She didn’t answer, but that didn’t keep his hope from flaring.
“You’re the Priestess’ Monks! You must be!” He turned his head to look at the robed man on his other side, who was, in fact, a man. “I’m a Guardian of the Guild. Master McClintock sent me on a task of the utmost importance involving the High Priestess. I must speak with her at once. He’s with me,” Scorch said, nodding his head back to Vivid. “He’s my friend. We don’t mean you any harm.”
They responded only with silence.
“There was someone else with us,” Scorch continued, so excited his thoughts were running over each other. “A woman. Kio. I can’t see her. She was in the cave with us. Is she alright?”
No one responded. They hardly acknowledged his presence. With all of his questions left unanswered, Scorch stopped trying to ask them. He let the monks lead him up the mountain path. Concern was eating at him for Kio and Vivid, but he felt positive their quiet captors were the Priestess’ Monks, which meant the path they were ascending would lead to the temple. Scorch took a deep breath. The High Priestess was finally close. It wouldn’t be long until he was able to fulfill his guardianship.
****
By the end of it all, Scorch was thankful the monks had found them in the cave and taken them along the secret path, because even with the hidden route, the journey took the rest of the day. Scorch couldn’t imagine trying to reach the top the way they’d been climbing. It would have taken days.
When they finally reached the end of the path, Scorch caught only a glimpse of the temple’s golden columns before the monks led him around the back of the structure, where dilapidated stone steps descended deep into the earth. They nudged him lightly and he took to the steps, letting the monks escort him into the dark, underground chamber.
Scorch’s hope had been that the monks were leading him to bathe, maybe change into something other than a fur dress before he went to see the High Priestess, but the only thing in the chamber was a cell.
He stopped, digging in his heels. “No, I don’t think you understand,” Scorch blustered as they continued to haul him forward. “I’m a guardian. I need to see the High Priestess.” He begged them, but his pleas did nothing to halt one monk from opening the cell door and another monk from tossing Scorch inside. Vivid was thrown in a moment later, and then the door was shut and locked.
Scorch rose to his knees and shook the bars. They were ice cold, but warmed instantly beneath Scorch’s touch. “Listen to me! My name is Scorch. I am a Guardian of the Guild. It is paramount that I see the High Priestess immediately. Please!”
The monks turned away and began their march up the staircase, disappearing into the darkness. Scorch slammed his hand against the bars in frustration before attending the unconscious man in the cell with him.
“Vivid? Vivid, wake up.” Scorch shook him gently and his eyes fluttered open.
Vivid licked his lips and groaned, but his eyes were unfocused. Scorch looked down at his shivering body. He was so cold.
“You’re probably going to kill me,” Scorch whispered, and then he lifted Vivid off the cold floor and settled him in his lap, letting his head rest against his shoulder. “I’m not being weird,” Scorch assured him, though he doubted Vivid could hear him in his state. “I’m just really hot. I mean temperature-hot.” He tried to concentrate on letting his body heat radiate freely through his skin, but since he had no idea how any of that worked, all he could do was hope that Vivid was getting warmer. He rubbed Vivid’s hands between his hands and tried to think warm thoughts.
Vivid grumbled something nonsensical and Scorch froze.
“Vivid?”
“Kio,” Vivid rasped.
“I don’t know where they’ve taken her. Did you see? Are you alright?”
Vivid coughed, and then his eyes closed and his head fell back against Scorch’s shoulder, unconscious.
“Gods,” Scorch sighed in frustration.
It was difficult to say how long he sat in the cell holding Vivid against him, but when the echo of footsteps brought him back to the present, he realized he’d been spacing out. He carefully removed Vivid from his lap and set him on the floor right before two robed men appeared before the cell.
“The High Priestess will see you now,” one of them announced.
“Oh, good,” said Scorch, relieved. “Look, can you see about my friend? He needs a hot bath and food. Some dry clothes. He’s freezing. And Kio. Can you tell me where she is?”
“Come with us,” said the other monk, unlocking the cell.
Scorch clambered to his feet, glancing back worriedly at Vivid. He looked like his shivering had calmed down, at least a little. Scorch felt a pang in his chest to leave him, but he had a guardianship to complete. He squared his shoulders and exited the cell, and the monks led the way up the steps.
It was night, and more robed bodies were waiting at the top of the steps with lit torches. Scorch eyed the flames and felt a flicker of heat inside his stomach. The monks surrounded him, ushering him forward to the front of the temple, where, finally, Scorch was treated to its splendor. Even by the scant illumination of the torches, the sight of it was magical. The gold columns he had caught sight of before were taller and more extravagant than anything he’d ever seen. The steps were gold, as well, and intricately carved with interlinking vines and animals. Scorch wondered if one of the depicted animals had white, silky fur, but the monks led him up the steps too quickly for him to investigate.
