“I hope not,” she replied. “I have enough trouble at the moment.”
“Don’t we all,” he said, and broke his eyes from hers and stepped back. “Willas, conclude your business. We have much to discuss.”
“Yes, yes,” mumbled Willas. “Of course.”
He absently thrust a purse at Kurio, still staring at the cube. She weighed it in her hand and the coins inside clinked. It felt about right, and she wasn’t going to count the royals in front of these two odd birds.
She turned to leave. “Right, then. Farewell.”
“One moment,” said Gannon.
Kurio swallowed her unease and turned to look at him again, drawn to the lustrous blue of his eyes.
“You were never here,” Gannon warned. “You’ve never met Willas. Never stolen anything for him. Your thievery will go unnoticed for some time, and you’ll forget it ever happened.”
Kurio thought of Gerret’s corpse still in the room with the chest. If no one discovered it sooner, in a day or two the smell of decomposition would be noticeable. She debated telling them that someone else had been after the strange metal cube, then decided she didn’t need more complications.
“Yes. Is that all?”
Gannon nodded, then frowned. “No. I’d like to call upon you. If I may?”
Call upon me?
“You want to see me again? I don’t think—”
“A brief meeting. You intrigue me, Kurio. And I find life is … pleasurable when I indulge my curiosity.”
She was interested too. There were depths to this man she’d like to explore. He was beautiful. Seductive. Whatever he was mixed up in with Willas, it would be dangerous—but when had that ever stopped her? As long as she was lying low, she might as well have some fun. Though she should still be wary.
She nodded, smiling. “All right. Where can I find you?”
Gannon answered her smile with one of his own and reached out to clasp her hand. His skin was hot, and she felt the heat penetrate deep into her flesh. Her mouth parted, and she suppressed a gasp.
“Excellent,” he said. “I’m sure someone of your talents could find me if she were to look. Or perhaps I’ll find you.”
He released her hand, and for an instant the room swam around her. She breathed deeply to steady herself.
“Go,” Willas said. “Our business is done.”
Kurio didn’t have to be told twice.
Chapter Four
A Reluctant Bargain
EVER SINCE THE GODDESS had chosen him centuries ago, time had been a nebulous and indistinct concept for Niklaus. In the years since she’d gifted him her sword, he’d traveled a great distance to Caronath, that he knew. And he’d killed. For her, always for her. Well, mostly.
The goddess’s sword clung to his back wherever he went. A weight he couldn’t forget. And when he drew it … Ah! Such bliss. He was transformed. The blade was perfection. His skill unmatched. Blood flowed, and dangerous men and women fell before him. They had to be dangerous to her or about to thwart her plans, as otherwise she wouldn’t have directed him to them. He’d killed lords and ladies, members of the Tainted Cabal, and once—so he’d read in his journal—a king.
He couldn’t remember many of the deaths detailed in his handwriting. It seemed there was only so much a memory could hold before it began spilling its contents like an overfilled glass.
And sometimes, as a reward, she came to him in his dreams, whispering sweet words of approval, her lips touching his ear and burning with a fire he couldn’t get out of his mind.
Leaving his rooms in a tenement next door to the Crossed Keys, a seedy dive of a tavern he played cards in most nights, Niklaus stopped by a nearby fountain to quench his thirst. Men and women of all ages were filling jugs and buckets from the pool of water under spouting mermaids. His stomach rumbled, eliciting a giggle from a girl beside him. He winked at her and set off.
He wouldn’t break his fast until he’d visited Sylva Kalisia’s church. He wasn’t much for prayer and figured he didn’t need to be, as the goddess was keeping an eye on him anyway, but he felt better when he’d paid his respects. And he liked it when his appearance agitated the priestesses and set them scampering around like bugs whose rock had been overturned.
