Korbin felt exposed when he returned to his seat, even though she didn’t look at him with anything like desire. Perhaps her lack of interest was what made him uncomfortable.
After a few moments, she opened a small glass jar. She removed the stopper from the end of the jar and let some of the colorless liquid seep onto a piece of dark fabric. “Hold this to your nose,” she said without looking at him.
“What is it?” He accepted the cloth.
“It will relax you,” she explained. “Most men do not care for this procedure.” She held a small silver knife with a wicked, curved point in her hand.
“Just inhale?” He lifted the fabric to his nose. “What’s it made of?”
“Seaweed.”
He breathed in deeply and felt as though someone had hit him in the back of the head with a hammer. The world went black in an instant. When he came to, she was leaning over him in a blurry haze, chanting in a foreign tongue. Her words pulled at him, compelling him to listen.
Touching him in almost an impersonal way, Octavia tugged back the scant fabric covering what was left of his modesty. He felt pressure, then warmth, then a flick of stinging pain in his groin. Unable to move or object, he lay in a stupor.
Flopping his head to the side, he watched through warped, glassy vision as she mixed a spoonful of fresh, bright blood with the paste she’d prepared earlier. Once she finished her mixture, she pressed a cloth against the point where she’d drawn blood. He tried to speak but couldn’t form the words.
“Shh. Your part is over. Close your eyes. I will do the rest.”
He wanted to object, but he could only groan. His eyes were heavy, and he could form no rational reason to refuse to comply. Without another sound, he drifted away to the rhythm of her voice raised in a chant. The more frenzied her chanting, the more his thoughts retreated.
∞
When Korbin awoke some time later, listless but awake, he was covered with a small blanket. While he’d been unconscious, the remnants of the poppets had been removed and all the tools put away.
Octavia was burning a small bunch of fragrant herbs, wafting the smoke with her hands. The south window stood open, and the bustling sounds of mid-day activity filtered from the street.
Turning his head toward the distant commotion, he heard Octavia’s voice, but he couldn’t yet make out the meaning of her words. With a sweeping motion, she descended toward him. Her expression was softer than before, and he noticed she looked tired.
With a gentle touch, she tilted his face toward her and placed a small poultice over part of his face. He smelled the fragrance of fruit, and the paste cooled his skin. “That was a nasty bruise,” she said softly.
The dull ache he’d grown accustomed to over the past few days faded. The bruise had come from the boot of a highwayman who’d managed to knock Korbin off his horse on a recent run. Despite the cowardly ambush, Korbin had managed to keep his parcels and fend off the attack without losing much more than his dignity. If the man hadn’t been alone, though, Korbin might’ve faced troublesome questions. Riders were not attacked often, as they didn’t transport declani. By law, only Imperial messengers could do that. Still, certain papers were worth a lot more than a pouch full of silver coins.
“Thank you.” The mumbled words flowed oddly from his mouth. What had he inhaled? Struggling to sit, he took her arm and let her assist him.
“Slowly,” she said. “You took in a large dose.”
Strangely, his head didn’t hurt. If alcohol had knocked him out so thoroughly, he would have felt like death. As the fog parted, he didn’t have much pain or disorientation at all.
After a few minutes of breathing fresh air, he removed the poultice and handed her the remnants. “What was that mixture you gave me?”
She smiled and stood. “A conduit secret.” She fetched his clothing and handed it to him.
He half-expected her to turn her back or allow him access to a private room to dress, but instead she went back to tidying her workbench. Hesitating only a moment, he threw back the blanket and was surprised to find a smear of blood on his smallclothes. He frowned and pulled his trousers on, wriggling to tug them over his hips. By the time he finished dressing, he felt almost normal.
Octavia glanced his way. “Go slow if you are dizzy.”
“I’m fine,” he told her. “So what happens now?”
She shrugged. “All that remains is to dispose of the pieces. I will do so tonight at the river after the sun goes down.”
“The curse is broken?” he asked, still not sure if he believed in such things.
