by Moira Sutton
“But you didn’t,” Izar said, his voice a deep, confident rumble in her ear. “And that’s why we love you.”
Zoa blinked. Izar had said he loved her many times during their mad lovemaking, but never like that. Never so calmly, with such conviction. And he wasn’t alone. In front of her, Jeric leaned in until his lips feathered against her own. “We love you because you are the sort of woman who refused to become something you hated. Toric sought to make you a tool, but you became something so much greater.”
“You are not his,” Izar said. “You’re Dezira’s, and you are ours. Now and forever, and he can never touch you again.”
Zoa closed her eyes. She hadn’t realized how much of her life was still trapped under Toric, how much power she still gave him by never speaking his name until Izar dismissed it. But even though Toric’s power was hammering on her mind, with Jeric’s warm lips hovering over her own and Izar’s strong chest like a wall behind her, even Toric no longer felt overwhelming.
And with that, Zoa leaned forward, closing the final distance between Jeric’s lips and her own. He returned the kiss with a passion that took her breath away while Izar’s grip tightened on her waist, his mouth moving over the smooth skin of her neck like he would never tire of tasting her.
The pall of Toric’s memory was still over her, but it no longer mattered. Here in the bed on the gently rocking boat, her lovers had made a barrier of kisses and touches, a warm, loving shell that protected her from everything. They kissed her all night long, the soft, constant intensity of their care and love bringing tears to her eyes. And as their soft mouths drove away the darkness, the goddess’s words came back to her.
I promise I will make it up to you, my beautiful, beloved Zoa. I will give you twice what he could have been.
And then she did start crying, because as always, her goddess had told the truth. She had given Zoa two beautiful lovers, and no memory of Toric, no darkness, no shame could take that gift away. With that, Zoa thrust the bond away and kissed her lovers back with everything she had.
Chapter Four
Five days later, their barge pulled into the river docks in the Imperial Capital. The river had been swollen with the winter rains and they’d made good time. Normally, that would have pleased Izar, but today his glare was bitter as he watched the large, marble buildings slide by. In less than an hour, the magic of their journey would be ending.
Once the barge landed, his beautiful Chosen would go to their temple and he would have to go and face the cold, hard truth of what he was doing. It would be steel cold this time, Izar had a feeling. After all, he was here to tell Emperor Vallus that the Northern Front was a lost cause, a waste of the Empire’s resources that were badly needed elsewhere. Captain he might be, but Izar was common born with no noble ties to call on for leniency. He’d made light of it to Zoa and Jeric to keep them from worrying, but in his own mind, Izar knew the truth plain and cold. He had come here as the bearer of bad news, something Emperor Vallus didn’t suffer well on a good day, and days hadn’t been good in the Empire for a long, long time.
As though sensing his worry, Zoa slid her slender arm around his waist. Izar smiled at the contact and the beginning of lust such a simple touch stirred in him. The woman made him feel like a teenager again, she and Jeric both. He had only to be near them and he was ready to throw them both onto the nearest flat surface and make them scream his name. Gods, how he would miss them. He smiled sadly at the thought and leaned down, dropping a gentle kiss to the wide scarf Zoa wore over her hair to keep out the chill. And then, just because he could, he leaned down and kissed her properly, his arms sliding around her hips to hold her tight.
Zoa moaned in frustration when he finally let her go, and Jeric, who was watching from her other side, began to laugh. Izar grinned wickedly and leaned over to kiss him too, pecking his cheeks and lips in rapid succession.
“I think your fame has preceded you,” Jeric said when Izar broke away, eyes sliding toward the shore.
Izar followed his gaze, and the feeling of dread grew exponentially. They were nearly to their dock now, and waiting for them in full panoply was a ten-squad of Imperial Guards standing at attention on the street in front of a large crowd of gawking citizens.
His breath caught before he could stop it and Zoa, ever attentive, gave him a worried look. “Izar,” she whispered, kissing his shoulder. “Be careful. The temple is a refuge to all, don’t hesitate to come if you need us.”
