by RJ Blain
The grip on Terin’s throat cut off his ability to breathe. When he managed to wheeze, Zurach’s grip loosened. What did the Eye of God have to do with him?
Realization hit him hard.
The thing the Citizens had been afraid to speak of hadn’t been just anything. Someone hadn’t just stolen a trinket from the Emperor.
Terin didn’t know how they had done it, but Zurach and Emeric had done the impossible: They’d stolen the Hand of God.
“Are you really going to go into that again, Zurach?” Emeric asked. The tip of a sword prodded Terin in the ribs. “We’ve got the most important piece.”
“We’re doing it my way first,” Zurach growled. “Now, get up, boy. Tonight is as good a night to begin.”
Emeric grumbled something too low for Terin to hear. Then, the man asked, “Begin what, Brother? You didn’t tell me we were starting anything.”
“Oh, did I forget to tell you? I’m sorry, Brother. I promise you’ll like this. You’ll like this a lot. Get up, boy.”
Terin didn’t stand, and the collar burned him for his disobedience.
“Will you stop teasing me and just tell me what you’re up to?”
Laughing loud and long, Zurach grabbed the front of Terin’s coat and hauled him to his feet. “I only intend to do just what you wanted me to do from the very beginning. I’m going to knock that little Emperor from his perch. That’s all. Don’t you think he’s had his head in the clouds for far too long?”
“You’re insane.”
“I won’t let him slip from us again. He got away once. We won’t get another chance at this. His former owner is desperate enough to do things not even I can anticipate. You wanted your revenge. Well, I’m giving it to you. It’ll begin tonight. I don’t know how long it will take to finish, though. We’ll teach them all the errors of their ancestors. Of course, they won’t live long enough to regret those mistakes. Wesoran will be reborn, after all these years. Together, we’ll rule Erelith and destroy it as our people were destroyed.”
“You make speeches like the Emperor, that’s for certain. I already know the story, Zurach. For some reason, I doubt your little slave cares much about why you’re using him.”
Zurach pulled Terin close with one hand. With the other, the man prodded Terin’s cheek. “Don’t you want to know where you came from and why you’re a slave? I’ll tell you, you little Zorsan brat. The Emperor desires what he doesn’t have. For that, he crushed your home and your people. With your help, you’ll set it to rights. You’ll release everyone from the Emperor’s grasp.”
“Why are you bothering, Zurach? The boy was enslaved from birth. He’s too young to have been anything other than an infant when Zorsan fell.”
Terin flinched at Zurach’s continued prodding. The former convict grinned, then said, “Don’t you want to know the truth? Don’t you want to be free? You could free many slaves if you help me. You’ll help me anyway, you know. You’ve no choice in the matter.”
Zurach’s hand released his coat and before he could pull away, grabbed the back of his neck and turned him around. “Come along then. We’ve work to do.”
Terin succumbed to his despair and obeyed.
Chapter 10
Blaise crept through the halls of the cathedral, pausing to listen for any sign of pursuit. All was quiet. The uncertainty of his disguise clung to him, and he slid his feet over the floors to hide his presence. The few roaming the corridors wandered out of his path as if God shooed them away with a wave of His hand.
It wasn’t Blaise’s efforts making those around him avoid his path. Instead of projecting his presence, he contained it and penned it within his thin, fragile human shell. A shiver ran through him.
The back of his neck tingled with the sense of being watched. He spun around and stared at the backs of two gray-clad figures vanishing around a corner. The sensation didn’t fade. Swallowing back his unease, he skulked down the hall to the main doors of the cathedral.
God didn’t meddle. His punishments didn’t end early, either. Blaise couldn’t shake the feeling that he hadn’t quite fallen out of His sight or mercy. God could’ve forced him to return to the Garden, but hadn’t. All it would’ve taken was the forbidden words turning on him, something He and He alone controlled.
Which meant God had permitted Blaise to twist and pervert His words so he could escape the church’s grasp.
God didn’t meddle, but Blaise couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something crucial.