“All that is broken are those particular instruments,” she said. “They were impressive work, fashioned with care and dark intent. The conduit who created them may have other pieces, other means. Without meeting your father, I cannot know for certain.”
Korbin nodded and stood. “I’ll tell Dow.” He took a large pouch from the inside pocket of his cloak. He felt the substantial heft of it and had to confess a certain reluctance to part with this much money. It wasn’t his, but Eliam’s—or more likely, it had come from Tarsten or Graiphen. He set the pouch on the end of her workbench.
Octavia cast a frown in his direction but said nothing. He knew customs were different in Kilovia and wondered if he’d done something wrong by paying her at this time or in this way. He opened his mouth to offer a formal apology.
She cut him off. “A search should be made of your father’s home. Look under wooden floorboards or in narrow places. Gather any stray bits of metal, particularly red or black iron. Check for sharp protrusions in inconspicuous spots. These may be designed to cause a small prick. Most would see this as a mere annoyance, but a trap that draws a single drop of blood is useful to a competent conduit.” She took a small bag from her case. “Take this. Any items found should go in here. They should be touched as little as possible. Whoever undertakes this task should be careful.”
Korbin nodded. “I’m going to see Dow now. I’ll tell him.” He paused and met her eyes, then bowed. “Thank you, Senne Octavia.” Custom dictated he say something like “my family is in your debt,” but he couldn’t bring himself to form the words.
She smiled with compassion, as though sensing his reluctance. With a tender gesture, she reached up and adjusted his collar. “If a time comes when you need my help, do not hesitate to ask. You seem lost, Korbin, gone astray in this realm of men.”
For a moment, he was at a loss for what to say. He would normally say something glib, but the sincerity in her tone stopped him. “Thank you, Senne.” He added a polite goodbye and walked down to the street, stunned at the brightness of the afternoon sun. The colors around him appeared stark, as though he’d fallen asleep in a hazy world and woken to sharp sounds and intense light.
His mind was filled with questions as he headed for the North Circle, where both Eliam and Graiphen Ulbrich lived. He was also near Causin Hall, where all elected legislators had offices. Korbin expected to find Eliam there.
With a well-practiced gesture and a look of indifference, he showed his identity token. “Confidential message for Dul Eliam,” he said, his tone neutral. He hated being here. At any moment, he might see someone who recognized him, despite his clothing, long hair, and several days of stubble on his face. All it would take would be a flicker of recognition, one Dul or page who paid more attention than most. These men didn’t rise to their positions by being careless or inattentive.
“Dul Eliam is not in the chamber today,” the guard told him and held out his hand to receive the parcel.
“Sorry,” Korbin said, ducking his head when he recognized someone down the corridor. “Instructions were specific: Only by the hand of the Dul himself. I’ll return tomorrow.” He wanted to get away as quickly as possible. The guard shrugged, so Korbin backed away, knowing the other man wouldn’t care one way or the other.
Korbin left the legislative chamber, worried he might be recognized at any moment. He wished he’d thought to wear his Talmor Rid
er’s cloak. The uniform would give him a shield against anyone who might look too closely.
Like his position, Eliam’s house had been inherited from his father. The manor was one of the most prominent in the city, resting at the apex of the North Circle. The main streets here were wide and the paving stones polished and sparkling. Only people of a certain rank would dare walk them. It was like the court on parade, a way to see and be seen. Korbin made his way down the back alleyways only servants and workmen used.
He cautiously approached the back door of Eliam’s manor. As he would have done if delivering a parcel, he stepped inside the servants’ entrance. Noise came from the kitchen and the pitter-pat of maids scurried about on an upper level. Quietly, he moved from one corridor to the next, ducking back when someone approached. It took a few minutes, but he finally found Eliam in his library. He rapped gently on the open door and stepped inside.
“It’s done,” he said.
Eliam looked up from his papers. He stared as though he’d been lost in thought and needed a moment to reorient himself to the present. “Good,” he said. “That’s very good.” He stood and motioned for Korbin to close the door. “What happened?”
