“That’s right,” Zain said thoughtfully. “There was a boy there. I’d forgotten completely.”
Graiphen wondered at the strange reference to Korbin as a boy considering Zain himself was only days old. Was it a subtle attempt to undermine Korbin? Graiphen made a mental note of several of Zain’s strange behaviors.
He’d been about to make his excuses when Zain spoke again. “Who is this woman Octavia?”
Nassore raised an eyebrow. “She’s a conduit of the strange, unnamed Kilovian religion which worships a being they call The One.”
Zain waved a hand impatiently. “Yes, yes, I know that.” He met Graiphen’s gaze. “But who is she?” Strangely, despite the intensity of his stare, Zain didn’t seem to be speaking to either him or Nassore. Instead, the question seemed an internal one.
He turned to Nassore after a moment of reflection. “I’m concerned about the influence a practitioner of a foreign religion might have here in the palace. Those who do not know your father as you do might think he’s fallen away from his worship of the eight true Spirits of Light and Shadow.”
“Never,” Nassore said vehemently. “My father is devout in his adoration of the Spirits.”
“I hope so,” Zain said. “It would not do to have a heretic on the throne.”
Nassore paled. “It should never be said that the house of Khourov is anything but faithful.”
Zain once again lightly touched Nassore on the arm. “Of course not. And I’m sure when you ascend to the throne, that will never be a question. You should use your influence with him to make sure he stays on the path of devotion.”
“You can rely on me,” Nassore said.
Zain gave a polite goodbye, saying he needed to return to the temple for a short while but he’d return later. He paused as though a thought just occurred to him. “Unless you’d like to visit the temple?” he asked the prince. “It would go a long way to showing people that your family indeed serves the gods if they see you paying tribute to Pang.”
Nassore looked torn, but when he met Zain’s eyes, the inner conflict faded into softness. “What a good idea. Shall we go at once?”
“I can think of no better time,” Zain said. Oblivious to Graiphen’s presence, they walked away together as though he was not even there.
Chapter 14
All through the dinner Octavia shared with Korbin in a small, private guest dining room near their rooms, she’d been distracted and unable to focus on his words. She’d told him everything that happened with Zain and the emperor, but she’d not had a chance to report her results to the emperor himself.
Likewise, Korbin told her that he’d run into Graiphen that evening, but when she’d asked, he said nothing of much import passed between them. Graiphen had tried quizzing him on everything that had happened when Zain met with the emperor, but Korbin hadn’t felt inclined to help his estranged father after the many betrayals he’d doled out. When they’d parted ways, it sounded like Graiphen had been as irritable and unbending as always.
It disturbed Octavia to think of the high priest being so frequently in the palace. Every day would bring an increased likelihood of running into him.
She lay in bed that night imagining the next encounter with Graiphen and reliving the last one. She flung herself out of bed, determined to find a quiet place to walk on the grounds. Perhaps if she could make herself tired enough, she could sleep without feeling Graiphen’s fists pummeling her body, without hearing the voice of his goddess projected through his mouth, the smell of his breath when he held himself close to her.
Taking only a few minutes to wrap herself in a Kilovian night robe and run her hands through her hair, she padded on slippered feet through the corridor to the nearby garden entrance.
The night air had a slight chill, despite the warmth of the days, and a glistening dew clung to the grassy path. The wetness seeped onto the hem of her robe and the damp fabric rubbed the tops of her feet, giving her a shiver of cold.
Crossing her arms, she walked slowly, breathing in the sharp, clean air. The night was eerily silent, and every rustle of leaves or scraping branch gave Octavia a start. Everything about this place was unfamiliar and foreign, even more so than her tiny flat in the immigrant quarter of Vol. At least there she could hear the melodic tones of her neighbors speaking in the Kilovian tongue, their bartering on the streets, the domestic arguments that echoed through the thin walls, or the primal sounds of late-night lovemaking.
Here, in this hilltop stronghold, she felt isolated from all mankind, not just her own people. The intrigues here were not that different, but the scale of the problems was larger and the distance from everyday reality immense. The chasm between her and her life in Vol grew wider as she recognized its existence.
Wandering through the many arches and pathways that made up the palace gardens, she focused on the energy of the One. For the first time since her death, the flows came easily. She arrived at a lovely cobble wall, thick with fragrant vines. Passing through an ornate iron gate, she walked, eyes half-closed. She passed elaborate and lifelike marble statues, her fingers glancing over vines and petals until she came to a fountain she’d not seen on previous walks. The splash of the water, pouring from a sculpture of a woman in its center, deepened her meditation as she let the sound soothe her. Water sprayed in the night’s breeze, cooling her skin.
A renewed sense of joy came from within as the barriers inside her crumbled. The grief and pain that had knotted within her unwound. Tears sprang to her eyes as she continued to walk around the fountain, circling it, becoming part of the flow. Every droplet that sprayed from the font was like cleansing rain.
Lifting the hem of her skirt, she began to move as the One guided her, dancing with slow, flowing steps through the mist. She envisioned Trinity beside her, smiling and laughing the way they’d done as girls. The nightmares that had plagued Octavia vanished, carried out with the cleansing tide. A giggle rose in Octavia’s throat, and she spun with delight, picking up the pace of her midnight dance.