By the time he reached her church, the sun had risen a few fingers. Not many of the goddess’s worshipers came out at this time, which suited Niklaus fine. As he ascended the wide granite steps, a gust of cool wind sent leaves skittering across his path. He paused, wondering if they signified something. Then shook his head and muttered to himself about seeing signs in everyday events. He hadn’t before and had laughed at Volkmar when the sorcerer thought the goddess was directing him. Over the centuries she’d instructed Niklaus to kill many sorcerers, so he’d decided that she must hate them. Because of Volkmar he’d learned better.
That was the problem. His encounters with the goddess were fleeting and ephemeral, and each one left him wanting more. Wanting her. The more she visited him, the stronger was his desire to see her in the flesh. To join with her as a man with a woman. Goddess and … god?
Deep down, a tiny part of him realized perhaps that was what she wanted.
Niklaus was a warrior. He believed in strength of arm and strength of will. Now, somehow, he was in a fight to resist losing his soul to Sylva Kalisia. And for all his training, all his skill with a blade, he had no idea what to do.
Victory would mean survival, continued life. Failure would mean … he knew not what, but it wouldn’t be pleasant. Gods and goddesses didn’t care for mortals, except for how they could be used. They only cared about other gods.
So if Niklaus wanted the goddess to care about him, did that mean he should try to become a god?
He shook his head as he approached the church’s open doors. Two mercenary guards stationed on either side watched him without emotion. He didn’t mind. It was better they didn’t know who he was. The priestesses did though: they called him Sylva Kalisia’s Chosen Sword. He didn’t think much of the title, or the ownership it suggested.
Inside, the vast open space was cool and dim. Light entered from the open doors, marking a bright rectangle on the stone floor. Human-sized statues lined the walls to the left and right. Carved from stone or cast in bronze, they depicted naked men and women in a variety of poses. One woman ate a bunch of grapes; a man raised a sword high; a girl held a small branch in her outstretched hand. Some of them were touching themselves sexually, while others ran nails down their bare chests, marking themselves and drawing blood. After so long, he knew this was the kind of worship the goddess wanted.
The priestesses knew too; some even spoke regularly to the goddess. If he was honest, Niklaus would admit to jealousy of them. He hardly ever spoke with Sylva except when she came to him in his dreams. And then all he could think about was wanting her.
He knew that some of the priestesses prosecuted their own agendas in the goddess’s name. Rage bubbled up inside him at the thought. For a priestess to hold the sanctity of speaking with the goddess in such contempt—the very thought was sickening. Perhaps that was why she had drawn him here to Caronath: to kill such faithless priestesses. To clean out the chaff so her Church remained strong.
In the center of the room was a multitiered rose-quartz structure, much like a stepped pyramid from the southern kingdoms. It rose from the floor to twice his height, and each level was crammed with offerings: bowls filled with liquids; bottles and vials; dried fruits and meats; coins of all denominations and from different countries; flowers in varying stages of freshness and decay; necklaces and earrings, amulets and rings. Around the base of the structure were scattered donations that had been displaced when worshipers made their sacrifice, or had overbalanced when piles became unstable. A couple of young novices in rough-spun woolen robes collected them in wicker baskets.
Worshipers kneeled and sat around the offering steps, mumbling prayers and chanting hymns, filling the air with a constant hum.
A prie
stess he’d never seen before emerged from an alcove in one corner of the large space and walked slowly toward him. Someone must have taken her word that he’d arrived. He resisted scratching a sudden itch between his shoulder blades.
She approached, smiling and scrutinizing him. When she was within a few paces, she dropped to her knees. Her black robe hugged her body, and she wore a silver belt that cinched the material tight to her narrow waist. Her dark hair, long enough to touch the small of her back, shone even in the dimness of the church. As the priestess bent and touched her forehead to the stone, her robe drew tight around her buttocks.
So this was how they were going to play it. Another priestess who supposedly looked like the goddess. Fools. They should know, as he did, that for some things there was no substitute. The goddess knew he’d tried.
“Chosen Sword of the Goddess,” the priestess said huskily, rising again to a kneeling position, “to what honor do we owe this visit? There are refreshments in our quarters if you are hungry or thirsty. Or perhaps you require our knowledge or guidance? We are here to serve you.”
