by Ted Dekker
He’d never seen such a beautiful creature as she.
“What is it?” she demanded.
He approached her, careful not to look too eager. “Qurong is concerned about some Books that have gone missing from the library,” he said. “He thought that you might be able to help us find them.”
“Which books?”
“The blank Books of Histories.”
“They’re gone?”
“All of them.”
“How’s that possible? There are so many!”
Woref stepped closer. He could smell her breath now, the musky scent of love.
“Please don’t come any closer,” she said.
He stopped, surprised by her demand. “I meant no disrespect.”
“I took none. But we aren’t yet married.”
“You’re mine by betrothal. We will be married.”
“Tomorrow.” The tone of her voice irritated him. It was as if she was insisting on tomorrow instead of today. As if she might be looking forward to enjoying one last day separated from him. She didn’t crave him as he craved her?
He shifted on his feet. “Yes, of course.”
“What do I have to do with this?” she demanded.
His irritation grew. He spoke quickly to cover his embarrassment. “Your father seems to think that you may know something about the Books. You’ve spent more time in the library than even he.”
“I have no clue what could have happened to the Books. I don’t see why he sent you to interrogate me about his business. Men are not permitted on this floor. Mother wouldn’t approve.”
“I don’t think you understand the significance of this to the supreme leader. And I don’t see what your mother’s opinion of my coming here has to do with your taking exception. You have been given to me, not to her.”
“Tell my father that I know nothing about the Books, and I’ll tell my mother that you disapprove of her rules.”
“Her rules will mean nothing tomorrow. We’ll live by my rules. Our rules.”
She smiled. “You may have won my hand, Woref. I have no argument. But you’ll have to win my heart as well. You could start by learning that I am my mother’s daughter. You may leave now.”
Woref wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. Was she taunting him? Tempting him? Begging to be subdued?
“The situation is more serious than you may realize.” He would test her by stepping closer to her. “Qurong will postpone our wedding until the Books are found.”
She smiled again. This time it was a tempting smile, he was sure of it. His mind felt dizzy with desire. He took another step, close enough to touch her.
“Postponing our wedding might be wise. It would give you time to learn respect for a woman’s desires.”
Black flooded Woref ’s vision. How dare she conspire with Qurong to withhold what was his! She stood mocking him with this smile, perfectly at ease with denying him.
He swung his hand without thinking. It slammed into her cheek with a loud smack. She gasped and flew backward onto the bed.
“Never!” he roared.
The shock of being hit was greater than the pain. Chelise knew that she’d been toying with his emotions, but no more so than she’d done a hundred times before with other men. She’d actually found Woref ’s presence in her room exhilarating. Naturally it would never do to play into his hands— what kind of signal would that send? He would think of her as nothing more than a doll that he could throw around at his whim until he tired of her completely. Mother had told her the same thing just last night.
Chelise spun to him, aghast. Woref was trembling from head to foot.
“Never!” he roared.
She was too stunned to think straight. He had hit her!
Realization of what he had just done suddenly dawned on Woref ’s face. He glanced back at the door, and when he faced her again, his eyes were lit by fear.
“What have I done?” He reached out for her. “My precious—”
“Get away from me!” she screamed, slapping his hand aside. She scrambled across the bed and stood on the opposite side. “Don’t come near me!”
He walked quickly around the bed, panicked. “No, no, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Back!”
He dropped to one knee. “I beg you, forgive me!”
“Stop begging! Get on your feet!”
He rose.
“How dare you strike me! You expect me to marry a bull? I was toying with you!”
His awful mistake was finally and terribly setting in. He gripped his head in both hands and paced at the bottom of the bed. Her sudden power over him wasn’t lost on her. Her jaw ached. She could never marry this man until they set some things straight between them, but on balance he had just given her his greatest gift. He’d bared his weakness.
“How can I marry a man like you?” she demanded.
“Anything,” he said, spinning back. “I swear I will give you anything.”
“You’ll give me anything today, and then take my life in a fit of rage tomorrow? Do I look like a fool?”
“No, my dear. I swear, never again. My honor as this land’s greatest general is in your hands.”
“One word to my mother and you would lose it all.”
“And spend eternity suffering for one moment’s fear of losing you. I can’t bear the thought of delaying our wedding, even a single day.”
She turned her back on him and stared out the window, surprised by the satisfaction she felt at seeing him grovel. Stripped of his rank, he was a mere man, driven by passion and fear. Perhaps wickeder than most. But still unraveled by his desire for one woman.
She would use this to her advantage. The fact was, she had more on her mind today than her wedding tomorrow. Thoughts of the Books of Histories had filled her dreams and awakened her early. Her desire to understand the mysteries hidden in their pages was greater than any desire she’d known.
Chelise faced Woref, who had recovered from his begging and was regarding her with something that looked more like contempt than remorse.
“Hmm. You will give me whatever I want?”
“Whatever is in my power. I must have your love. Anything.”
