, Pancras appreciated the architectural work of art. The building, a tall, pink-and-blue, spiral tower, thrust into the sky. The spirals led his eyes toward the onion dome, adorned with gold ridges, on top of the tower and a spire upon which a red banner fluttered. There was a bulge at the base of the tower, which served as a point of entry or foyer. A golden sea shell decorated the arched, black entry door.
Two round evergreen shrubs flanked the door. A man brushed past Pancras, nearly slipping on the snow. They were close enough to the market for Pancras to hear vendors barking and innkeepers promising warm fires and mulled wine to soothe chilly shoppers.
Milena stood next to Pancras and looked up at the tower. "I hate this building. Had I not sworn an oath to keep you in sight whenever you were outside the palace, I would not be going in with you."
"You could stay out here. I will tell no one, and there isn't anywhere to which I can escape." He sympathized with Milena's discomfort. Something about the building made him uneasy. It was, without a doubt, the most colorful building he'd seen during his stay in Almeria.
Her sidelong glare told Pancras all he needed to know about how she felt about that idea. He cleared his throat and entered the building. The parlor was dominated by a roaring fire in a circular hearth. Red banners covered the walls, and multi-colored rugs with strange, sweeping patterns on them covered the floors. In between the banners were alcoves in which statues of Aurora stood, each depicting the nude goddess in various contortions of ecstasy. A short hallway led out of the room to a corridor that appeared to curve around the inside of the tower.
A woman tending the fire looked up when they entered. Her golden locks reached almost to the floor, and she was draped in a shimmering gown the color of fresh pine needles. She turned a log and then bowed to Milena and Pancras. "Welcome to Aurora's Sanctuary. Have you come to seek shelter from the cold? Instruction in love, perhaps?" She cast an appraising glance at Pancras. "Or perhaps, you're simply lost?"
Milena's sigh was audible, and she looked around the room, searching for a spot, devoid of sculptures of nude women, upon which to rest her eyes. Pancras offered the priestess a smile. "None of those. I need to speak with a priestess about a very delicate matter, in private, please."
"Not too private. You must remain in my sight." Milena appeared to have settled upon staring into the fire.
The priestess took Pancras by the arm. "Fear not, lady. I shall not steal your lover from you."
"My—he is not my lover!" Milena clenched her fists and stepped toward the priestess.
"No?" The priestess squeezed Pancras's arm. "Then I may steal him away after all. Minotaurs are so strong. So big."
Pancras felt his face grow hot. "I am not here for that, either." He gestured toward the hallway. "Please."
He accompanied the priestess into the tower proper. Milena followed them, keeping her distance. The priestess stroked Pancras's arm as they strode. He noticed she smelled floral, as if she'd just come from the meadow. Murals on the walls illustrated various positions of lovemaking, and Pancras was sure he heard moaning coming from the room they just passed.
"I am Oksana, Second Divine of Aurora."
He lowered his head to speak to Oksana and reduce the risk of Milena overhearing. "I was hoping you had a text I might read or borrow that deals with treatments of various ailments like infertility. I've been tasked with something of a rather delicate nature, so we're trying to keep this quiet."
Oksana shook her head, looking at Pancras with sadness in her eyes. "Oh, no. We have nothing to help you conceive with the lady. Minotaurs and humans simply cannot have children."
Pancras stopped and rubbed his nose. "Again, we are not lovers. I cannot tell you for whom I seek this solution. It's confidential, you understand. That's why this… person has turned to an outsider for help."
"My apologies." Oksana bowed her hand, pressing her palms together. "I thought you were just being coy. Minotaur-human relationships are not unheard of, but they are frowned upon here in Almeria. We try not to judge. Aurora is concerned with love, the expression of love as pleasure, not with whom you choose to express those passions."
Pancras lowered her h
ands. "I appreciate that. Have you something that can help me? Or perhaps know of a remedy?"
Oksana wrung her hands together and bit her bottom lip as she thought. "I believe we have such a text. The high priestess would have specific knowledge, but she is occupied with worship at the moment. Disturbing her would be a grave affront to Aurora."
Pancras glanced back at Milena. The knight stood almost at attention, with her hands clasped behind her back. He felt her eyes bore into him. "I do not wish to disturb your high priestess. I can find the solution in your texts myself. If I might be permitted to view them? Perhaps borrow them?"
