From beyond the slit window she could hear the cries of gulls. She strained her ears, but heard nothing more. Was she in the Steiner Mansion? It would be busy, surely, with guards and servants. Her window opened onto sky, yet she could not hear the clatter of a passing cart, nor the distant commotion of the docks. Just gulls. She thought about getting up, and trying to see out, but she didn't feel up to that just now.
Marya. Marya had betrayed her. Except that now, so soon after the event, it did not surprise her. How could she not have seen? Fourteen years. She'd said it herself, to Marya's maid, just before she'd gone inside. Fourteen years was a long time. Marya had always been traditional. Conservative. She cared for people, and had always conformed her own needs to the needs of the family. And now Marya had children of her own, heirs to the great power of Family Steiner. Of course they mattered more to her than a long-lost sister. Sasha had made the mistake of assuming that Marya's simple compassion would override that family loyalty at least to a small degree, when she discovered that her family were doing bad things. But no…that would mean Marya placing herself, and her own opinions and wants, ahead of those of her immediate family. And Marya never had. And now, it seemed, probably never would.
Sasha put a hand to the back of her neck. It hurt, and was swollen. She hoped Marya had at least heated the needle first, for her sister's sake. Probably Patachi Steiner had ordered it, and Father Portus had been the bait. Why her? Had she been in danger of discovering something? Or were they looking for leverage on Kessligh? A cold knot formed in her stomach. As a hostage, they could threaten her with things, if Kessligh did not do what they wanted. How Kessligh would respond, she could not guess. Did not want to guess. Kessligh would not take kindly to blackmail. But then, surely he would not wish her in greater danger, either. Sasha had heard of the families’ methods in such matters, the fingers or ears sent to the loved ones…
She hit the mattress in a rush of frustration. All her life she'd fought the natural expectation of weakness that came with being what she was-a girl, and a princess at that. Now she was a weak, pitiable hostage. Well, she thought grimly, not for long. The first chance I get, I'm either getting out, or I'll die trying. Better that than for them to use her as a knife at Kessligh's heart. Even if she lived to tell of it, she wasn't certain she could survive the shame.
Soon enough, a plate slid aside on the door and a man peered in. Then the door unbolted and an armoured guard stepped in, carrying a tray. Sasha eyed him from her bed. If she was going to try something, it was better she scouted a little first. The guard wore black over chain mail that covered head and arms. There were metal gauntlets for gloves and extended forearm guards, to say nothing of shin guards and helm. He even carried a shield-square on top, pointed at the bottom. Emblazoned in silver on his black vest was an eight-pointed Verenthane star.
He set down the tray and left the room, with barely a glance in her direction. Sasha sighed as the bolts clacked shut once more. At least now she knew where she was. She'd not seen a man of the Holy Guard before, but she'd heard them described. They were heavily armoured after a little incident half a year back when Rhillian had managed to sneak inside the temple and confront Archbishop Augine directly. Exactly what she and the archbishop had discussed, Rhillian had never exactly said…but she had admitted to killing three of the Holy Guard before making her escape. There would be no tackling one of the Holy Guard barehanded, that was certain. But all that armour slowed a man down. If she could deprive him of a weapon, perhaps…
Then she would have to think of a way to escape from within the confines of the Porsada Temple. Once again, she'd only heard it described. The Holy Guard were numerous these days. Even if she stole a guardsman's sword, it would not have the balance of a svaalverd blade, nor the sharpness. Fighting her way out single-handed was possibly not the smartest plan.
She ate the meal, figuring that light bread, soup and water meant it was still lunchtime. The lack of shadow from the window seemed to confirm that. The food was plain, but not bad. At least it seemed the priests did not wish her punished in any way. Yet.
To better absorb her lunch, she sat cross-legged on her bed, and meditated. Kessligh swore by it, but Sasha was more sceptical; she'd never been one to sit still and think of nothing for any period. Still, it made her feel better to be doing something, an activity she could control toward her own ends. And, when thinking of nothing lost its appeal entirely, she thought instead of everything she knew about Porsada Temple: which way the road came in along the ridge, the nature of its cliffs, the proximity of its walls to the sheer drop below.
