The Temple of Sacrifice

by Tameri Etherton

  She cradled him in her arms until they both fell into a deep sleep. When she woke the next morning, he was sleeping beside her, a small smile on his lips. She lay with him until his eyelashes fluttered and his eyes opened.

  “Good morning, my love,” she said, kissing his lips.

  “You are too good for me. I do not deserve you.”

  “We deserve each other.”

  He held her close, breathing in the scent of her hair. “You are selfless in your devotion and I betrayed you. I am not worthy.”

  “Do not talk like that. It does no good.” Taryn searched his eyes, but he held back from her. He’d retreated into the dark place once more. “We must continue to the vier.”

  They rode on, stopping at night and riding hard by day. When they neared the vier, Kaida bounded ahead of them, oblivious of the veils and wards set to protect the Narthvier. She was just as excited as Taryn to be home again. “Kaida, go see your family. Come to the Weirren when you’re ready.”

  Kaida bowed her head. I have done what I can for the Surtentse. Now it is up to the tree-things to heal him.

  She ran off before Taryn had a chance to thank her. With Kaida gone, she felt more alone than ever since arriving on Aelinae. She looked at Rhoane, at the distance in his eyes and the dirt on his face. He wasn’t her Rhoane anymore. She didn’t know the stranger who rode beside her.

  When King Stephan saw Rhoane, the sadness in his eyes almost crushed her spirit. It wasn’t just the king who grieved for his son, but the entire court, their prince. The Eleri regarded Taryn with new fears and doubts, placing the blame of Rhoane’s malaise upon her, she was certain.

  After she settled Rhoane in his room, Taryn met first with Carga to explain all that happened and then went to see King Stephan, with Rhoane’s sister for support. Bressal demanded Rhoane be sheanna, but Taryn argued against such a drastic measure. When he insisted, Taryn showed him the rune representing his oath to follow her, to be her servant if need be.

  King Stephan stepped between them. “Rhoane will be purified.”

  “I must be purified with him.” Stephan looked at her in surprise and Taryn confessed that she’d taken Rhoane into her body as a means to heal him.

  “You are not all-powerful, Taryn. Your touch can heal, but this is beyond you. Only the collective Eleri can heal the soul of one who is tainted,” Stephan explained.

  “Tomorrow, I will perform the ceremony for Rhoane and you as well. It will not be easy and you will not like what you discover about yourself, but it must be done,” Carga said.

  Taryn was suddenly afraid. “Will it hurt him?”

  “Still you think of him before yourself?” A note of sadness tinged Carga’s words.

  “He is a part of me and when he hurts, I feel it. I need him, Carga. I cannot be Darennsai without him.”

  “Of that, you are wrong, Taryn,” Stephan interjected. “Rhoane is broken. Only he can bring himself from the dark place where he resides. His love for you kept him strong until now. We can only hope it will be enough.”

  “Broken?” Taryn asked, confused. Tainted she understood—broken was new.

  “When the crown princess took him into her body, she split his spirit in two. Purification will ease his suffering, but only Rhoane can heal that which has been torn asunder,” Carga explained.

  “I do not understand. When Carga and Zakael were together, she was not harmed.”

  “That was mutual, Taryn. I wanted to share my body. Marissa stole something from Rhoane he was not willing to give.” Carga wrapped her arms around Taryn. “You will both be purified, but you must brace yourself for the possibility you will be alone in the end.”

  Restful sleep eluded Taryn that night. Instead, she dreamt of a dark castle where an ominous shadow crept from the corner and whispered ancient words to her. She tossed against the covers, her hands reaching for Rhoane and finding cold, empty blankets. The nightmare shifted to her beautiful sister. Her black curls glistened in the moonlight and her lavender eyes flashed with gaiety. In an instant, her visage changed.

  Rhoane knelt at her side, a collar around his neck, a golden chain dangling from Marissa’s fingers. “He is mine, dear sister.”

  “No.” Taryn wheezed in her sleep. “No.”

  Marissa yanked on the chain and Rhoane’s head snapped back until Taryn saw the thin line beneath the leather collar. Her sister bent low, taking her time to reach Rhoane’s lips. An ephemeral light passed between them and Taryn woke screaming.

