The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2)

by Berardinelli, James

  “No king tonight. No prelate tonight. Not even my father tonight. I just want to absorb being back in Vantok with you. Like it used to be.”

  They were too young for nostalgia but Sorial could nevertheless feel the pull of the past. So much had changed in the year since they had hatched desperate plans to spend the rest of their lives with one another. If they had known then what would be required to get to where they were now, would they have had the courage to forge ahead?

  They walked the streets like any young couple, garnering no attention. Twilight gave way to dusk and dusk to night. Lanterns were lit high on poles lining the major streets. The stars twinkled in the sky above; a crescent moon hung low in the west, ready to follow the sun. All was peaceful. For how much longer, Sorial wondered. The world had undergone a fundamental change, yet Vantok seemed rooted in the ways of the past - a time when there were gods but no wizards.

  Almost as if by mutual consent, their footsteps led Sorial and Alicia away from the city’s busy thoroughfares and toward the less crowded outer streets. Sorial moved on Alicia’s left so he could hold her hand. The strolled in a companionable silence, headed for the river.

  They heard the water before they saw it, a silvery stream illuminated by the scant light of the stars and reflecting the young moon.

  They kissed by the bank of the river under the calm gaze of that moon, their lips brushing gently at first, then with more insistence. It had been a long time since Sorial had kissed anyone like this.

  He felt her tongue against his, gently probing, uncertain. He opened his mouth to allow her to explore. He could sense her arousal and was having a hard time keeping his in check. Why bother? It’s not as if we need to worry about Vagrum coming over to break us apart. We’re together. Everyone who matters wants us together. This is no longer forbidden.

  She stepped back and shimmied out of the robe. In the moonlight, her skin glowed. With a peel of laughter, she jumped into the river. He could hear more than see her splashing. Finally, she was in her element.

  She played for a surprisingly long time. Sorial was content to wait, sitting on the edge, allowing his feet to slide under the water’s surface. Once his erection subsided, he was able to enjoy the evening with only an undercurrent of desire. He wished he could see her more clearly, cavorting like a fish. He briefly allowed his mind to merge with the ground, sending out feelers for the nearest people; he didn’t want to be interrupted by an intrepid member of Carannan’s household guard. But the nearest men were some distance away and not moving in this direction.

  “Get in here, stableboy! Water may not be your element, but you smell.” Her voice was husky, the throatiness unfamiliar, but the teasing, commanding tone she often used with him was still there.

  Sorial removed his mud-spattered traveling clothing, borrowed from Maraman’s camp. He entered the water and found that, wizard or not, he wasn’t immune to the inevitable physical byproducts of its coolness. Vantok might be locked in a bubble of heat, but the river originated in a place where Winter still held sway.

  “It’s amazing!” Alicia’s voice was ecstatic. Sorial might have agreed with her if his teeth weren’t chattering. “Come here, stableboy. I want you to experience what I’m feeling.”

  He made his way toward her, half-wading, half-swimming. She was in the deepest part of the river, where the current was at its fastest. Once, when the river had been mighty and threatened to overflow its banks, treading water in the middle might have led to them being washed downstream toward the public bathing area. Now, the flow was gentle enough that it took little effort to remain in place.

  As he came alongside her, he was aware of their mutual nakedness in a way he hadn’t been at Ibitsal. Then, it had been utilitarian, a necessity of circumstance. Now, there was an erotic charge to everything, perhaps because Sorial knew where their playfulness was headed. Tonight, there would be no interruptions.

  She sidled around behind him and molded her body to his. He could feel the softness of her breasts, tipped by the hard nubs of her nipples, pressed against his back. The feathery down between her legs grazed his buttocks. An amazing sense of warmth and comfort flowed from her body into his. The water began to effervesce, tiny bubbles fizzing in a cocoon around them, protecting them, encouraging them. Alicia wrapped her legs around him, ankles locked above his groin, and began to lightly kiss his neck - little pecks that were incredibly, almost painfully arousing. With her hands, she reached around his torso and began to play with the first thing her fingers encountered. He let out a low groan.

  “It’s time,” she whispered into his ear.

  He couldn’t agree more.

  * * *

  By the time Sorial awakened, the sun had crested the eastern horizon. His body was pressed against Alicia’s, his limbs entwined with hers. Her hair, returned to its natural golden color, brushed against his face. They were naked and filthy, having exited the water for a second coupling in the dirt and mud on the bank.

  He was physically exhausted, but it was a good sort of tired. Based on her outward reactions, Alicia had enjoyed the night’s activities as much or more than he had. A woman’s first time was said to be painful, but she had shown no discomfort. He wondered whether she had used magic as an analgesic. He had nearly drowned at the moment of his release, breathing in a mouthful of water. In her element, Alicia hadn’t experienced a similar problem but it was wonder her screams of ecstasy hadn’t attracted attention. She had been just as loud the second time, but no one had come to investigate.

  He felt her stir against him. Her eyelids fluttered open and she turned lazily to gaze at his face. “I’m sore.” Not exactly the romantic good morning he had expected.

  “I ain’t surprised,” he said, gently disentangling himself from her. “The word insatiable comes to mind.”