“I always come with you,” Izar said, but his heart wasn’t in the joke. He gave her a final half smile and went back into their cabin to put on his armor for the first time since they’d boarded the ship. When he came out again, armored and armed, both Zoa and Jeric looked so unremittingly bleak he might have laughed if he hadn’t felt the same way.
“Now, none of that,” he said, wagging his finger. “I’m sending the men to escort you to the temple. Stay put there, I’ll find you there when this was done.”
He would have his body sent there, if it came to that, but there was no point in telling them so. Izar had never run from a fight in his life, but in their time together, his lovers had become dearer to him than he liked to admit. He wouldn’t have the strength to step off this barge if they asked him not to, so he put on a smile. Better it ended like this, he told himself. A happy, calm goodbye. Even so, he couldn’t keep himself from kissing them one last time, holding them both tight against his chest.
He broke away only when the barge bumped against the dock. And then, with a final smile, Captain Izar turned away from his lovers and marched down the stairs. He felt their eyes on his back all the way to the street.
He’d taken none of his own men with him. His boys were loyal to the end, but there was no need for them to die as well. This meant he was alone as he led his horse across the dirty paving stones and came to a halt in front of the wall of the Imperial Guards, their gleaming armor shining in the noon sun.
“Captain Izar,” the leader said, saluting. “We are to escort you to the Legion Office.”
“I imagine you are,” Izar said, climbing into his saddle.
The guards said nothing as they rode through the crowded streets, though that was likely due more to the crowd than to any discretion on their part. The throngs in the city were thicker than Izar had ever seen. Refugees crowded the streets, their faces hungry as they scrambled to make way for the soldiers. Everywhere Izar looked, he saw squalor and misery. The white marble buildings of the Capital were crusted with grime, and though it was noon on a workday, no one seemed to be working. Instead, people stood in clumps, whispering and watching the soldiers with angry, suspicious looks.
Izar sucked in a breath. He’d suspected things would be bad in the Capital, but not this bad. The crowded city was straining at its edges, and if the hunger in people’s eyes was any indication, the breaking point wasn’t far away. Maybe a week, maybe days, maybe less. Suddenly, he was very glad he’d left his men with Jeric and Zoa. Avatars or not, he didn’t want them riding through this unprotected.
The Legion Office was only a short ride from the docks, and despite the crowded streets, it only took a half hour before they dismounted at the stairs. The Imperial Guard fell in around Izar as he dismounted, forming a tight circle as they led him up the wide, marble steps through the forest of columns into the ornate building. Once they were inside, away from the crowd, Izar fully expected the guards to seize him, but the men made no move to attack. Instead, they stayed close, forming a wall around him with their bodies all the way to a large room at the back of the building. The great bronze doors closed as soon as they were inside, and then the guards fell away, leaving Izar standing alone and confused before a long table.
“Izar?”
The voice came from behind him, and the captain spun to see old Gregorus Vallus, Commander of the Legions and head of the Imperial Guard come out of a side door. The moment the old man saw Izar, his face fell into a look of supreme relief. “It is you, thank the gods.�
�
Izar frowned. Considering he was disobeying orders by coming down here in the first place, this was not the reception he’d expected. “Commander,” he began. “I—”
“Never mind that,” the commander said, hurrying forward to grab Izar’s arm. “You’re here not a moment too soon. We have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” Izar said.
The commander gave him a pointed look, and then dismissed the guards. The men seemed loath to leave, but they obeyed. When the room was empty, the commander sat Izar down and told him. He’d barely gotten two sentences into his story before Izar knew the old man was right. This was quite the problem indeed.
* * * * *
Jeric rode beside Zoa through the crowded streets, his hand on his sword despite the ring of veteran soldiers that surrounded them. The Imperial Capital always put him on edge, but now it felt worse than ever. It had taken them almost an hour to work their way through the crowd to the Temple District, and another twenty minutes to force their way through the throngs of worshipers that glutted the square between the five temples. By the time they reached the long stair leading up to the temple of Dezira, Jeric almost missed the north. It might have been cold and rugged and filled with barbarians, but at least there was space up there. After an hour and a half in the city, he felt like he couldn’t breathe.
