The architecture changed the closer she got to the center of the city. The buildings became smaller, newer. Some of them were built into thick, tall trees with sprawling canopies, while others had sandy stone walls.
She’d never ventured far into the Freow Woods, north of the city, herself, but the tree houses did remind her of a forest. The main difference between the trees in the Freow Woods and the tree houses of Lho Allanar could be seen in their placement. The tree houses adhered to the structure of the city. They didn’t listen to the call of nature.
Hope arrived at a grand plaza, alongside a dozen elves in tattered robes, while a line formed outside of one of the shrines. The shrine had three walls, twenty tables, and a large statue of the goddess which watched everyone from the backmost wall.
The line consisted of the homeless, aged, and sick. They were fed in the morning, and late at night, when the crowds of Lho Allanar had dispersed. When those with love in their hearts had gone home, so those consumed by hatred could show themselves outside without being harassed.
Hope had waited in many lines to various shrines, as an orphan. If it hadn’t been for one of the temples’ workers, an old lady, she might still wait in line with everyone else. She might have been forced to sell her own body.
Or she might have gotten stabbed in an alley. She’d often been scared that her numerous tormentors would murder her, because it seemed like nothing more than their lack of imagination prevented it from happening. If someone had had the idea that she should be killed, that could have been it.
It felt wrong for her to stop and stare at the line and the lone worker offering food to those in need without doing something, so she walked over to them. At first, the malnourished faces of men, women, and children reacted with the usual apprehension. Then they saw her coat, the coat of an inquisitor, and had to remind themselves to conceal their fear and loathing.
She knew they would not dare do or say anything to her, however, so she strode up to the worker who’d placed a rickety table with soup and bowls in front of the shrine. He looked like he’d seen a ghost when he noticed her, but quickly changed that expression into a hesitant smile and stopped pouring soup with his ladle.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, inquisit—“
“Don’t call me that,” Hope said. “I wish to help. I’m a concerned citizen.”
“I don’t need—“
“Maybe you don’t need help, but they do.” Hope grabbed one of the ladles he had placed on the table, a stack of bowls, and joined him in his work.
Everyone seemed hesitant, like she would poison their food. They’d probably heard stories about both her, the hate monster, and the work of other inquisitors.
A young elven girl stepped up to break the ice, took the bowl Hope offered, and made the line move again. Soon, everyone forgot her appearance and title. They didn’t care about any of those, if they could eat.
Hope would never feel like she belonged among the elves of Lho Allanar, whether rich or poor, but she didn’t have anywhere else to go. From what she’d learnt about the world, creatures like her did not exist. She did not hail from a distant, foreign land. She was simply an anomaly which most found repulsive, yet Orchid Brave, a hero to the downtrodden, had shared a bed with.
Hope doubted she would forget her night with Venviel, regardless of what happened in her life, or what transpired between them. They could slip into the roles of fierce enemies, effortlessly, if they didn’t take care to avoid such a fate.
Hope couldn’t deny that she had done everything in her power just to stay alive once. If she hadn’t, she would have died on the streets of Lho Allanar as a child. She’d fought hard for her survival. The rest of the world may see a monster or an inquisitor when they observed her, but she was as much of a survivor.
She’d not offered Venviel to break her heart lightly. If the elf needed revenge to gain a semblance of closure, Hope would rather have her heart broken than her life ended. She’d fight for her survival. Venviel didn’t have the right to snuff out her spirit. No, she would retaliate if Venviel tried to kill her, and she would win, even if she had to bloody her hands.
Heroic
Venviel hadn’t discovered the extent of the temple’s debauchery until a couple of years after they’d burnt her home to the ground. She’d heard rumours, sure, but she’d assumed that was all they were. Rumours.
Why would priestesses host parties, with half-naked dancers, that lasted well into the mornings? What kind of people would attend such festivities? How low could Keerla sink?
In hindsight, she shouldn’t have sought answers to any of those questions, because what she’d found was a reality which proved worse than her wildest fantasizes. The priestesses did indeed hold parties with the intent to spread love among their most faithful believers, which exclusively meant the wealthy, and the parties may as well be referred to as orgies.
She suspected her parents may have been involved at some point, while they’d been alive, but didn’t want to think about it. Everyone else she recognized as upper class in the city seemed to show themselves at an orgy, given enough time. A part of her hoped that the reason that Thalia and Corym had met the fate they had was because they’d stopped attending the temple’s gatherings. That they’d refused to show their faces because they’d had a daughter. And Keerla had taken it as a grave insult.
Still, the parties had served a purpose for Venviel. While she lacked the proof to reveal to the rest of Lho Allanar what transpired behind the locked doors of private mansions, she had snuck in and out of many of the homes. The attendees distracted themselves with drinks, music, and pleasures of the flesh. When they were distracted, Venviel could steal whatever she got her hands on. The owners didn’t deserve to keep their jewelry, gems, or gold.
She pulled the mask over her face, tightened the rapier’s scabbard to her waist, and took a deep breath. Below the roof she found herself on, across the street, dancers in see-through green garbs swayed their hips in front of the gates to a mansion. They greeted elven couples dressed in fine silks and embroidered robes.