Happiness overwhelmed her in that moment, and all the pain of the past flowed away. Warmth had replaced the earlier chill, and Octavia slowed her dance, smiling up at the figure in the center of the fountain.
“Oh, Trinity,” she said. “How long has it been since I danced?” As soon as the question was out of her mouth, she dismissed it, determined not to lose the happiness of the moment in a pool of regret.
With a sigh, she decided it was time to go. A warm tiredness had rolled over her, and she thought she could sleep now.
When she turned, her eyes caught a bench near one of the garden walls. A figure sat so still, she couldn’t decide if it was another statue or a living person. She froze in place, her heart suddenly hammering in her chest, but the figure did not move.
She sighed with relief, scolding herself for jumping at shadows.
The moment she turned to leave, a voice spoke softly. “Don’t go.”
Whipping around to face the figure again, she hissed, “Who’s there?”
The man on the bench stood slowly, empty hands held out in a non-threatening gesture. “I’m sorry I startled you.” The emperor?
“What are you doing lurking in the darkness?” she asked, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of her voice. She couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that she’d been observed. Had he followed her?
The moonlight caught his features as he took a cautious step closer. “What are you doing dancing around a fountain in my private garden?”
A gasp escaped her lips. The one place she wasn’t supposed to go: the imperial family’s private spaces. But there had been no locks, no guards, no warning she could see in the darkness.
She realized she was still holding the hem of her robe, and she abruptly dropped it and crossed her arms. She was thankful for the lack of light so he couldn’t see her blush. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”
“Please don’t,” he repeated. Reaching out, he touched her sleeve. Just the tips of his fin
gers on the long fabric by her wrist, but the tiny gesture froze Octavia in her tracks.
She stopped and looked at him. How lonely he must be. Did he have anyone to talk to? Was there one moment of his day that wasn’t scripted? One person in his life who didn’t want something? He had several children. Were they close? Did he have a wife? She’d never seen one so she assumed not, but then, she’d never thought to ask about a companion.
He met her scrutiny with a patient look and when she nodded, he smiled. Not the polite, formal smile she’d seen before, but a true, warm smile she couldn’t help but return.
“Will you sit with me?” he asked.
“Of course, your highness.” She paused before amending her statement. Her intuition told her he needed a friend, and friends called one another by their true names. “Jorek.” She said his name softly, testing out the sound of it in her mouth.
He didn’t respond directly to her use of his given name. Instead, he took her gently by the arm and led her to the bench where he’d been sitting before. When they sat, he released her, and she missed the warmth of his hand.
“What brought you to the garden at this time of night?” she asked. In the dark corner, she found it difficult to make out his features.
“I often come here when I can’t sleep.”
“What keeps you awake tonight?”
He laughed. A warm, happy sound. “You’re very forthright.”
“I apologize. It’s my way.” But she wasn’t truly sorry, and he didn’t seem to be either.
“I like your way, Octavia.” When he said her name, warmth spread through her. After a pause, he said, “The things that are happening lately trouble me, and I don’t feel as though I can predict what will happen next. No two advisors give me the same counsel, and too many people have hidden aims of their own. So I came here to think. And you? Did you come here to dance?” Despite the darkness, she could hear the smile in his voice.
“I couldn’t sleep either,” she said. “I haven’t slept well in months, ever since…” Her voice trailed off.
“I don’t mean to pry.”
“It’s all right. You see, I died.”
The emperor remained silent. All she could hear was the rustle of leaves in the wind and the splash of the fountain.
“The night I confronted Seba. I remember the cold and the darkness, and I saw my sister. She has been gone for many years.”
“Trinity?” he asked.
She peered at him in the darkness. How could he have known her name?
As though reading her mind, he said, “You spoke to her.” He pointed at the figure in the fountain.
Following his gesture, she smiled. “Yes.” Turning back to him, she said, “I feel like I’ve found peace. Maybe I just needed time. Maybe confronting the memories by coming here was what I had to do to move past what happened to me. But either way, I thank you for inviting me. I’d buried myself in my work, trying to forget. What I really needed was to remember.”
“I should thank you for coming, but most of all for staying when what you wanted more than anything was to return to Vol. I know it wasn’t an easy choice, and I’m sure I didn’t make it any easier.”
“You had your reasons,” she said. “Many of which I’m not sure I understand.”
“Don’t you?” he asked. “I need your perspective. No one else can provide that. Not just about Seba and Graiphen, although those are important insights, but I knew from the moment you arrived here that you could offer me something none of my other advisors can.”
“What is that?” She thought she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear the words from him.
“Many things. Perspective, as I said. Wisdom. Clarity. All of which I feel I’m lacking just now.”
The stark honesty surprised Octavia. The fact that he trusted her gave her deep satisfaction. She didn’t want to argue with his assessment of her, fearing it would sound like false modesty, so she responded with silence, watching the droplets of water dance in the fountain.
“And something more personal, perhaps.”
“Oh?”