Zoa, however, seemed perfectly at ease among the tall buildings and crowds. This had been her home for five years, Jeric remembered, it was no wonder she didn’t seem frustrated by the slow pace. Her lovely face was worried when she looked at the hungry masses, though, and Jeric agreed. They were worth worrying about. He made a note to talk to the captain about it when Izar found them, but for now, his worries were more immediate, for they had reached the base of the stairs leading up to the temple.
They dismounted and Jeric left the men with orders to find quarters nearby and not budge until they heard from him or the captain. Though he was no longer their lieutenant, the men saluted him as he turned away and began to climb the long stair after Zoa.
The temple of Dezira was a sight to behold. It was enormous, a huge, soaring monument on top of one of the city’s tallest hills. Its face was made from interlocking blocks of white marble swirled with black, the colors mixing until they looked almost like interlocking crescent moons. The temple’s frontispiece was carved with a huge relief of Dezira herself, half in light, half in shadow below her apple tree, just as she had appeared to Jeric, and set so that the goddess seemed to loom over them as they climbed.
When they finally reached the top of the stairs, tall, graceful figures clothed in white robes wrapped with black sashes came out to meet them. Zoa’s face broke into a grand smile as she greeted each of them by name, but Jeric hung back. Ever since they’d left the barge, the feeling of being an outsider had been building in his chest. Now, watching Zoa hug these people she obviously knew well, he felt more alone than ever. But just as the feeling was starting to grow overwhelming, Zoa grabbed his arm and pulled him forward.
The people she’d been talking to gasped when they saw him, and then, in unison, they fell into deep bows, their fingers pressed to their foreheads.
“Welcome to your temple, Chosen,” they said as one.
Jeric stiffened, staring at the bowing people in growing horror. He had no idea what to do, but even as he locked up, Zoa slipped her arms around him and pressed a loving kiss to his cheek.
“They’re acolytes of Dezira, beloved,” she whispered, her voice full of hidden laughter. “Sworn to serve our goddess and, by extension, us. But be warned, they can be a little zealous in their attempts to please you.”
“Zoa!” cried the oldest of the acolytes, a lovely, slender woman well grown into middle age with eyes full of wicked promise. “There’s enough rumors flying without you making us sound wanton to the new Chosen.” She rose from her bow with a warm smile. “Though, of course, we are happy to serve you, Chosen, in any way you require.”
Her voice left no question about her meaning and Zoa burst out laughing. “Rumors indeed,” she said. “They’re not rumors if they’re true, Zette. Now, if you’re done teasing Jeric, we need to see Silas right away.”
Zette’s face became immediately serious. “He said you would. He’s in the Crescent Temple, but take care when you enter. He’s been deep in the trance all day and he gets grumpy when you interrupt him.”
“Silas is always grumpy,” Zoa said, grabbing Jeric’s hand. “Thank you, Zette!”
The acolytes bowed, but Zoa was already off, pulling Jeric behind her through the enormous magnificence of Dezira’s temple. Jeric let himself be dragged, taking the opportunity to gawk. The temple was even more beautiful inside than out. The ceiling was nearly fifty feet overhead, supported by slender columns and pierced by a huge oculus that let in daylight currently, but from the many markings carved on the floor, he could see the opening was obviously meant to track the moon. Dezira’s form was everywhere, carved into the walls, looking down from enormous statues of jet and ivory. They passed three altars, each richer than the last, and then Zoa came to a stop before a small, white painted door marked with two overlaid crescents.
“Better let me do the talking,” she whispered, drawing Jeric close. “Silas can be kind of…intense. Just remember, even though he’s the head of the temples, all of Dezira’s Chosen are equal. You don’t have to do anything he says if you don’t want to. You should still listen, though. He’s our leader for a reason and his ideas are generally sound.”