Korbin didn’t want to admit he’d been unconscious for most of the event. “She took some blood and performed a ritual. She also gave me some instructions.” He told Eliam what Octavia had said about looking for iron and sharp objects in suspicious locations. Even though he’d sensed her sincerity, he wasn’t convinced anything she had done would have any effect on Graiphen, not if he was truly ill.
Eliam scowled. “I hadn’t considered that not all the witchcraft materials might have been found, but I should have. I’ll have someone search the house. The servants may talk…”
“No. I’ll do it,” Korbin said. “I know every crevice in the house, and Senne Octavia told me how to deal with anything we might find.” As much as he didn’t believe in Kilovian witchcraft, someone with malevolent intent had placed those objects. No need to risk the servants. They might hurt themselves on a trap intended for Graiphen.
Eliam glanced up sharply. “Are you sure?”
Korbin shrugged. He felt numb about his father, but at the same time, he knew the old man was suffering. The thought didn’t please him. He didn’t like the realization that he wanted one last chance, even if that chance was to say goodbye.
Eliam nodded. “Good. You’ll do a better job than anyone else, I suspect. Can you go now? I’ll tell Dul Tarsten. Graiphen is surrounded by nurses of late, but you won’t have any problem getting in. We’ll join you soon.”
Korbin wasn’t certain what his reception would be in his father’s household, but he didn’t give voice to the concern. “I’ll see you there.”
Graiphen’s manor wasn’t far, and Korbin approached it as he had Eliam’s, by side streets reserved for servants and tradesmen. Although he’d spoken as though what he planned to do was an easy thing, his feet felt heavy and his heart full of dread.
The rear of the home had a flower garden for the family. On the other side of a decorative brick wall lay a plot where Graiphen’s cook had planted fragrant herbs and a patch of fresh vegetables. These were used for the servants’ meals, with the household food delivered every second day from fashionable markets. Even still, the smell of mint always reminded him of home.
Not wanting the servants to see him yet, he went into the family garden. Although it was maintained, Korbin knew Graiphen wouldn’t be there, and they had no other family. With a sudden shock, Korbin realized that if anything happened to his father, this house would become his. The thought repelled him. The structure was elegant, but this wasn’t his life anymore. He had too many bad memories stored in every brick.
Stepping inside, Korbin immediately sensed something was wrong. His father’s study smelled of dust. Korbin took a moment to light the oil lamp on the table and looked around for the things Octavia described. He found nothing, but no one other than Graiphen entered this room. The risk of anyone entering would be great. As he searched, he wondered how the cursed items were placed. Did that mean one of the servants was involved? Truthfully, it wouldn’t be difficult to enter the house during the day. Doing so unseen, on the other hand, would be a challenge for one who didn’t know the structure and the rhythms of daily life within.
With grim thoughts filling his mind, Korbin slipped into the corridor, realizing he’d have to make his presence known soon. There was no way he could search the entire house without being noticed. Too many servants roamed the manor, going about their business.
He inhaled, smelling the familiar scents of home, steeling himself for the moment. Without warning, a maid ran past, nearly knocking him over. She stumbled into the wall, turning and staring at him, her eyes wide with fear.
“Genna,” he said. “It’s me. Korbin. Don’t be afraid. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Dul Korbin!” Confusion and fear played across her features in equal measure as she worked to regain her balance.
“Not a Dul anymore.” Something was wrong. Graiphen’s servants didn’t run in the house, and they weren’t careless. “Where’s my father?”
She licked her lips, and he noticed how pale she was. “Upstairs,” she breathed.
“Tell me what’s wrong. I heard he was ill.”
The petite young maid shook her head. “Not ill, Dul.”
“Tell me,” he repeated.
Her mouth moved, but she made barely a sound. “The Shadows have taken him.”
A shiver of fear prickled his skin. Before now, the danger seemed unreal, the previous events like a game. The expression on this woman’s face was not a thing to be mocked. The four Spirits of Shadow were not easily invoked on the tongues of Talmorans.
“Slondaemon can be cruel,” he said. The Shadow Spirit’s realm was illness, disease, decay, and deformity.