“At first, I thought you simply didn’t understand protocol, which is one of the reasons I happily agreed to ask Dul Korbin to stay. I thought he could help you in that regard.” He paused. “But now I see the truth. You really don’t see me as being any different from any man.”
Octavia chuckled. “Why should I?”
He shook his head, laughing with her. “I am the emperor.”
“That is your job, not who you are.”
“Sadly, the two are the same.”
She reached over and touched his hand, and he clasped her fingers. He stared at her hand as though it was a remarkable thing she had done.
“I must disagree,” she said. “You are not your job. You are still a man. Perhaps not like any other, but no better and no worse, I expect. All men are important. All men are emperors in their own house.” She released his hand and stood. “And all men need friends.”
He looked up at her, leaning forward so the light caught his eyes. “And you will be my friend, Octavia?”
“I will, Jorek,” she said. “I too need friends.”
He nodded and looked as though he was restraining himself from touching her again. How sad to go through life, never touching another human being.
“Will you come here again?” he asked. “I’m not here every night, but you’re welcome to come enjoy the fountain, even when I’m absent.”
She glanced around the garden and smiled. “It’s beautiful here. I’d love to come back, if I can find it again. I admit, I wandered aimlessly for some time before I wound up here.” She grinned. “In fact, I’m not even sure I can find my way out.”
He stood. “Come with me. I’ll have a steward show you to your room. If, that is, you want to go. You could stay, have a drink. We could talk more.”
She looked up at the night sky. “I should go. It’s getting late and for the first time in a while, I think I could sleep without nightmares.” With another smile, she added, “But thank you.”
The disappointment on his face was evident, but he nodded. “Very well. This way,” he said, guiding her away.
Chapter 15
The next morning, Korbin and Octavia sat at a long, wooden table in the palace archives, being schooled in the indexing system used there. Four immense hand-written ledgers bore entries designating each work’s age, author, and with coded entries illustrating its origin and whether it was in a bound book, linen or paper scrolls, weavings, or carvings. The curator explained that whatever Octavia and Korbin wished to examine would be brought to them at one of the wooden tables that ran the length of the room. When they finished, each piece would be put away for them. More delicate items should not be touched unless absolutely necessary, and the look on the curator’s face told them he would prefer it not be necessary.
It turned out that the library curator had appointed two scribes and two stewards to help them with Octavia’s research. Only one, the youngest of the bunch, a scribe named Hekare, a tall, lanky lad with unruly blond hair, asked many questions when Octavia outlined what they were looking for. Unfortunately, she had little to go on besides the phrase Child of Eurmus and the fact that the phrase also had something to do with the Spirits of Light and Shadow.
Clearly Braetin thought Octavia to be one of these people, but was that simply an old term for conduit, or did it indicate something deeper? Perhaps it meant nothing at all.
Korbin was relieved that while explaining what she needed help finding, Octavia kept to herself the belief that the Spirits were foreign invaders into the realm and that they had been expelled by these so-called Children. Although the Kilovian religion was tolerated, blasphemy was still a crime in Talmor.
Octavia appeared shocked at the vast wealth of information all owned by one man. “How could any one person justify keeping so much to themselves?” she asked quietly when the stewards and scribes were busy arranging the appropriate legers.
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br /> “He’s the emperor,” Korbin explained. She tightened her lips into a thin line and nodded in a way that signified anything but agreement.
For the first hour of the search, Octavia pored over the list of titles and asked questions about each book’s contents. She compiled a list of the documents she wanted to see first.
Hekare asked a few questions about Octavia’s early reading choices. “These are tomes related to the early days of our understanding of the Spirits of Light and Shadow.”
“Yes? It’s my belief that the phrase Children of Eurmus has its roots in that time.”
“And you also believe the phrase to be related to the Kilovian religion?”
“I’ve assumed it’s an old phrase for Kilovian practitioners, but perhaps we should have a more open mind. Eurmus may have been a conduit himself, some kind of leader, but I know of no member of the Sennestelle who bore that name. When we enter the order, we are taught its history and about its leaders of old. So I’m at a loss to explain how he relates to our order.”
“If Eurmus was a who at all,” Hekare commented.
“What do you mean?” She looked up from the ledger spread in front of her.
One of the older stewards, a tall, lean man called Lish, shushed Hekare. “It is not our job to speculate on things we know nothing about, Hekare. You are not a researcher. You are merely to write what you are asked to write and fetch what you are asked to fetch.”
Hekare ducked his head, embarrassed. He turned to Octavia. “I’m sorry, Dula.”
“I’m not a Dula. Call me Senne. And what did you mean about Eurmus not being a who? I want to hear your thoughts.”
The steward Lish pursed his lips but didn’t say anything.
Hekare shook his head. “It’s nothing, Senne. I was just thinking of a children’s story my mum used to tell me at bedtime. It was called something like Child of Darkness. The phrase Child of Eurmus reminded me of that. Perhaps Eurmus means something in one of the old languages, a meaning that’s now lost. Or maybe Eurmus is a place?”
Lish looked to the ceiling. “A children’s book,” he muttered, clucking his tongue in disapproval. Turning to Octavia he said, “If that’s all, Senne, we will fetch the first batch now.”
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