"I can fetch them for you, but I do not think I can allow you to borrow them. You said you were an outsider?"
"Yes, but I am staying at the palace." He took her hands, enveloping them within his own. "I'll be here all winter and should only need them for a few days. Perhaps, if I make a monetary donation, to thank you for your assistance?"
Oksana's smile wrinkled the corners of her eyes. She tilted her head. "Donations are always welcome, but there are only three copies of the Codex of Passion. It would have to be a very generous donation, indeed."
Pancras reached into his pouch and felt around for one of the gems he brought from Drak-Anor. He was not particularly concerned with type, but felt for size. The emerald he produced was the size of a small berry. He rolled it around in his hand so it would catch the light as he showed it to Oksana. Her eyes widened in amazement. Pancras pressed it into her hand.
Oksana bowed her head, touching his hand with her forehead. "If you'll return to the parlor, I will fetch for you the texts we have."
"Thank you, very much."
He returned to the parlor with Milena. He noticed she was sweating, despite the cool air within the tower. "Does this place make you that uncomfortable?" He wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead.
Milena swatted at his hand and wiped her brow. "It does, but not for the reasons you think."
"Care to elaborate?" Pancras stood in front of the hearth. The heat from the fire felt nice. Although he was covered with fur, and his new, thicker robes helped keep him warm outside, the bitter wind cut through even the thickest of fabric.
"Not really. I'm not a prude, but I have had to make certain sacrifices." She looked around the room, her eyes lingering on a statue of Aurora that depicted the goddess with her head thrown back, arms spread and reaching for the heavens. The goddess was always depicted as voluptuous, yet perfectly proportioned, at least by the standards of the sculptor.
"A vow of chastity can be difficult." Pancras was chaste by circumstance, not by choice, but he understood why someone might choose to take a vow of that nature.
"That is not it. I have no desire to discuss my love life, or lack thereof with you."
Pancras let the matter drop. He did not wish to antagonize Lady Milena, but he thought she did herself a disservice by internalizing all of her stress. In his youth, he did the same thing but later found, after he moved to Drak-Anor, that even merely voicing his frustrations to a sympathetic ear helped them seem less severe.
He had high hopes the Codex of Passion would offer a solution based more in his skill in the arcane arts than the salve Arnost offered him. Salve and ointments were fine, but he didn't think any of the information he gleaned from the priest of Apellon would be useful, except for the tidbit he let slip about thorntree. Plus, any ointment or salve he made would likely be a temporary solution at best. The last thing Pancras wanted was for Prince Gavril to feel he needed to hunt him down.
Thinking about the prince and the curse he wanted made his head hurt. He was thankful, at least, for the lower light levels. His headache continued unabated, but being outside in the sun amplified the discomfort. He supposed he should have asked Arnost about it.
Oksana returned with the codex about the time Pancras tired of standing and sought a place to sit. The book was bound in red leather and featured gold leaf embellishments. She held it as a mother cradles her newborn child. "Take good care of this. Your donation is much appreciated, but should this be damaged or lost, there is nothing that will spare you from Aurora's wrath."
Pancras was well acquainted with the values of sacred texts, particularly bound codices. "Do you have something I can protect this with? I'd hate to slip and drop it while returning to the palace."
"I'm sorry, we do not."
"There's a market stall nearby that may sell something." Milena pulled on Pancras's arm. "We need not take more of her time, Pancras."
The minotaur bid the priestess farewell and followed Milena back out to the street. He fumbled to hold the codex cradled with one arm while he flipped up his hood. The glare was worse now that the sun was higher in the sky.
Milena led him down the street to the market. The north end of the market featured more craftsmen and fewer food and produce vendors than had the area he explored with Kale and Delilah the day after they arrived in Almeria.
With Milena's help, Pancras found a hand-tooled leather satchel in which he could carry the Codex of Passion. The security of the strap which crossed his shoulder eased his mind. The last thing he needed was the ire of a goddess. He knew he wouldn't be able to ask Aita for aid if he angered Aurora; for what he was about to undertake for Prince Gavril was borderline an affront to the Princess of the Underworld. He felt he owed it to Kale and Delilah to see to it that their travels with him were as safe as possible and that they returned home alive and well.