“Then you’ll tell my father that the wedding must be delayed until the blank Books are found—we both insist.”
His face darkened.
“It’s the price for your lack of control. If you want to earn my love, you can start by showing me that you’re a man who can receive as well as give punishment.”
He dipped his head. “As you wish.”
“And I will also require a gift from you as well.”
“Yes, of course. Anything.”
“I want a new servant.”
“I’ll give you ten.”
“Not just any servant. I want the albino. Thomas of Hunter.”
She might have thrown water in his face. “That’s impossible.”
“Is it? Unusual, yes. Disagreeable, certainly. But I’ve heard that this man is able to read the Books of Histories. You intend to execute the one man who can fulfill a dream of mine by revealing the Books to me? His death would not only be an affront to me, but it would be far too honorable for him. Better to keep him chained to a desk as a slave. The people would celebrate you for it.”
She’d made the decision impulsively, just now, motivated by spite as much as by what Thomas might offer her. For all she knew, he was only pretending to read from the Books to extend his life.
“Qurong would never allow an albino to live in his castle,” he said, with less conviction than he should have.
“He won’t live in this castle. He’ll live at the royal garden. In the basement of the library, under my supervision. If he can read the Books, my father will agree.”
Woref didn’t like the idea, but she’d effectively cut his feet off at the ankles. There was a certain logic to the whole idea.
“Ciphus won’t agree.”
“Ciphus is no fool. He will see my reaso
ning.” And what about you, Woref? Are you a fool?
She continued before he could dwell on her insinuation. “Consider it an early wedding present. I am requesting Thomas of Hunter in chains, a much more fitting present for me than his head on a platter.”
He only stared at her.
“You said ‘anything.’ Thomas of Hunter frightens you?”
A look of utter contempt crossed his face. She’d gone too far. He turned and walked from the room.
16
THE DUNGEON might very well have been the cleanest part of the entire city. They’d discussed it at length and decided that, because of the smell that seeped from every living Scab, this hole deep in the ground was one of the best places for them to be. The musty earthen scent of dirt and rocks was preferable. In fact, downright heavenly, Cain said.
“I knew it,” Suzan said, pacing by one wall.
“The question is whether they will execute us,” William said.
Thomas looked at his companions, sickened that their fate wasn’t decided yet. “I’ll do everything in my power to get us out.”
“And what power is that?” William asked.
They had been told not five minutes ago by a temple guard. “It appears that death is too honorable for you,” the guard said with a smirk. “The mighty warrior is now a slave, is that it? Better to lick the toes of his conqueror than end it all with a sword.” He chuckled. “They collect you in ten minutes. Say good-bye to your friends.”
“Where am I going?” Thomas demanded.
“Wherever Qurong wishes. To the royal library today. It seems he needs a translator.”
“And us?” William asked.
“You’re a gift for the wedding.” He smiled and turned his back to leave. “Unfortunately, the wedding has been delayed,” he mumbled. Then he left.
Now they waited.
“The same power he used to win her loyalty,” Suzan said to William.
“Don’t be so sure. She’s a lying serpent as sure as we are salamanders in her eyes!” William spit to the side. “I would rather die than serve at Qurong’s table.”
“I don’t think it’s his table,” Suzan said. “It is his daughter’s table. Thomas’s ploy worked. The Books of Histories may save our necks before this is done.”
“His daughter’s table would be worse! There is nothing as revolting as a Scab woman.”
“I have to agree with William,” Cain said. “I would much rather serve at Qurong’s table than his wife’s, or his daughter’s. Better to face the sword of a warrior than the lying tongue of these women.”
“You mean rotten tongues, don’t you? You can smell them coming—”
“Stop it!” Thomas said. “You’re making me nauseated. It’s not their fault that they stink.”
“If they would choose the drowning, they wouldn’t smell; how can you say it’s not their fault?”
“Okay, so it is their fault. But they hardly know better. These are the people Justin is courting.”
“We’re his bride,” William said. “Not these whores.”
Thomas was taken aback by his use of the word. It had once been a common expression for him, but not since the drowning.
“We would be most grateful if you could convince this whore”— Suzan glanced at William as she said it—“to spare our lives. Do you have a plan?”
Thomas walked to the corner of the cell and turned. “I guess you could call it that. If I can avoid the rhambutan juice, I will dream. If I dream, I will wake in the histories and tell my sister how to rescue us.”
“Your sister, Kara, who was also Mikil at the council meeting,” William said with a raised eyebrow. “You’re placing our lives in the hands of a character in your dreams?”
“No, in Mikil’s,” Thomas said. “Unless you have a better plan.”
They stared at him in silence. That was it; there were no more plans.
“Well, Thomas of Hunter,” Cain finally said, “I for one place my trust in you.” He moved forward and grasped Thomas’s forearms to form a circle between them, the common greeting. “It makes no sense to me, but you’ve always led us down the right path. Elyon’s strength.”
“Elyon’s strength.”
Thomas repeated the grasp with each.