What did He, who saw all things, know that Blaise did not? Why had Aurora been restored as the Heart of God? It should’ve cost him a great deal more than it did. His tail, which had been destroyed, shouldn’t have been restored so quickly. He should’ve had to wait for months—or years—as the bone regenerated.
Blaise turned the corner and stopped to stare at the backs of the two yellow-tasseled lieutenants standing guard on each side of the doors. Both of the great doors were thrown open, and numerous cadets scurried back and forth at the order of a general, who stood at the top of the stairs.
Careful to slide his boots over the stone to keep as quiet as possible, Blaise walked among them. They moved from his path without noticing his presence. The front yard of the grounds was devoid of people, and a row of soldiers blocked the way to the road circling the cathedral. The line of men and women stretched out as far as Blaise’s divine eyes could see in the darkness.
His upper lip curled in a snarl. Maybe He was disgusted with how easily His church fell to the Emperor’s will. Crossing the yard, Blaise walked up behind one of the guards, judged the height and distance to the cobbled street beyond, and jumped.
Blaise’s boots slapped on the stones as he landed and one of his knees buckled from the force of the impact. His gloved hands clapped against the ground.
“Did you hear something?” a man’s voice asked from behind.
The sky rumbled in answer, and a cold rain began to fall. A chorus of curses and grumbles came from the line.
“Just another blighted storm,” a woman muttered. “Like we needed this on top of everything else.”
Blaise lifted one of his hands and bit his finger to keep from laughing. When he had full control of himself, he rose to his feet.
“Some storm. The lightning’s red again,” the man replied.
“Probably the fault of one of those Speakers the Emperor has begging for scraps,” someone else muttered, his voice deep and rumbling.
Blaise glanced skyward. A mix of blue and red bolts arced from horizon to horizon. Closing his eyes to listen for the song of Speech, he ignored the conversation of those behind him.
Nothing.
If the storm wasn’t natural, he didn’t want to think about who—or what—was causing it. Shaking his head at the ill omen, he hurried from the cathedral, splashing through the water pooling on the cobbles until the cathedral spire vanished behind the sheeting rain.
Blaise wiped his face with his gloved hand. The futile gesture did nothing more than brush his hair out of his eyes before the rain fell harder. Spluttering at the storm’s attempt to drown him, he tilted his head back to watch the lightning.
A burst of green illuminated the clouds. Blaise sucked in a breath and a mouthful of water. Spitting and choking, he ducked beneath the eaves of a shop to catch his breath. Electricity sparked in the air, the charge making his lungs and throat tingle. While it wasn’t the perfume of God’s roses, the sweet, luring scent was from something not of the mortal coil, and it tickled a sneeze out of him.
Blaise cursed. He knew of four things belonging elsewhere lurking among mortals, and he was one of them. Aurora couldn’t summon a storm even if she wanted to. Blaise was equally inept at storms, leaving Lucin and Mikael as the likely suspects. A groan slipped out of him.
He hadn’t even begun his search in earnest, and the first signs of awakening tore the sky asunder. The red and blue marked the influence of a true divine. All Blaise could think of when the sky flashed
green again was Aurora, but it wasn’t her.
Not even God could restore what was devoured, not without a lot of help from someone unlikely to give it. Mother, from his understanding, wasn’t interested in restoring something she had already helped to create once.
Blaise frowned and stared up at the sky. The green was the same color of the boy’s eyes from the arena. Terin. The memory of blue lightning and red flame descending from black clouds haunted Blaise. Then, he’d thought it was no more than an exceptional talent with Speaking, but now that he knew the boy was the vessel for Lucin within the Hand of God, he wasn’t so certain.
Such a thing without the Hand shouldn’t have been possible. Was Terin the one responsible for the storm? Had the Hand and its vessel been reunited? The thought made Blaise shiver.
Blaise hoped the boy wasn’t the one responsible. On the sands, Terin hadn’t looked like much, not compared to Catsu. While the slave boy was a skilled swordsman, Blaise didn’t believe Terin to be a Speaker on par with a divine.