The winter wind picked up, and patrons of the market pulled their cloaks and robes tighter as the chill air coursed through the streets. A bank of grey clouds approached from the west, like a juggernaut rolling down from the mountains. The clouds appeared laden with snow, and promised a fresh delivery before morning.
"We should go back to the palace. Cybele can wait." Milena shielded her eyes with her hand as she looked into the sky toward the approaching weather system. Other Almerians shared their desire to seek shelter. The bustle of the market and city streets increased as people rushed to complete their daily tasks and stock sufficient supplies to provide for them through the oncoming storm.
Pancras agreed with Milena that cutting their expedition short was the wisest course of action. He had collected more than enough material to last for the remainder of the week, if need be. "Indeed. The storm won't."
Light snow began to fall like lazy dandelion seeds upon a summer's breeze as they reached the palace gates. The delicate beauty of the flurries soon gave way to darker skies and howling wind that delivered a curtain of solid white from the heavens.
Chapter 14
Kale had not yet finished cleaning up the parlor when Pancras returned. He didn't notice the worsening weather until the minotaur opened the doors and howling wind followed him inside. Delilah slapped her hand down on the pages of her grimoire to keep them from fluttering in the gale and hunkered down lower in her armchair. The snow was blowing hard enough to swirl inside the parlor as Pancras struggled to shut the doors.
"The weather turned quickly. I don't recommend you and Delilah go out to—" Pancras turned and stared open-mouthed at the chandelier lying in pieces on the floor. "What happened?"
Kale extended and fanned his wings slightly and rose up from where he had been picking up bits of shattered plates. Over the course of the morning, he discovered his wings added a bit of lift, allowing him to stand and straighten more smoothly and rapidly than using only his hands and knees to push himself up. "I was trying to practice flying."
"Flying?" It was then that Pancras looked directly at Kale and noticed his wings. He pointed, then covered his face with his hand, and flopped in the vacant armchair. "I don't suppose you could bring me wine or an ale before you tell me this story?"
Kale grabbed one of the few unopened, unbroken bottles of ale and brought it to Pancras. He folded his wings behind him to keep from blocking too much of the heat from the hearth. He noticed Pancras carrying a new satchel over his shoulder, and it appeared to have something large and s
quare within. "Guess what the lumps I was growing on my back were?"
Pancras took the ale and leaned forward. His exasperation gave way to curiosity. "You grew wings? You can still breathe fire?"
"Yes. It's getting easier the more I practice."
Delilah shut her book. "I told him the next time he wanted to practice flying, he should go jump off a building."
Pancras touched Kale's shoulder, urging him to turn around. Kale showed his wings to the minotaur and allowed him to unfold and manipulate them. He bit his bottom lip to keep from giggling at the minotaur's touch. The membranes of his wings were sensitive.
"This is extraordinary." He let Kale turn back around. "They support your weight? You can actually fly with them?"
That was one thing Kale had not accomplished. Yet. "No, just gliding. I think I'll be able to with practice, though." He shifted his gaze to the windows noticing it was as if someone painted over them with dirty grey paint, so fierce was the raging storm. Even inside their suite, the howling wind made itself heard, venting its fury on Almeria. Kale expected they would be trapped inside for several days. Again.
Pancras placed his hand on Kale's forehead. The minotaur's palm was cool against his scales. "How do you feel otherwise? You're still warm."
"I feel great! As good as ever, really." He recognized his body temperature was warmer than it used to be, but he no longer felt feverish. He rather enjoyed not having to wear heavy cloaks and robes to keep warm in the snow; yet, he worried about what would happen when the weather warmed back up in the spring and summer. One could always bundle up in the cold, but there was a limit to what one could remove in the hotter months, and draks often wore nothing but their scales.
"Amazing!"
Kale shuffled his feet and looked back toward the dinner table. He wished Pancras and Delilah knew some magic that would clean it up. They worked out a good system for the bathing vessel, but Delilah informed him in no uncertain terms that even if she knew a conjuration that could clean up broken plates, she would not help him.
Malediction (Scars of the Sundering Book 1) Page 21