Niklaus had to hand it to them: they’d taught the young woman well. She wasn’t obvious, apart from her beauty. He wished they wouldn’t keep trying to control him. No one pushed him around or made a tool of him. No one human anyway.
She wriggled forward and tried to grab his hand.
Niklaus jerked it away. “Don’t call me the Chosen Sword,” he said sternly.
“But you are. The goddess has gifted you with her blade—”
“It wasn’t hers, and it’s a gift with many strings attached.”
The priestess gasped, a hand covering her mouth in shock.
He liked to upset them, but this morning he wasn’t gaining his usual pleasure.
“Go and fetch the Matriarch,” he ordered. “I’ll wait here.”
The priestess glanced fearfully over her shoulder to the alcove she’d emerged from. No doubt she’d be punished for not succeeding in whatever it was they wanted her to do. But that was none of his concern. The girl needed to learn her looks wouldn’t gain her whatever she wanted.
A calmness settled over him, familiar and welcoming. He felt it whenever he drew a blade. He was a rock in a river of turgid water, while others floundered. His thoughts were deliberate and composed.
“Go!” he shouted.
The girl fled, bare feet slapping on stone.
Niklaus waited. A short time later, another priestess emerged. An old woman with hair turned gray, but eyes and mind as keen as a freshly whetted blade. The Matriarch. They met occasionally to trade gossip and small talk, and play subtle games with each other. He knew that with her he had to be careful. If he put them off side, they could make things difficult for him. They wanted him to follow the goddess’s path, but could be touchy if he didn’t give them due respect.
“You scared the poor girl,” Matriarch Adeline said. She had to look up at him, for although she was tall, he stood a head higher.
“You shouldn’t have sent her out to me,” he said, meeting the meddling bitch’s hard eyes.
“You flatter yourself. Not everything revolves around you. She was on duty; she saw you come in and was a trifle overenthusiastic. Can you blame her?”
Niklaus let it slide. The priestesses couldn’t help but interfere where they weren’t wanted. It was in their nature. They hated that they didn’t control him, yet were in awe of him being chosen by the goddess.
“I have some questions I’d like answers to,” he said instead.
Matriarch Adeline motioned for him to follow her away from the worshipers. “I’ll answer as best I can. But there are things about our order that are secret unless you’re an ordained priestess. But first, tell me why you scared the girl away?”
Niklaus shot her a cautious glance. The fact that she referred to one of her own ordained priestesses as “a girl” said a lot about her. Then again, at her age, almost all the priestesses under her must seem like girls. But she had to know why he’d acted as he had, so her question was designed to create a bond between them. A closeness. Be wary, he told himself. The Matriarch was used to manipulating others and extremely good at it. It took more than faith and devotion to rise to the top in the dog-eat-dog Church of the goddess. Only the fit survived, unlike in other Churches, such as the Church of the Five.
“She annoyed me,” he said.
It was the truth, though the Matriarch would not take the correct meaning from his words. The priestess had annoyed him because her attempt to entice him was so see-through, so blatant. And for the fact she did indeed resemble the goddess, as much as any normal woman could without the magnificence of the divine.
“She worships the goddess, as do we all. She was doing what she thought right.”
Blood suffused Niklaus’s face. He tried to dampen his anger. “She doesn’t know me. You don’t know me.”
“The goddess knows you,” the Matriarch said quietly.
“And she guides me. Best you remember that. I go where she directs.”
“And where is that these days? She brought you here for a reason, but you haven’t done much these past few weeks.”
Don’t tell her, Niklaus thought.
But maybe the goddess’s priestesses deserved to know something … What if she wanted them to know?
Then she would tell me, he decided.
“I’ve felt vague urgings only,” he said. “But the goddess has never before had me wait when she wants something done. So patience, priestess. I’ll tell you when I know.”
The Matriarch’s eyes flashed in anger at his lower form of address. But she looked away, swallowing her fury. He shouldn’t have pushed her, but hadn’t been able to help himself.
“Please make sure you do,” she said through tight lips. “We can help. We are here to further her glory.”