“Don’t worry,” Jeric said. “I’m not Izar. I have the sense to hold my tongue.” He dipped down and kissed her. “Let’s get this finished.”
Zoa nodded and opened the door, leading him into a small temple. Actually, at nearly twenty feet tall and thirty feet wide with a ten-foot altar and an enormous, carved relief of Dezira at the end, it would have been a large temple anywhere else, but after the soaring grandeur of the previous halls, the room felt almost claustrophobic. It was also empty except for one man, kneeling before the altar at the very front.
His back was to them, but Jeric felt his authority at once. He was tall with a body built to match his height. Even kneeling, Jeric could see the man’s muscles beneath the soft, flowing robes. His hair was long, straight and ink-black, flowing freely down his back like a river. His skin, what Jeric could see of it, was nearly as dark as his own. The man did not turn when they came in, though Jeric was certain he knew he was no longer alone.
Zoa walked them to the rear of the temple and stopped, bowing her head. Jeric thought it was a reverence to the altar before them, but then he caught a flash of movement, and he realized the three of them weren’t the only ones in the room.
A figure floated in the air before the kneeling man. It was a woman, barely visible, her form like smoke. But though Jeric could see no more than her outline, he knew her at once. There was no way he could forget that perfect body draped half in light, half in shadow. Dezira’s shade reached down as he watched, stroking the kneeling man’s face with her dark hand, and then, fast as he had seen her, the goddess vanished.
“About time, Zoa.” The man’s voice filled the temple, cold and impatient, and he stood in a quick, efficient motion, turning to face them for the first time.
Jeric flinched before he could stop himself. The man didn’t actually look any older than himself, but his glare was ancient. Ancient and powerful and definitely not something you wanted pointed in your direction. His eyes were the color of honey, but any sweetness stopped there, leaving only cold power as the man swept his gaze over the two Chosen. But what really took Jeric’s breath away was the mark on the man’s forehead. It was the same large crescent as his and Zoa’s, but where theirs were white, this man’s was blacker than burnt mahogany.
“Don’t glare like that, Silas,” Zoa said, her voice far too light for the barely restrained power and menace rolling off the man in front of them. “We came as fast as we could. Whatever you seem to think when you set our de
adlines, flying isn’t one of the gifts Dezira gives her Chosen.”
Jeric shivered and took a protective step closer to Zoa. Taunting this man seemed suicidally foolish, but to his enormous surprise, the temple head’s killing glare fell away into a look that, while not a smile, was positively indulgent by comparison. “Good to have you back,” he said, and then the cold glare was back as his eyes moved to Jeric. “You must be the one Zoa brought into power. What is your name, Chosen?”
“Jeric Ballent,” Jeric answered, standing at attention out of long trained habit.
That seemed to impress Silas more than anything else. “A military white moon?” he said, his thin lips quirking as he walked across the temple floor to stand before them. “Now I’ve seen everything.”
“You haven’t seen the half of it,” Zoa said, grabbing Jeric’s hand. “He can do amazing things with barriers. He’s a white moon truly, a protector, but I’ll make a full report later. Right now we have a more pressing problem.”
Silas’ face grew hard as a stone blade. “I believe I know what you’re talking about.” He glanced at Jeric. “Leave us, white moon. This is none of your concern.”
“No,” Jeric and Zoa said at the same time.
Jeric would have said more, but Zoa squeezed his hand. “Jeric knows the story of my Awakening,” she said. “I trust him with my life and you would be wise to do the same, or do you have so many trusted Avatars you can afford to dismiss an honorable soldier and brave Chosen of the Lady?”
Silas heaved a put-upon sigh. “Fine,” he said, glancing at Jeric. “If Zoa vouches for you, you can stay. The fact that she trusted you with the story of her Awakening is proof enough for me that you’re not like the others of your ilk.”
Jeric frowned at the implied insult and Zoa clarified. “Like most dark moons, Silas seems to think that all of us who choose the path of pleasure and fulfillment are flippant and soft.”