Venviel had seen the dance performed thousands of times. The temple claimed the lustful movements, hugs, and intertwined limbs all signified the true meaning of love. The goddess’ message to the people. At festivals, and celebrations, the same dancers performed in public, but then they wore clothes. They covered themselves up.
She would sound like a prude if she told anyone what she thought about the dancers, so she never did. Besides, they weren’t wealthy themselves. She doubted the dancers enjoyed being groped or kissed by Keerla’s chosen. They likely only performed at these parties to avoid worse punishment.
Venviel balanced along the edge of the rooftop, leapt across to another house, and attempted to sneak around towards the back of the mansion. Thalia and Corym’s emporium had employed more guards than the temple ever did. Clearly, the high priestess viewed herself as untouchable, or she would have changed their routines by now. The temple would have sent someone after her.
Admittedly, they had sent Hope, but Hope didn’t count. Or at least Venviel didn’t want to count Hope as her enemy. She should. She had every right in the world to hate the inquisitor, yet after the night they’d spent wrapped in each other’s arms, she found it difficult. The inquisitor snored when she slept, but it wasn’t bad enough that she had to die for it.
At the back of the mansion, Venviel found an empty, dark street without a single person. It seemed too good to be true, but she couldn’t let the moment go to waste. She slung herself over the edge of the rooftop, searched for footing on a window, or a crack in the wall, and expertly descended the three-story house. She’d gotten so used to rushing up and down the buildings of Lho Allanar that she could do it half-asleep.
The training she’d given herself as a child finally served a purpose. Corym would not have scolded her for sliding down railings, swinging by chandeliers, or climbing trees if he’d known her future. He would have thanked her.
Venviel did miss him, and her mother, and their bickering, but each day the pain faded a little. She would get revenge before she forgot them. Someone would die, suffer through torture, or have their heart broken. She might go with Hope’s suggestion in the end, because she figured her parents would have preferred it if she didn’t kill their former maid. They’d welcomed Hope into their home, after all.
Venviel paused next to a bush before crossing the street and listened for footsteps or sounds which might indicate someone had seen her. But she only heard upbeat music from inside the mansion, and voices from another building further east.
She ran across the street, scaled the wall that encircled the mansion, and dove onto the grass. The music grew louder, quicker, but she paid it no heed. It was only there to distract the wealthy. And they could shove their gold up their bottoms.
The smell of grilled meat and vegetables caught the attention of her nose though. Why did the temple give their best food to their worst followers? Why couldn’t they leave it unattended for her to steal?
She snuck up to the side of mansion, pressed herself against the wall, and grabbed the rope at her waist. She’d procured a grappling hook long ago, along with her mask, and it always came in handy. Every situation could be improved with a grappling hook. It made no difference what she needed to do.
“I believe it’ll rain, honey,” a man said, a little too close, near a window.
Venviel didn’t make out whatever answer he received. His companion’s words were muffled by the music. Thankfully, the man stayed inside and didn’t venture into the garden. She might have had to cut him down, if he had.
She spun the grappling hook in a circle, tossed it toward the roof, and realized she’d succeeded on the first try when it remained in place, despite how hard she tugged on the rope. She began her ascent.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. If it rained, she might have to stay off the rooftops on her way back. She hadn’t moved her hideout yet, but she would. She had to. Even if she decided to trust Hope, later down the line, she should keep her hideout a secret. The inquisitor may never betray her willingly, but she would not put it past the high priestess to torture one of her chosen for their personal secrets.
The faint sound of moaning emanated from the windows on the second floor, so she hurried onto the third. She saw no reason for her to investigate. The men enjoyed themselves, and the women did not need her to intervene at this place.
Over the last five years, she’d intervened on occasions when ruffians or sailors had ganged up on lone women. She’d had to injure some of those criminals with her rapier to get them to beat a retreat. The women hadn’t all appreciated her intervention, since they expected the men would return when she wasn’t around, but some had spread tales about Orchid Brave.
Venviel hadn’t picked the name of her alter ego. She’d started wearing the mask, and someone else had named her. Someone she’d not identified. Tonight, Orchid Brave would redistribute more of the temple’s excess to worthier causes.
A Cordial Invitation
“Thank you for making an appearance, inquisitor,” Vaeri, the priestess who’d invited her out of the blue, said, hooked their arms together, and lead her past the dancers performing the rite of intimacy at the gates. They touched Hope’s lavender skin, grabbed her coat, and whispered ancient elven phrases of encouragement.
“It’s my pleasure,” Hope said, though she didn’t know what to make of Vaeri or the sudden invitation to the temple’s nightly congregation.
“Inquisitor!” Vaeri feigned laughter, leaned on her, and battered her long eyelashes. “I’m sure it will be your pleasure before the night is over. Certainly. I can arrange that.”
“Are you…” Hope dismissed the question she’d almost asked, and smiled politely instead. No, the priestess was not flirting with her. Why would she be? And if she was, why tonight of all nights?