After her headache had cleared somewhat, she sat on the flagstone floor and did stretches. It was common Nasi-Keth knowledge that poisons or potions of any sort could be hastened from the body by exercise. When she felt up to it, she tried sit-ups and push-ups, and then jumps and running on the spot…which felt a little ridiculous with the dress bouncing around her legs. The air inside the cell was stifling and she was soon dripping with sweat, making unsightly dark stains beneath the armpits of her dress sleeves. Take that, horrid thing.
She turned her attention to the slit window, but it seemed entirely out of her reach.
She shifted the bed directly beneath the window-the bedframe was heavy wood and squealed on the flagstones. Jumping from the end, she came close, but not enough.
She examined the mattress, which seemed to be stuffed with straw. Beneath, the bed frame was wooden slats. Easy solution. She wrestled the mattress off the bed, with some effort, and set about turning the bed frame on its end. Her balance was still not fully recovered, but she finally managed it and pushed the frame as close as possible to the wall. Then she climbed the slats.
Peering through the window slit, she could see nothing but ocean, and the sun seemed to be now to the right…so she guessed she was facing roughly east, straight out to sea. Right at the tip of the promontory, perhaps. If she were not, she should be able to see the huge temple spires. Perhaps she was directly beneath a spire. Or in one.
The door bolts squealed and clacked, but Sasha didn't bother moving. The door swung open and she looked down to see a guard blinking up at her. “Hello,” she said cheerfully. “Have you come to look up my dress?”
“Get down from there.”
It would have been too much to ask for the Holy Guard to have a sense of humour, Sasha supposed. “You think I'm going to escape through this little thing? I can barely get my arm through.”
“Get down or I'll knock you down.” If he risked physical contact, she could grab his sword, or his knife. But there was his companion behind, and doubtless more outside. She'd do better to wait.
Sasha sighed and climbed down the slats. “You could have at least put me in a room with an accessible view.”
“The archbishop wants to see you,” said the guard.
“The Archbishop of Torovan?” said Sasha, feigning astonishment. “Gosh. But I have nothing to wear!”
The guard tied her wrists with tight cord first. Sasha decided against resisting or refusing-they could have beaten her senseless first, had they chosen. Besides, she wanted to get out of her cell and take a look around. The guard escorted her out of the door, which opened onto a downward spiral of stairs. She was in of one of the spires then. One guard led the way, another at her back, each with a shield and a sword at the hip.
The stairs descended into a grand room, high-ceilinged with great, gilt-framed paintings on the stone walls. Gold filigree traced patterns across the ceiling, from which golden chandeliers hung. On the right, large windows looked onto Petrodor Harbour and a warm breeze whispered at white, billowing curtains. At a table before the windows sat an old man in black robes. He sipped at a golden winecup and gazed out at the harbour below. He had white hair about a bald spot and a big chin that had surely once been square, but was now developing jowls. Upon the stand behind him hung a tall, black hat. A cane rested against the wall beside his chair.
He studied Sasha with sharp b
lue eyes and smiled thinly. “Dear girl.” His voice was educated, and condescending…and yet, somehow, not entirely convincing for a man of his stature. “Please, do sit.” He gestured to the chair opposite.
Sasha walked, a guard at her side, testing her bonds as she went. They were tight and her right hand was going numb. The guard pulled the chair for her and she sat.
“It is customary, my dear, to first kneel before the archbishop, when entering his presence. Even for a princess.”
“Is it also customary to bind the hands of your lunch guests?” Sasha retorted.
The archbishop made a vague gesture with his winecup, sunlight shining upon his many gold rings. “You are not my lunch guest and I'm certain you can kneel with your hands tied.”
“And get back up again? Not when I'm dizzy from that needle.”
The archbishop looked at her, his blue eyes cool. “You are a pagan. That is why you do not kneel. You have rejected your gods.”