Had the Hand been within the arena, bolstering its struggling vessel? If Lucin had been so close, how hadn’t he noticed the presence of the divine?
Bowing his head to let the rain wash over him, Blaise considered the possibilities. The storm could be the result of the recreation of the Heart of God. It hadn’t been Blaise’s doing, and if anyone could interfere with the weather from the power of Speech, it was Him. Storms weren’t Blaise’s forte; the weather ignored him as much as he tried to ignore it, and he wasn’t all that sure nature liked him very much for defying the circle of life and refusing to die like a true mortal.
Blaise wasn’t sure if he could die even if he tried.
Destruction came easier to him than the elements of life and renewal. Blaise might’ve been born first, but Lucin and Mikael surpassed him in all ways, especially when it came to manipulating God’s words.
If it wasn’t Lucin responsible for the storm, and it was Mikael, Blaise didn’t know what he would do. If the two clashed—when they clashed—his power alone wouldn’t be enough to stop them.
“Curse them both,” Blaise muttered before letting out a sigh. “Think before you start talking next time, you stupid fool.”
What was done was done, and he couldn’t take back what he’d said. Even if he couldn’t do anything, he’d search. First, Blaise needed to find Lucin or the boy. Either one would guide him to the other. If he found the boy first, it’d be thanks to luck alone. Before he could hunt either of them, he needed new clothes.
He needed a new face, and a new human shell, so he could walk among the mortals, undetected by those within the Erelith Church of God.
Blaise smiled and whispered the words to reveal secrets. The forbidden Speech cloaking him unraveled, sloughing away and making him feel light and somehow energized.
It’d been far too long since he’d taken his true form. With anticipation whipping at him, Blaise hurried toward the cliffs.
The hunt had begun, and he hungered.
~*~
Zurach’s hold on his arm hurt, but without the man’s support, without being dragged each and every step, Terin would’ve fallen. A gray haze obscured his vision, and he wasn’t certain if it was due to the rain hammering down on him or from bursts of heat and cold radiating from his collar, burning his throat until his skin steamed. His head throbbed in time with the beat of his heart. His vision wavered in and out of focus until he couldn’t make out the shapes of his own feet.
When the rain ceased beating down on his head, Terin blinked. At first, his eyes refused to focus. Pale shapes moved, lacking definition and substance. He shook his head and blinked again. The glazed tiles sharpened, reflecting the yellow glow of a lantern hung from a hook embedded in the wall. A bench lay beneath it. The temptation to collapse, and to rest his sore, weary muscles died beneath the will of the collar. His muscles froze in place and kept him upright when he would’ve fallen. Zurach adjusted his grip, yanking on Terin’s arm. The man’s fingers pressed against the gash on Terin’s arm from his escape through the sewer.
The collar didn’t even let him groan from the pain. His breath emerged as a wheeze. All he could do was lower his head and endure.
“He’s bleeding all over my floor,” Emeric said. The man grumbled something too soft for Terin to understand. “What a mess.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make him clean it,” Zurach replied. The grip on Terin’s arm loosened, and the pain dulled to a throbbing ache. “Did I tell you you’ve done good work here? You’ve turned this place into something worthwhile.”
“Of course. I’m good at what I do. Who do you take me for? Well, it’s your plan. What’s next?” Emeric asked.
“I think I’ll clean him up and make him stop bleeding all over your nice, clean floor. Once I get changed and take care of that little problem, I’ll bring him up to the solarium. Expect an hour or two, and bring the box with you.”
Emeric sighed. “Very well. I really hope you’re right about this, Brother.”
“If I’m not, we’ll do it your way next time.”
“How oh-so-very partisan of you. Don’t keep me waiting for too long.”
“Would I do that?”
“Yes.”
Zurach laughed. “You wound me.”
“I doubt that,” Emeric said.
Terin flinched at the silence and felt both men staring at him.
“I really hope this doesn’t prove to be a very expensive mistake, Zurach.”
“It won’t.”