“Am I what?” Vaeri asked with a sultry tone, stopped in the middle of the paved path leading up to the mansion, and stared at Hope. A quartet played one of the temple’s happier melodies inside. Vaeri was attractive, buxom even in plain robes, and her unprovoked friendliness added undeniable tension between them. A certain edge hid in her grey eyes.
“Are you leading the night’s activities?”
“For you? I could be.” Vaeri winked and guided Hope inside the mansion.
She’d not joined any of the temple’s recent congregations, and they’d changed from what she remembered. The sights, sounds, and smells that assailed her when she entered the mansion only gave her two options. Either she fled into the night and pretended like she’d not seen what she’d seen, or she partook in the festivities and engaged in hedonism.
A plethora of various elven dishes prepared from salmon, veal, sheep, and chicken lay on plates along the walls while men and women dressed in skimpy garments clung to each other. If any of them were married, they didn’t show it. Everyone seemed to enjoy all members of their current company a little too much. The quartet had to play in another room, due to the sheer amount of guests, so she couldn’t see them, but they sounded amazing.
“Are you overwhelmed, inquisitor?” Vaeri whispered in her ear. “The main hall is often the nosiest, the sweatiest, during these gatherings. Unless, of course, you find a private room to share with friends. I’m sure you’d get sweatier then.”
“I…” Hope swallowed the lump in her throat. The main hall did seem excessively hot, difficult to breathe in.
“Let me see you upstairs.” Vaeri took Hope by the hand and dragged her through the crowd towards an elegant staircase. “It’s the least I can do.”
Hope had experienced plenty of unexpected turns in her life, but few of them compared to how the male and female elves in the crowd reacted to her. A couple of them shied away, like usual, but many more grinned, caressed her horns, her tails, and whispered unintelligible, risqué offers. They suddenly viewed her as desirable.
She wanted to escape them, escape their fingers and hands, and especially their insincerity. Thankfully, Vaeri brought her out of the crowd, up to the second floor, and into a long corridor with a carpeted floor. Unfortunately, Vaeri did not leave, so she could join in the party on her own. The priestess continued dragging her along.
Hope suspected she wouldn’t enjoy whatever happened next, no matter how hard she tried. She’d fed soup to the starving less than a day ago. The dishes downstairs could have fed dozens of those poor elves for weeks.
Vaeri opened one of the doors in the corridor, stuck her head inside to check whether the room was empty, and quickly shut it again. She faced Hope and sighed. “The rooms are occupied, even though I tried to save one for personal use.”
“I’m sorry,” Hope said, mostly out of habit. “What do they use the rooms for?”
She shouldn’t have asked. She realized that the moment Vaeri laughed.
“Oh, you really are hopeless Hope, aren’t you?” Vaeri wrapped her arms behind Hope’s neck. “Everyone says you’re slow, and daft, but I can’t deny I find you charming. Exotic. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to screw you, inquisitor.”
“Wha—“
Vaeri cut her sentence short by stealing a kiss. Her lips tasted nowhere near as sweet or as energizing as Venviel’s. They tasted of smoke, sauce, and chicken. Not only that, but Hope felt like she cheated by kissing the priestess.
“How was that?” Vaeri licked her lips. “Your first kiss, inquisitor?”
“No,” Hope said, and oddly, Vaeri looked disappointed. “I’m sorry. Is there a place where I could catch my breath? Somewhere secluded? A library?”
“You don’t want to partake in the festivities?” Vaeri pouted.
“I do, I do, but I’m very unused to this excitement, so if you’d give me a moment, we can spend time together afterwards.” Hope had to escape Vaeri too. Why had she even accepted her invitation? They’d barely talked during their training as disciples. She didn’t have to be nice or polite to th
e priestess.
“There’s a library on the third floor.” Vaeri removed her arms from her neck, pointed towards the staircase, and smiled. “Don’t take too long, inquisitor, or I’ll hunt you down.”
“I won’t. Thank you.” Hope left Vaeri in the corridor and headed up to the third floor. She could hear people chatting somewhere, beyond closed doors, but at least they weren’t fornicating.
Hope knew the goddess of love approved of everything which transpired during these congregations, yet she didn’t know if she did herself. How long did the temple plan to pretend Lho Allanar embodied perfection, even though thousands starved?
She found the library without having to ask for directions. When she stepped inside the hall filled with bookcases, lit by the rising moon, she swore she heard someone moving in the shadows by an open window. Why hadn’t they lit a candle?
“Is anyone there?” Hope called out. “I didn’t intend to interrupt your enjoyment of the evening.”
She received no answer. Though she heard someone land behind her, as the floor creaked, and felt the tip of a blade pointed into her lower back. To show that she posed no threat to anyone, she raised her hands above her head. Her mace hung at her waist, but she would not reach for it. She didn’t plan to fight Vaeri’s esteemed guests.
“I’m an inquisitor. Not an enemy.”
“If you’re an inquisitor, you’re my enemy.”
Hope glanced behind her and caught a glimpse of Orchid Brave’s mask in the moonlight. She turned to face Venviel, but the elf poked the tip of her rapier into her skin and drew blood.
Never Enough Page 6