“Not my gods,” said Sasha. They regarded each other. This was the most powerful Verenthane in all Rhodia, she knew. With the holy temples of Enora, Rhodaan and Ilduur in the Saaalshen Bacosh out of direct Verenthane control, Petrodor had become the centre of Verenthane faith in Rhodia. For no better reason, Kessligh said, than it was where all the money was. This was Archbishop Augine himself, one of the very greatest men of all the lands. And yet she was not impressed.
He tried to look at ease. He tried to look comfortable. Yet unease lurked behind his smile and the comfortable remark. Perhaps the archbishop simply suffered from being compared, in her mind, to great Lenay men she had known. Men who wore power comfortably, and indeed radiated it as a cloak of honour. Or perhaps he was simply not a very impressive man. In Lenay opinion, there was nothing more contemptuous than a fraud, except perhaps a coward. Sasha resolved to find out.
“Regard this view,” the archbishop offered, gesturing with his winecup. “It is magnificent, is it not? The best view in all Petrodor.”
Sasha looked, and found that it was. The city-every dwelling, every road, every detail, in sprawling profusion about the harbour. The high sun, sparkling on the waters, and the silhouette of ships and rigging against that golden light.
“I've been out fishing on that harbour,” Sasha volunteered. “Have you?”
“In my youth,” said the archbishop. He flicked her a sideways glance. Then up, about at the walls. “Do you recognise these paintings?”
Sasha half turned in her chair and surveyed the walls. “That one would be the Enoran High Temple. And that's Saint Tristen on Mount Tristen. And that's Saint Sadis, and that's Saint Ambellion, of course. Not the others, though.” She was supposed to be impressed. And intimidated. The cumulative weight of Verenthane history pressed down upon this grand chamber. As though all of the gods and saints were watching.
Sasha stared at the archbishop. “You're drinking wine? Is that proper?”
“It is the Torovan tradition, even amongst clergy,” said the archbishop with a frown. “Tell me-”
“Is it proper that I should be here?” Sasha continued, not missing a beat. “I mean, this is Porsada Temple, the holiest temple in all Rhodia.”
“Second holiest,” said the archbishop, with the first trace of temper.
“Ah yes, the Enora High Temple comes first, doesn't it? These are your private chambers.” Sasha glanced around. “The archbishop's quarters? When was the last time a woman set foot in these quarters? When was the last time you even spoke to a woman? In Baen-Tar, even the new priests would run away from me. But now I'm being held in a secure room in your chambers. Tell me, are you in the habit of holding young women hostage in your chambers? Does anyone else even know I'm here?”
There was no mistaking the temper in the archbishop's eyes now. “You should recall to whom you're speaking, young lady.”
Sasha shrugged. “I'm just wondering how seriously you take this ‘holy vows’ stuff here in Petrodor. I mean, we hear all the stories in Lenayin-all the little boys buggered behind the altar, that kind of thing. And now you're drinking wine and holding pretty girls hostage for your private amusement…”
“You are being held here as a direct favour to your dear sister Marya!” hissed the archbishop between clenched teeth. “I did inform her that it would be highly improper for a woman to be quartered in the temple, but she did insist! You should be thankful for my mercy that you were not given directly into the hands of Family Steiner, I doubt they'd have arranged such comfortable lodgings for you as we have.”
“What would they do?” Sasha asked darkly. “Start pulling out fingernails?”
“At the very least. You cause great difficulties for Family Steiner, young lady. Have you no sympathy at all for the difficult position into which you put your sister?”
“Oh poor darling,” Sasha muttered. “I'm sure her fancy clothes and jewellery are just chafing right now.”
“Your love of family seems wanting,” the archbishop observed, recovering some of his poise. “Do you hold as much disdain for all the tenets of Verenthane morality?”
“Marya made her choice,” Sasha said shortly. “I've made mine.”
“Be aware, Sashandra Lenayin, that your position here is most tenuous.” The archbishop sipped at his wine and considered the view. “I could hand you to Family Steiner at any time should your behaviour displease me. As you have observed, it is not proper for you to be here at all. Do not grant me an even greater incentive to unload this burden with which I am presented.”