The grip tightened on Terin’s arm, and he sucked in a breath. The collar robbed him of his voice. The slap of boots on stone drew away until they were swallowed by the patter of the rain on the stones outside. He bowed his head lower and tried to stare at the patterns on the bench. The embroidered flowers blurred in and out of focus. No matter how long he stared at the pattern, he couldn’t find a single one shaped like a rose. He dropped his eyes to the floor, but didn’t see a rose inlaid in the tiles either.
“You’re looking for a rose, aren’t you? You won’t find one here,” Zurach said in a gentle voice. “Emeric really doesn’t like the church. Granted, he likes the church a lot more than he likes the Emperor, but that’s Emeric for you. When he expects visitors, he throws down a rug. Get used to it.”
Water dripped from Terin and splashed down to the marble, staining it a pinkish hue. A few crimson marks splattered on the tiles.
“Come, before you bleed out all over the floor. You might just be bait, but you’re useless to me dead. Step lively, now.” Zurach chuckled, and Terin listened to the man take several steps before halting. “Come,” the man repeated.
Terin stared at his feet. While he meant to take the first step forward, his legs trembled and refused to move. Something warm and wet dripped off of his chin. The blood hit the marble and splattered. He flinched when Zurach returned. Without saying a word, the former convict seized Terin’s elbow and pulled him forward.
Concentrating on the simple act of lifting his feet sapped Terin’s strength. They didn’t go far before Zurach opened a door leading into a steamy bathhouse. The pool took up the entire room, leaving behind a ledge wide enough to walk on. Blue and green stones formed a diamond mosaic broken by patterns of yellow and orange tiles on the wall.
The crashing waves depicted on the bottom of the pool gave the water a sense of endless movement even though the surface was as smooth as a pane of glass.
“Get undressed,” Zurach ordered. Terin didn’t move, staring at the water. “What are you waiting for? We don’t have all night. In!”
Terin swallowed away the tightness in his throat and tried to ignore the fear cramping his stomach. Zurach clucked his tongue, and he flinched at the sound. With his face hot from his embarrassment, Terin struggled with the buttons of the coat.
Taking the clothes from him, Zurach dumped them in a pile on the floor. After a few muttered words, the fabric burst into flame. After a few moments, the cloth was consumed.
“Must I repeat myself? What are you waiting for?”
Terin fought the urge to sigh and obeyed. Testing the water with a toe, he ignored his apprehension let the warmth lure him down another step. Zurach stood on the ledge and watched him. The water lapped at Terin’s neck and soothed the burns beneath the collar.
“There are soaps in the corner over there. Use them,” Zurach ordered, gesturing across the pool. Remaining silent but obeying, Terin waded to where the Citizen pointed. Clouds of pink and black tainted the water around him. A gentle current carried the filth away. A woven, wicker lid covered a dip in the ledge. Numerous bars of pale soaps lay within the depression. The first one he grabbed reeked of spice and roses.
“I hope you’ve learned your lesson this time. I’m your master now, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You know as well as I that the collar obeys me. You can’t run from me. Am I understood?”
Terin bowed his head and clutched the bar of soap. “Yes, sir.”
The defiance was small, and the collar remained inert despite his failure to address Zurach as master. Under the Citizen’s watchful eye, Terin scrubbed himself clean until his skin was raw and every wound reopened and his blood colored the water.
“Good enough. There are linens in the drawer in the wall over here. Get out and bring a few with you.”
Returning the bar of soap to the urn, Terin waited for the collar to warm before doing the man’s bidding. The tiles were cool beneath his fingers, and the pale linens caught on his roughened skin. Terin emerged from the water and shivered in the cool of the air.
“Sit,” Zurach said, taking the linens out of his hand and gesturing to the pool steps.
After the brief exposure to the air, the warmth of the water forced Terin’s muscles to relax and eased some of his aches. He flinched away from Zurach’s touch on the top of his head. The man worked his fingers through Terin’s hair, making clucking noises with his tongue. His hair was dried with a towel.