  Carga burst through the door, followed closely by Illanr and Carld, and then Eoghan.

  Drenched in sweat and shaking, Taryn did her best to calm her rattled nerves. “It was a nightmare. Nothing more. Please, go back to bed. I am fine, really.”

  Carga checked her forehead while the faerie maids fussed with her nightclothes and bed linens. Eoghan, completely out of sorts in her bedchamber, excused himself. Rhoane stumbled in a moment later, looking ruffled and dazed.

  “She is well, brother. Return to your slumber.”

  “Let me see for myself.” Rhoane pushed past Carga to Taryn’s bedside. He stood for several moments without speaking before saying at last, “Can I get you anything?”

  Snappy retorts bubbled to her lips and she bit them against her tongue. “No, my love. I had a nightmare, nothing new.” Her wistful smile did not diminish the worry in his eyes. “Tomorrow is a big day. You need your rest.” Her fingertips trailed along his as he turned away from the bed. The sound of his footsteps shuffling against the wood floor echoed his retreat.

  When the others left her rooms, she curled tight against herself and sobbed into her pillow, muffling the sound. Taryn feared her nightmare had become real. That Marissa had stolen Rhoane’s soul so completely there was nothing left of the man she loved.

  The next morning, Taryn shivered beside the lake, naked except for her unbound hair and a tiny circlet Carga had placed upon her head. The purification ceremony was performed at sunrise, when the last of the night’s stars were making their descent below the horizon to the west. Rhoane flinched when she reached for his hand, but did not pull away. Carga stood with Verdaine, Nadra, and Ohlin, chanting the ancient words of absolution. A haze of discordant voices and sounds joined the chanting and Taryn tapped her foot, impatient for the ceremony to be complete, for Rhoane to be healed. The chanting continued. The tapping became more pronounced. Oil and then ash was poured over their heads in a greasy, sticky mess that Taryn endured. She would endure anything for Rhoane. If only they could hurry the ceremony along.

  Carga’s gentle voice said, “Open yourself, Taryn. Allow their healing into your soul, your spirit, your body.”

  This irritated Taryn. Rhoane needed healing, not her.

  The icy water of the lake numbed her legs and then her torso as she stepped farther and farther into its depths until she was totally submerged. She waited beneath the surface with Rhoane, their hair floating around them in a tangled mass of silver and brown. He kept his gaze rooted to her, a look of concern on his pale face. As he stood with her in their watery purgation, she hoped with every fiber of her being he would recover. A slow shimmering started in her solar plexus, then spread through her body into Rhoane’s, illuminating the water around them. Rhoane’s eyes grew wide and she shook her head by way of saying she didn’t know what was happening.

  A loud cacophony sounded in her mind—ancient generations of Eleri adding their voice and power to the ceremony. Their ShantiMari pierced and pinched every inch of her body. The song Carga chanted rose in cadence and the ancients joined their sister in joyful harmony. Visions dating to the making of Aelinae danced through her mind.

  The Eleri were a people of many planets, not just this one. The revelation shocked Taryn.

  Her stomach cramped violently and she doubled over in pain. Rhoane tightened his grip on her, a look of panic creasing his features. The urge to vomit overwhelmed her, but she refused to open her mouth to the freezing water for fear Rykoto would drown her again.<
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  The black stain Rykoto said Kaldaar had given her throbbed, threatening to constrict her heart. She fought against it, writhing in the depths of the lake. Fear settled in Rhoane’s eyes and he motioned for them to rise to the surface, but she shook her head.

  Nadra’s voice whispered in her mind. Daughter of Aelinae, do not fight against the Blackness in your heart. Embrace it. Become one with that power as you do the trinity. You will not be whole without it. Settle your mind and hear the voice of your people. Let them heal that which is broken inside you.

  Taryn frowned, not understanding. Rhoane was broken, not her.

  She and Rhoane opened their minds to the ancients. Their thoughts were as one with all Eleri. She witnessed his entire life. From his birth and Verdaine’s prophecy to what brought them there that day. Again she experienced his fury at Marissa for stealing his purity. The sheer amount of ire he kept suppressed washed over her. The hell he’d been through since Gaarendahl and torment of every moment devastated her all over again. She shared in his shame, as did all the Eleri. They did not recoil from Rhoane’s brutality, but took his anguish into their hearts to cleanse him of his taint. To heal what was broken.