  “You know that word? You didn’t seem to mind it.”

  “Oh, I enjoyed it tremendously. It’s just that I expected you to be more... reserved, I guess. Sex is messy and I don’t recall you having much liking for messy things.”

  “My journey cured me of those phobias. Any time I fantasized about my first time during the past year, it was here with you. Not in a luxurious bedroom, but here in the open. Although I didn’t think it would be this dirty. I need a bath.” So saying, she rose gingerly to her feet and slid into the water. Sorial followed suit. In principle, he didn’t mind the filth and grime but there was the likelihood of a royal audience to consider.

  His swim was perfunctory, serving its purpose of cleaning off the heaviest dirt. He was dressed before Alicia emerged from the water. She was playing, exploring ways to use her newly acquired abilities. Fish that normally avoided people nibbled at her legs. The water was bubbling as it had done last night. She was in her element. He sat and watched.

  Eventually, she emerged from the water scrubbed clean and refreshed. The water dripped off her naked body and Sorial felt himself harden inside his trousers. He mentally reprimanded himself. Now wasn’t the time for that, although it was an open question when they might get another opportunity. Azarak would have needs and expectations and one of those would be the immediate public recognition of Vantok’s new prized citizen. And once Sorial’s status was known, the demands on his time would be extreme.

  “I don’t suppose we’ll be able to do it again tonight,” pouted Alicia as she slipped into her robe with an expression of distaste. Even though she washed it daily, she treated the garment as if was contaminating her newly cleaned body. Sorial sighed. He could envision the future disagreements already about what constituted “sufficient” bathing.

  “Your father awaits, Milady.”

  “This is where it gets interesting,” replied Alicia. Then, with Sorial trailing, she headed in the direction of Carannan’s house, home at last but not the same girl who had left.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: THE LORD OF EARTH

  Alicia’s reunion with her father was as emotional as Sorial had expected, with many tears shed on both si
des. There were hugs and kisses and a proclamation from Alicia that all was forgiven, not that Carannan likely believed he had done anything for which forgiveness was mandated. He, like Kara and Lamanar and many others, had acted as his conscience dictated. Sorial wondered if such a claim could be made of Ferguson, or whether he had evolved to a state where the concept of a conscience no longer had meaning. It was possible that the prelate viewed as “good” what others considered to be “evil.”

  Curiously, Carannan didn’t ask about Alicia’s status with respect to magic, and neither she nor Sorial volunteered any information. He sensed this was their secret to be divulged if and when they saw fit. He was happy enough just to embrace his daughter. Sorial watched with bittersweet feelings. It was touching to see the outpouring of affection between Alicia and her father, but seeing them together emphasized the cold reality of Sorial’s life.

  Alicia’s greeting of her mother was restrained. This was the first time Sorial had formally met Lady Evane. Despite being well into her middle years, she retained the beauty of youth. Looking at her, Sorial felt he might be gazing at Alicia in twenty years - the same wheaten hair, although streaked with silver; the same slender body and finely sculpted features; the same button nose. But her chocolate eyes, so different from Alicia’s tiny emeralds, provided portals into a lonely existence. Although he didn’t know her, Sorial’s heart went out to her. Before now, he hadn’t realized how closely her feelings might mirror his own mother’s. Both women had surrendered their children and the abandonment had left a scar that would never fully heal.

  He could guess at her life’s story, starting with an austere upbringing under the careful watch of an imposing religious figure. Ferguson again, always Ferguson. Everything came back to Ferguson. Once of age, she had been married into a loveless union with Duke Carannan because her bloodline was conducive to producing a magically adept child. Later, all contact with her only child had been controlled and limited because the girl was being groomed for duties that Lady Evane might not understand or agree with. Only now did Sorial realize how fully Ferguson’s shadow had eclipsed Alicia’s life. He and she were both products of the prelate’s manipulations, their existences ordered and directed by him. Perhaps Sorial should be grateful; after all, without Ferguson, he and Alicia would never have been born.

  Sorial wondered what Alicia’s mother was thinking about him. Evane likely wasn’t aware of his unique status. If someone had bothered to tell her, she likely would have dismissed them as mad. All she saw was a shabbily dressed young man with one hand and a scarred face. But she controlled her reactions well when taking Sorial’s hand. The shock and revulsion she might have felt never touched her features. She was perfectly cordial, just as she was with Alicia. If she was relieved to find her daughter alive and well, there was no sign of it. She poured the tea in delicate little cups and sat sipping it in silence as father and daughter chatted animatedly about Alicia’s journey. Evane wasn’t listening or, if she was, she wasn’t apprehending what was being said.

  Eventually, the time arrived to approach the king. Carannan had sent a messenger ahead with a note that read simply: “His Magus and his betrothed request a private audience with His Majesty.” When they reached the palace, newly dressed in clean, presentable clothing, Sorial and Alicia were escorted immediately to Azarak’s private sanctum. No one objected to Carannan accompanying them.