“Be careful, my friend,” William said. “Don’t let the disease tempt your mind. If I were Teeleh, I would see no greater victory than luring the great Thomas of Hunter onto Tanis’s path.”
Thomas clasped his arms. They had never seen any from the Circle catch the disease again after drowning—they weren’t even sure if such a thing was possible. But some of the words from The Histories Recorded by His Beloved suggested it was possible. If you remain in me, I will remain in you, the Book said. They still didn’t know precisely what this meant but believed the opposite was also true. William’s warning was a good one.
“Elyon’s strength.”
“Elyon’s strength.”
“Where is he now?” Woref demanded.
“Locked in the basement,” Ciphus said. “As agreed.”
Qurong stood at the top of the steps that led into the royal bath. They’d built the bathhouse at the base of the Thrall, set apart from the prying eyes of the commoners. Only the royal family, the generals and their wives, and the priests were permitted to bathe in the stone house.
“And Chelise?”
“It was your own recommendation,” Qurong said, facing his general. “Now you’re fretting like a woman?”
Woref dipped his head. “I’m only interested in protecting what is mine.”
“My daughter is yours? I don’t remember a wedding. What I do remember is that there won’t be one until the Books are found.”
“Of course. But this man is no ordinary man. I don’t trust him.”
“Nor I. Which is why I wanted him dead. Although I must admit, this idea of yours is growing on me.” He smiled wryly.
Qurong opened his robe and let it fall to the ground. Steam from the hot rocks the servants had set inside the pool rose around the perimeter. He hated the bathing, not only because of the stinging pain, but because it reminded him of capital punishment. Drowning. The Great Romance was a brilliant way to keep the people in their place, but there should be an exception for royalty.
“I am only concerned for your daughter’s safety, my lord.”
“She has her guard. The albino is under lock and key. If I didn’t know better, I would say that you’re jealous, Woref.”
“Please, don’t insult me, my lord.”
Qurong walked down the steps and onto the bathing platform. He dipped his foot in the water, then withdrew it. This dreaded practice would be the death of him.
“What of you, Ciphus? What do you say?”
“I say what I said earlier. To keep your captive on a leash takes a stronger hand than killing him.”
“Then you agree that he requires a stronger hand.”
The high priest cleared his throat. “The albinos don’t believe in the sword, if that’s what you mean. Even Thomas of Hunter wouldn’t harm your daughter. But he may try to escape.”
“Is there a way to escape from the library?”
“You would have to ask Woref.”
“Well then, Woref?”
“There’s always a way to escape.”
“Without violence?”
He hesitated.
“Well?”
“No, not that I can think of.”
“Then what’s your worry? You haven’t found the Books. I would concern myself with that.”
“Then I would request that as soon as I have married your daughter, you allow me to kill Thomas of Hunter,” Woref said.
“I thought that was the understanding.”
Woref glanced at Ciphus, who spoke. “Actually, I believe Thomas was meant to serve indefinitely, as long as he proves useful in translating the Books of Histories. It is a task of great benefit to the Great Romance.”
“I’m not interested in a translation
made by my enemy. It would be untrustworthy. If he can teach Chelise to read the Books, I will let him finish his task before killing him. Otherwise he will die.”
The priest frowned. “Chelise is under the assumption—”
“I don’t care what my daughter thinks! This is my decision to make. Woref is right. This albino is not to be trusted! Whatever agreement they made when he struck her is none of my concern.”
Yes, I do know more than you think, Woref.
“Thomas of Hunter will be my slave until he’s no longer useful,” Qurong continued. “Then I will kill him myself. Now, if you will kindly both leave me, I have the terrible duty to bathe in this stink hole for a moment.”
They bowed, stepped back, and turned to leave.
“Ciphus.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I would like you to arrange public display of my slave. A parade or a ceremony where the people see him firmly under my foot.”
“An excellent idea,” Woref said.
“How much time would you need?” Qurong asked.
Ciphus answered slowly. “Perhaps two days.”
“Not tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow, if you want to rush it.”
Qurong turned to the pool. “Two days then.”
17
THOMAS SPENT the first night alone in the cold, dark cell below the library, praying for Elyon to show himself. A sign, a messenger of hope, a piece of fruit that would open his eyes. A dream.
But he hadn’t dreamed. Not of Kara, not of anything.
He hadn’t seen a soul since being ushered into the library’s basement and locked in the windowless cell. Surely if Chelise had been so eager to uncover the mysteries of the Books, she would have come that first night and demanded he read more.
Maybe the reading was a thin abstraction for her. Or maybe it was Qurong who wanted to hear him read. Or Perhaps Ciphus had arranged it, eager for another chance to be shown the power Thomas had promised.
They’d been in the Horde city three days. Would Mikil have mounted a rescue? No, not if she followed their agreement. Not so long ago the Forest Guard would have stormed in with swords drawn, killed a few hundred Scabs, and freed them or died trying. But without weapons the task was far too dangerous. They all knew that.