She shook her head, her eyes pressed tightly closed. “Braetin.” She touched a signet on her collar, the symbol of Dartin, one of the four Spirits of Light.
Braetin. Goddess of nightmares.
“Upstairs?” Korbin asked. Stalling for a few minutes. Dreading what he might find.
“Yes.” With that, she turned and ran, as though Korbin was the embodiment of fear itself.
Alone in the hall, Korbin paused before heading upstairs. The closer he came to the elder Dul’s rooms, the more sounds he heard. Those sounds disturbed him, echoes foreign to the household of his childhood: the splintering of wood, shouts, yelps of pain. He rushed toward them, only to find a cluster of servants huddled outside the master chamber.
“What’s going on?” He put more authority into his tone than he had in a very long time.
Four sets of eyes turned to him. “Dul Korbin!” one of the higher ranked maids finally said. “Spirits of Light bless you. You’ve come.”
A head manservant shooed the others away. “Let Dul Korbin pass, you silly girls,” he said, but there was no malice in his tone, only deep concern, barely masked. The others backed away, seeming relieved.
“Is he alone?” Korbin asked as something crashed against the wall.
“Yes, Dul,” the servant replied.
Korbin exhaled, then nodded, staring at the large door. “Duls Eliam and Tarsten are on their way. Please show them up when they arrive.”
“As you wish,” came the reply, accompanied by a deferential bow and a few steps backward.
Korbin waved the man away. He had to face this alone. After a moment’s breath, he opened the door. His father sat inside, dressed in a tattered robe that looked like it had been savaged by a wild animal. Graiphen still had a strong, jutting jaw, short salt-and-pepper hair and sharp cheekbones, but his eyes were wild.
“By grace,” Korbin muttered.
Graiphen stared up, his expression slack. “Grace, grace... what of it? I have none. None at all. The demons took it.” The Dul giggled. “They won't return it to me. They won't. They won't.”
Korbin’s chest tightened. This ma
n could not be his father.
“I am leaving.” Graiphen’s fearful expression showed none of his usual commanding confidence. “I must go, boy. Don't you see? Yerwood is trying to kill me.”
“Father? Who is Yerwood?” The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Korbin couldn’t place it.
“Yerwood the Great, they call him. Ridiculous! Great indeed. No one is greater than I. Soon the world will call me Jorek the Great.” Graiphen lowered his tone. “I must kill him before he kills me.”
Jorek? Jorek had been emperor two hundred years before. Korbin exhaled loudly.
“You are Dul Graiphen Ulbrich. I am your son, Korbin. We are at home.” When Graiphen offered no response, Korbin repeated, “Home, Father?” This place hadn’t been home to Korbin in a long time, but he hoped his words would help break his father’s delusion.
Graiphen spat his disdain. “Home? I have no home. It's infested with rats and spiders. Shadows lurk in every corner.”
Unsure what to say, Korbin replied, “Father, you’re safe here.”
The Dul stiffened. “You’re trying to protect me, boy? I have fought on the bloodiest battlefields and not only survived, but came through unscathed. I have commanded legions against overwhelming odds and burned cities to the ground. You do not need to tend me.” The glazed eyes came into sharp focus. “Where am I?”
“Your manor in Vol.”
“Who are you?” Graiphen stared at Korbin. “I know you.”
“Korbin Ulbrich. I am your son.”
Clarity returned to Graiphen’s eyes. He nodded and gave Korbin an appraising stare. “I need your help. Someone is trying to drive me mad.” He reached out and Korbin went to him. His father so rarely touched him, even as a little boy. Graiphen grabbed Korbin’s arm and pulled him down so he knelt beside Graiphen’s seat.
Korbin’s heart clutched at the desperation in Graiphen’s eyes. “What do you want me to do?” This man that he’d come so close to hating now needed him. Korbin didn’t want anything to do with him, but a sense of duty compelled him. Was duty enough?
Spirits of Light and Shadow (The Gods of Talmor) Page 4