He was walked down a daunting hallway, where torches on the walls blanketed everything in a yellow wash. Everything about the temple’s insides felt warm and strangely expensive for a religious temple at the top of Viridor’s highest peak. But for all its grandeur, Scorch didn’t have far to walk before the monks paused outside an especially ornate door, broad and intimidating, with a bronze knocker the size of Scorch’s head. One of the monks stepped forward and knocked it once, twice, three times, then released it and stepped back.
As they waited, Scorch became uncomfortably aware that he was dressed in what basically amounted to a damp, furry dress, and he vainly hoped the specifics of his first guardianship would remain veiled in mystery. He made a mental note to pack loads of spare clothing for future endeavors and was in the process of finger-combing his scruffy hair when the door creaked open.
Another monk peered through the crack at Scorch. “Her Holiness will see you.”
Scorch nodded. “Great. Good. Thank you.”
The monk opened the door and, after a moment to rally his nerves, Scorch entered the room. The door clicked behind him and the monk put his back against it, waving Scorch toward the archway in the center of the room. Scorch followed the silent direction and walked beneath the archway, where silken scarves were draped in a purple and gold curtain. On the other side, a woman was perched on a settee. Her hair was a silver-white cascade down her back.
“Guardian,” she said, fixing him with sky blue eyes. Her face was porcelain. She was pretty, in a surreal way, and the longer Scorch looked at her, the harder it was to guess her age. She’d been around too long to be young, but her skin was as smooth as the marble floors beneath her bare feet.
“High Priestess,” he said with a bow. It might have been a good idea to school himself on how to interact with the Holiest figure of Viridor before he was standing in her chambers like a bumbling fool. Hopefully, she was too distracted by his ridiculous attire to notice any discrepancies in his greeting.
“Come. Sit.” She crooked a finger and he obliged with haste, congratulating himself when he reached the cushions opposite of Her Holiness without tripping over his own feet. He settled down on the plump satin pillows and tried not to feel awkward that the Priestess was looking down at him from her settee. “You have journeyed far,” she said, her voice like wind chimes. “It has been so long. I barely recall the last time a guardian passed my tests.” Her head tilted. “Do you believe you are worthy to sit before me?”
Scorch fought to remain
reverential, but something about the High Priestess consternated him. She was so smooth, but her eyes were sharp. “I don’t know if I’m worthy of the trials it took to get here,” Scorch told her, deciding honesty was the best route when confronting Holy types. “I know I never would have made it here without the aid of my companions.” He sat up straighter on his little mountain of pillows. “Your Holiness, there was a woman with me, but your people won’t tell me where she is or if she’s okay. And the man in the holding cell needs blankets or—”
The High Priestess lifted a single finger and Scorch quieted. “Do not worry for your companions,” she soothed. “You are a guardian who has traveled far to implore my ear. Is all you wish to speak of your friend’s lack of blankets?”
“No,” Scorch said. “I come to you with dire word from the Guild Master.”
“Is that so?”
He strained his memory for his interaction with Master McClintock, which now seemed as if it happened eons ago. “The Queen has reason to believe there is a plot against your life,” he told her in a speech gravely low. “I am here to warn you of an assassin plot and aid you in whatever way you wish. I realize you’re in good company, surrounded by the monks, but I offer you my blade, as well.” His hand automatically fell to his hip, where he felt nothing but damp fur. “I mean, my blade is missing at the moment, but give me a weapon, any weapon at all, and I will protect you with my life.”
She held a delicate, bejeweled hand over her chest, the porcelain matte of her skin hardly a contrast against the pale shade of her satin robes. “Assassins?” she asked, worry finally gathering between her silvery, finely plucked eyebrows. “That is dire. Would you come with me? I think I would feel much safer in my adjacent chambers.”
“Whatever you wish, your Holiness.” He stood when she stood. She was willowy and tall, nearly Scorch’s height.
“This way,” she said, and she led them across the marble floor, past ivory sculptures of twisting flames and cresting waves, until they stood before a massive, floor to ceiling painting. Scorch gazed up at it in awe. It was a portrait of the High Priestess. In all honesty, he found it garish to have such an extreme portrait of oneself on display in one’s quarters, but he supposed he was no judge for decorations. The only decorating decisions he’d made in his room at the Guild consisted of where to lean his sword and in what corner to throw his dirty laundry.
“Lovely,” he told the High Priestess, who watched him with an eerie sheen in her light blue eyes. He was pondering whether to compliment how the artist had successfully captured the elegant bow of her lips when she held out her hand and pushed against her oil-painted bosom. The painting swung open, because it was also a secret door, and the High Priestess invited Scorch to enter in front of her. He did, though the way was too dark to step with a sure foot. Once inside the lightless chamber, Scorch felt a cool hand on his arm and heard the High Priestess enter behind him.