“Unload?” Sasha said with contempt. “Or sell cheap, like the cheap salesman you are? You don't practise morality here, the priesthood of Petrodor never has. You just buy and sell like all the other merchants. Buy off the families to keep you happy. Trade favours when it suits you. Peddle influence. I may be Goeren-yai, but I've known many good Verenthanes in Lenayin, priests amongst them. Their gods were never so short of gold and treasure as yours seem to be.”
“You doubt my resolve,” said the archbishop icily. “We have already disposed of one Nasi-Keth girl this morning. My guards found her hiding near your meeting place on the Cliff of the Dead. I'm told she put up a stubborn resistance and would have escaped had it not been for an excellent crossbowman. If you wish to join her at the bottom of the harbour, please just say so, and we shall dispense with these tiresome games and insults…”
Sasha lifted the table with an explosive heave. The archbishop toppled backward and Sasha rushed forward, but a guard threw her to the ground. She fell awkwardly, struggling to rise with tied hands, but a shield crashed into her side, throwing her further from the archbishop. She rolled fast, but an armoured boot in the side stopped her, and then one crashed into her head and stunned her. It was several kicks later before her head cleared. A kick in the back was agony and one in the stomach drove the breath from her lungs. She curled up and braced as hard as she could, arms over her head to protect what mattered most. Then the kicks stopped.
She lay still, breathing hard, trying to listen past the pain. She heard the archbishop's voice, disappointingly calm and reassuring, talking to the guards. The squeal and crash of the table being returned to its place. Candleholders resettled. Then a hand grabbed her under each armpit and hauled her up. Her feet barely touched the floor until the guards dumped her in the chair once more.
Sasha tried licking her lips, but it hurt to move her jaw. Her ear stung and her mouth was tender. When she dared to move her tongue past her lips, she tasted blood. She couldn't quite manage to sit straight on the chair, her back and ribs hurt and the world kept trying to tip sideways.
“That was ill advised,” said the archbishop. A servant came scurrying to put a new cup of wine in his hand. He sipped it, trying hard to look unperturbed. Smug shit, Sasha thought. She nearly rushed him again, just to prove her contempt. Only the thought of injury stopped her. If she were injured further, she'd never escape. “You seem a little dense, although given your reputation, that is hardly surprising. Let me explain to you
how this arrangement will work.
“You will tell me things about the Nasi-Keth. Or not me, not precisely-my interrogators. Where they live, how many they are, what the current political situation is like-and I understand it is quite fragmented-all of this. Should you not, I shall change my more polite interrogator for a less gentlemanly variety with ingenious inventions to make even the stubbornest Lenay princess talk. And then, you shall be very sorry.”
“You hurt me,” Sasha half mumbled with uncooperative lips, “and Kessligh will kill you. No…he'll gut you and make sure you live long enough to see what colour your insides are.”
“Kessligh's followers are Verenthanes, even if he himself has lapsed,” the archbishop said confidently. “If he wishes to retain any of his fast-fading support on the dockfront, he'll not dare touch a hair on my head.”
It didn't make sense, Sasha reflected, back on her bed in the cell. Her hands had been untied and she lay on her back with arms above her head to stop her bruises from stiffening.
The archbishop only wanted her for information? Not likely. He seemed very concerned about Kessligh, that was certain. It was more likely blackmail, she reckoned. Blackmail to keep Kessligh from interfering in whatever came next. Probably they would not risk harming her, as long as she remained useful-which would be for as long as Kessligh remained powerful. Kessligh would not remain powerful for very long if blackmail prevented him from acting…or, if in acting, he lost his best guarantee of prestige within the Nasi-Keth-his uma. However she figured it, she had to get out of here.
So what came next? Priests were being murdered. Something was afoot within the brotherhood. Something concerning Family Steiner. Something for which those involved wished Kessligh neutralised in advance. She knew she could not begin to guess. Possibly Kessligh would…but she doubted the plotters would leave much advance warning. Just long enough to let Kessligh know they had her. No fingers-probably Marya had made them swear they would not harm her. Marya was important enough that even the archbishop didn't dare break faith with her. Perhaps Marya herself would tell Kessligh. Kessligh would believe her with no severed fingers necessary.
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