  They were met by a small contingent: the king, Princess Myselene, and Chancellor Toranim. During the previous encounter, all attention had been on Sorial. Now, the focus had shifted to Alicia. The unspoken question regarding whether she had become a wizard wasn’t addressed and Sorial’s narrative of events was deliberately vague. When it was her turn, Alicia took a longer time, filling in details and weaving a story that would make a bard proud. Like her paramour, however, she skipped over her encounter with the portal.

  A brief period of silence followed the conclusion of Alicia’s account. Finally, Azarak cleared his throat theatrically and said, “That brings us to the central question of this meeting. Your Magus, have you made a decision as to whether you’ll set up residence in Vantok?”

  “Alicia and I have talked about this. Neither of us is happy about the ways we’ve been ill-used, but we know the majority of the blame rests with Prelate Ferguson. But I’ve got a question that needs answering first. When I left, I commanded Ferguson to turn himself in and accept the king’s justice. Did he do that?”

  Toranim answered. “He’s here in the palace, in custody. He resides in a small cell and has shown nothing but cooperation since his confinement.”

  “You must understand,” interjected Azarak. “There’s no question of a formal hearing. To put a man like Ferguson on trial could bring Vantok to the brink of civil war. What happened to the gods is not widely known or accepted. Most people have heard and dismissed the rumors as sacrilegious slander. A public accusation of Ferguson would force a public confrontation of the gods’ departure. With war looming, this isn’t the time for that.

  “I’ve reviewed the evidence and find it conclusive that Ferguson’s guilty of high treason. He’s also implicated in a variety of other criminal activities, including the murder of the barmaid at The Wayfarer’s Comfort with whom you formed an attachment, Your Magus. The nominal sentence for these crimes would be death, but I’ve decided to pardon Ferguson on the condition that he accept a lighter penalty and resign his position in the Temple.”

  Sorial’s jaw tightened. “And what will his true punishment be?”

  “Initially, I considered exile. The problem is that it offers Ferguson too much autonomy, not to mention a potential path back to power. If he was sent to an uninhabited island, no doubt his followers would rescue him and bring him back to civilization where he could once again bedevil us. Instead, I believe a better sentence is to have him confined to his current quarters for the remainder of his life, where it can be assured he’s not in a position to cause further mischief and where his considerable knowledge and wisdom can be called upon if needed. His extensive research into magic could provide a valuable resource.”

  Sorial said nothing. The logical part of his mind knew this was the right decision. Ferguson was too important to fall victim to a headsman’s ax. But did this balance the scales for Annie? Was there to be no suffering for the man who had caused so much pain and anguish? The importance of retribution as an ingredient of justice couldn’t be denied.

  “Unacceptable.” The word fell into the silence like a bolt of lightning in the dark. Sorial saw faces fall: Azarak’s, Toranim’s, and Carannan’s. Myselene’s expression showed only curiosity. Never underestimate her. Of the three representatives of the Crown in this room, she’s the most cunning.

  Sorial glanced at Alicia. Her eyes held trust. They hadn’t discussed this but she would defend his decision. Her feelings about the prelate ran as deeply as Sorial’s. She blamed him for the deaths of Vagrum and Kara.

  “Your Majesty, I agree that Ferguson possesses important knowledge gained over a long lifetime and it would be wasteful to throw it away by means of a headman’s ax or a dose of poison in his supper. I also agree he can’t be publically chastised, but that don’t mean he should escape physical punishment altogether. His subjects have suffered greatly for him; it’s only fair for him to share a measure of their pain.” He pushed back the sleeve of his left arm to reveal the stump.

  “These are my demands.” He emphasized the last word. “Ferguson shall lose the small finger on each hand. A reminder but not a serious impairment. Less crippling than the loss of a hand, for instance. He’ll also be given one lash for every crime of which he’s found guilty. And for the rest of his life, he’s to dress as a penitent in coarse robes with his head and beard shaved. Let him lose the flowing white locks prized by his vanity. If you agree to these terms, Alicia and I will remain in Vantok as your loyal subjects for as long as you want us here.”

  Azarak responded with a curt nod. “Welcome to Vantok, Your Magus. In t
his city, your word shall be second only to mine in authority. Is that acceptable?”

  Sorial could have said “no,” but he didn’t. He could have demanded equality, a partnership in ruling the city. But political power wasn’t one of his goals. As indicated, he was content to be Azarak’s subject. Titles had little meaning.

  “Pardon me if this seems hasty, Your Majesty, Your Magus,” said Toranim. “But there must be an immediate announcement and demonstration followed by a marriage ceremony between the Wizard and his Bride. These events must occur before the king of Obis arrives, at which time the royal wedding will overshadow everything.”

  “How much time do we have?” asked Alicia.

  “No more than a week, perhaps less. The wedding is six weeks away, but indications are that King Rangarak’s party will reach Vantok in one or two weeks’ time. It would serve the city’s interests to have Sorial officially invested in his position before then.”

  “Too much haste would diminish the importance of the announcement,” said Myselene, nibbling on her lower lip as if the action was an aid to concentration. “I suggest a formal announcement two days hence followed by a ‘welcome’ dinner with select participants, a public demonstration of Sorial’s legitimacy the day after, and the wedding two days later. It should be a private ceremony to avoid muting the excitement for the royal wedding. Is this suitable?”