  When Rhoane finished, she shared her past with the Eleri. They saw the small flat above the pub where she and Brandt lived for many years, all the places they hid until they could return to Aelinae, her first faltering steps in the cavern when she was bewildered and amazed there was such a thing as another world. She shared her doubts and fears about who Lliandra said she was. Finally, she understood what Nadra meant. She existed in a schism of beliefs, clinging to the girl who was unimportant on Earth, not trusting her importance to Aelinae.

  How long they stayed submerged, she didn’t know. When she had nothing left to give, Rhoane whispered, It is time, and they emerged from the water to stand before her people. In their faces, she saw compassion, not condemnation as she’d expected.

  Rhoane. Her sweet Rhoane.

  His face, above all, stayed in her mind as she opened herself and accepted she was the Darennsai. She was not just Taryn, but the Eirielle, the Child of Light and Dark. The gyota of Verdaine’s prophecy. And she knew what all of it meant. She was not afraid. She allowed herself to finally believe.

  The voices and the chanting stopped.

  All of the world stalled for one solitary moment. Then came a long sigh, as if the universe welcomed her. She reached for the heavens and sought Brandt in the clouds. She cried out to him that she understood.

  Everything he’d ever taught her, she knew. Kaida wailed in the distance and she howled with her friend. They were one, the grierbas and Taryn. Far away, beyond the wall, there was a great flapping of wings Taryn found very curious. She nodded to Aislinn, understanding that now was not the time. She missed the Eleri queen so very much.

  Someone held her. Warm, strong, loving arms rocked her. She looked up into the face of Verdaine. Her tricolored eyes were full of laughter and mirth. The colors of a fall leaf—golden and auburn with touches of green—swirled together as her long hair danced on the breeze.

  “Welcome, my daughter. Long have I waited for you,” Verdaine said in a voice like the rustling of trees on a windy summer’s day.

  “And I you,” Taryn said, reaching up to stroke her face. “You are so beautiful.”

  “As are you, my daughter.”

  Weightless, Taryn’s body sunk into the goddess. Before she fell asleep, she murmured against Verdaine’s neck, “Please help Rhoane. He needs you more than I right now.” And her world went dark.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The crown princess paced her room, throwing items at random, and spewing curses that would make a pirate blush. Her agitation upset Valterys in ways he didn’t like to dwell upon. Since learning of her pregnancy, his opinion of her had altered, and a protectiveness swelled inside his intentionally cold heart. He waited until the tirade abated before stepping into her bedchamber, startling her.

  “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be tending to Rykoto or torturing someone? You’re as sick as your son, do you know that?” Her hand fluttered over her belly and tears glistened in her eyes. “He refused me. Me! After what I did for him, he refuses to bed me.” She broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, her hands covering her face.

  Valterys took her in his arms, comforting her. “Shhh, you don’t want to upset the baby. You’re safe, dear one. Tell me what happened.”

  Through choked sobs, she told him of the events at Gaarendahl, from Zakael’s tedious games to seduce Taryn, which the stupid girl had refused to play, to her rape of Rhoane.

  “It was his idea, the cunning bastard. Now he says I’m tainted like the Eleri and won’t touch me.”

  Valterys filled in the missing information with what he knew of his son. Most likely, Zakael was looking for a reason to dismiss Marissa and concocted the scheme for exactly that reason. Being with child, he couldn’t abuse her as he’d like, which meant she had no value to him. He’d raised his son to be cruel, but in his refusal to bed Marissa, he was showing kindness. Unfortunately, the princess would never see it that way.

  “I’ll speak to Zakael. I’m certain this is just a misunderstanding.” Surely there was a way Zakael could satisfy her needs without endangering the baby. Thinking of Marissa’s needs made his groin grow warm, his desire to heighten.

  Marissa fluttered her eyelashes. “My lord?” Her heavy breaths pressed her bosom against his chest and he drew in a shaky breath.