“As are we all,” he said, echoing her earlier words. “Now, tell me what you know about the gods. Did they spring from nothing? Or are they gifted people who have ascended far above us?”
He knew what he’d been taught by his tutor when he was young: the gods were coalesced from powers unknown. But the man had been a fool, more interested in chasing the maids than searching for truths.
The memory of his childhood sent a pang of longing and regret through him. He clamped down on it, pushing it aside. Memories were nebulous things, bringing a myriad of emotions from joy to anger. There were gaps in his memories, he knew, and he figured it was because of new ones pushing out the old to make room. Some details of his early life he could remember clearly, while others were hazy and indistinct, or simply not there at all. Sometimes he wondered how much he had forgotten and whether not remembering changed who he was.
“That is a question many scholars have pondered,” the Matriarch said.
“And you? I’d trust your thoughts over those of a hundred dried-up old bookworms. What is the nature of the gods? Where did they come from?”
It was best to start with generalities and let the Matriarch believe her answers led him along a certain line of thought.
She smiled wryly. “We are taught the goddess has always been. But there are old histories, tomes thought lost long ago, that I have seen …” She eyed him sideways. “Some speculate that the gods and goddesses were human once—sorcerers and wielders of some other power the texts are vague about. The more powerful they grew, the less they cared about mundane matters, and the more obsessed they became with guiding the world. Of course, with so many of them ‘guiding’, the world couldn’t help but be twisted this way and that.”
He wasn’t sure he could trust her words, but they were a start. He wondered what Sylva Kalisia would do to him if he found out the Matriarch had lied to him, and he lost his temper and killed her.
“Yes, the gods have made a bit of a mess of things,” he said.
She frowned and glanced around, as if expecting one to pop out and chastise him. “It’s best not to speak ill of the divine. Although I suppose you have n
othing to fear, being under the goddess’s protection.”
Niklaus grunted. “It’s not that simple. And I’ve scars to prove it.”
Time to dangle a carrot for the shriveled prune. The priestesses had been at him to examine the sword ever since he’d arrived. They considered it one of the goddess’s artifacts, a holy relic or some such.
“I want to know if it’s possible for a human to become a god,” he said. “Consult your dusty tomes; buy any you think might have answers, no matter the cost; and speak to whoever you need to. If I’m satisfied, I’ll hand over her sword for you to examine. For a short time.”
Adeline’s breath caught in her throat. “Can I see it now?” Her eyes went to the hilt of the sword poking over his shoulder, then narrowed. “Why now, after we’ve asked so many times, and you’ve refused? Is this information you’re after part of the goddess’s mission?”
“Yes,” lied Niklaus. “And you’ll get your hands on the sword when I’m ready and you’ve proven your worth.”
Her lips tightened. “I’m a Matriarch. I’ve already proven myself many times.”
“Not to me you haven’t.”
She sighed. “Very well. I’ll do as you ask. But only because she wills it.”
“We all follow her path,” Niklaus said slowly, to give the words weight. “Search for the information I need quickly and thoroughly. The goddess will make sure you’re rewarded for your efforts.”
Adeline hissed through clenched teeth. “You go too far. Don’t you dare speak for her. And serving her is its own reward.”
Niklaus inclined his head in false apology. “Of course it is. Please, forgive me. Sometimes my eagerness to serve her makes my words clumsy. I’m not an educated priestess like yourself. I’ll come and see you when I’m back.”
“Where are you going? Perhaps we can help.”
Niklaus shook his head. “I work alone, except for her presence.”
Let the conniving bitch chew on that.
It was possible the Matriarch could help with his quest to join the goddess, but he wanted to know what he was getting into before asking her for help. She might think he owed her a favor then, and that was something he didn’t want. Besides, he was getting ahead of himself. He hadn’t met with the necromancer he’d tracked down yet, and wasn’t sure if this was the right avenue to follow. But if he was to reach his goal, no stone could be left unturned. Crossing the veil between life and death was a puzzle he’d long sought to solve.
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