  “You know I can’t. Rykoto would kill us both.” His words lacked conviction. Most likely Rykoto would care piss-all if he bedded Marissa. At least, that’s what his traitorous mind told him, and he desperately wanted to believe the lie.

  “Please.”

  The whispered word dissolved the last of his reserve. He took her mouth with his, savagely claiming her. He tasted blood where he’d cut her lips, but continued raking his tongue against hers.

  She tore at his shirt, loosening it and pulling it over his head, breaking their connection. Before he could stop her, she had his breeches unfastened and around his ankles, her hot little mouth on his swollen member. He moaned and grasped a handful of her hair. Rykoto must never know. The thought dampened his lust, but Marissa stoked his flames until Rykoto was nothing more than an irritation he’d deal with later. Much later.

  He knew what Marissa craved, had always known, and provided just the right amount of pain. She needed a man like him. Someone who gave her exactly what she needed and yet treated her with respect. Zakael was young, but he was also impetuous and headstrong. He didn’t know how to treat a woman of Marissa’s stature. Didn’t know how to treat a woman of any stature, truth be told. Zakael used men and women as playthings, nothing more. He took from them what he could, then discarded them like dolls from an errant child.

  Zakael was a fool for throwing aside the crown princess and Valterys knew exactly how to take her mind off the heartbreak his son had caused. Her moans and cries echoed through the room each time he touched her sensitive breasts or placed his mouth over her delicious mound.

  Her squirms and pants excited him further until he couldn’t contain his desire and pounded into her, releasing his charge to her shuddering cries. Afterward, he lay beside her, languidly stroking her creamy skin, wondering why he’d denied them this pleasure for so long. Marissa slipped a hand over his cock and rubbed until he grew hard again.

  “More?” Valterys asked, surprised he’d not satisfied her.

  “Much more.” She stretched a leg over him and straddled his erection. And for the next week, that’s what he gave her.

  Her appetite was not easily satiated, but Valterys did his best, finding new ways to entertain them or playing with some of Marissa’s more exotic toys. Several times she allowed one of her maids to join in, a buxom lass with burnished curls and skin to match. Valterys might’ve stayed in Talaith for the rest of his days, but Marissa had let slip the Shadow Assassin had been imprisoned in Celyn Eryri.

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sp; With a kiss to Marissa’s sleeping form, Valterys slipped from her room and transformed into a levon. He took flight from her balcony, heading toward the northwest. If Lliandra had the assassin in chains, Valterys needed to see the man for himself.

  Needed to know Zakael was not controlling the demon.

  The castle stood as it had all those long seasons ago when he was the Lord of the Court and competed in the games. He shook the thought from his mind. It would do no good remembering. Sadness clung to him like an unwanted tether. There was too much of his life he’d relegated to the far reaches of his memories.

  He perched atop a steeple, observing the comings and goings of the court. The games had ended nearly a moonturn earlier, but Lliandra stayed on at the castle until just before Frost End. It’s what had always happened, and far be it for the empress to alter tradition.

  His beak clicked with his smile. After checking the position of the sun, he surmised at that very moment Lliandra would be in her rooms, resting. Which meant she was being thoroughly pleasured by one of her young studs. He idly wondered which of the victors had caught her attention at this season’s competitions. Even when Valterys was her lover, Lliandra had invited the winners to her bedchamber. It was all he could do to tolerate that part of the Light Celebrations, but there had been many opportunities for him to fulfill his desires as well.

  The levon’s beady, black eyes drifted toward the dungeons and a heady warmth spread through the bird’s chest. He knew those dungeons well and could guess at which cell they kept the prisoner. There would be time for that later. He lifted off the iron bar and coasted toward Lliandra’s rooms. The heavy glass windows were sealed shut, but he landed on an empty planter box outside the one that gave the best view.

  As expected, the empress writhed on the bed with a man a tenth her age, if that. Her golden hair fanned around her, creating a halo for her angelic features. Everything about Lliandra was staged for maximum effect and he was certain she kept herself from moving too much and mussing her glorious tresses. The man—or boy, rather—pumping furiously into her seemed to care little what the empress looked like. His focus was on her breasts, his breath coming in great gasps.