“Now we can speak more freely,” she said. “Please, sit.”
The hand on Scorch’s arm led him forward and then pushed him into a chair. A moment later, he felt metal bands slap across his wrists and ankles.
“Wait,” he began, and the room was filled with light as a torch was lit. The monk who had fastened him to the chair turned to face Scorch, standing beside the High Priestess. Scorch couldn’t see the monk’s face; it was lost to the hood’s shadow.
The room was surprisingly large and stone and not entirely unlike the Circle dungeon. The most troublesome thing by far was the fact that Scorch’s chair seemed to be on a pedestal surrounded by a pool of water, excepting the narrow footpath that had led him across. It was incredible he’d not fallen in when the room was in darkness.
“I apologize for the poor hospitality on my part,” the High Priestess chimed, “but you must understand. Assassins? Guardians? You have brought troubling news to a sacred place, to my home, and I would be remiss not to take every precaution available to me.”
“I’m no threat to you,” Scorch said, trying to figure out the best way to struggle against his bonds without appearing rude.
The High Priestess laughed. It was a high-octave noise that called to mind the wails of the desert. “Such sweet words to come from the dirty mouth of an elemental.”
Scorch’s heart seized in his chest and his pulse galloped.
“You look caught off guard,” commented the High Priestess.
“He looks like that a lot,” said Kio, lowering the hood from her head. She stood beside the High Priestess, adorned in monk robes, and smiled kindly at Scorch. “I’m touched you were so concerned for my safety,” she said, “but as you can see, I am perfectly well.”
“Kio,” he gasped. “What happened to you after the cave? What are you doing here?” His first thought was that she had gone ahead for help, and the monks had given her their clothes to wear, and she had made friends with the High Priestess while awaiting Scorch and Vivid’s arrival. But in the back of his mind, he knew it was preposterous. He knew it had not been that way. “The Mountain Flower Whiskey. You drugged us?”
“Scorch,” Kio said, calm and cool and looking at him like nothing extraordinary was happening. “This is my home.”
The High Priestess placed her hand on Kio’s robed shoulder and smiled at her adoringly. “Kio has done very well and made me extremely pleased.” She snapped her eyes back to Scorch. “Do you know how long it has been since an elemental was in my temple? Alive?” She twirled a long strand of silver hair around her fingers. “Kio was only a small babe then.”
“But I remember the joy it brought to your eyes,” Kio hummed peacefully.
“And now you have brought me another.” The Priestess looked at Scorch hungrily.
“Kio,” Scorch cried. “I don’t understand. You said you were an herbalist. You’re a Priestess’ Monk?”
Kio was unerringly serene. “Am I not allowed to be both?”
“You lied to me.” He felt a sob welling up in his throat and choked it down.
“Did I?” she asked. “I told you I had been training as an herbalist, and I have been, here, under the High Priestess’ tutelage. I told you it would be an honor to keep you properly mended during your journey through the Heartlands, and it was. There is no greater honor than delivering unto the Holiest One a rare gift.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was impossible. “Am I to take it that I’m the rare gift?”
“Of course you are,” Kio said with an approving nod. “You know as well as I do how rare elementals are. When you were thrown into the cage with me, it was a blessing from the Gods.”
He balked. “You couldn’t have known what I was as early as the Circle.”
Kio put a finger to the faded burn across her cheekbone. “When you were delirious with concussion, you touched me here and called me mom.” The High Priestess laughed and Kio cast her a happy smile. “Normally, I would have killed you. It’s my duty. I had planned to do it the night we escaped. I was going to let Julian help me—I thought he might make a decent monk—but when I found out where you were headed, it changed everything.”
“No,” Scorch whispered, shaking his head, denying the words being poured into his ears. “No. You were my friend.”
“I was doing what I had to do,” Kio said. “It’s been over a decade since a live elemental was brought to the temple. Your kind is usually too volatile to bring in breathing. But you were headed here on your own. There was no forcing you.”
Scorch had no words. He felt insane. How could he have been fooled so horrendously? How had he let himself trust her, when he had known next to nothing about her? Why had he accepted all the coincidences that continued to stack higher and higher around him? Because she had been kind to him. Because he’d thought she was his friend. He let his head fall back against the chair with a thud.
“So what now?” he asked. “You have an elemental strapped to a chair. Am I right in assuming there’s more to your plan than light bondage?”
&nb
sp; The High Priestess shrugged her hair behind her shoulder and caressed a hand down Kio’s back. “You are dismissed for now,” she told her. “Go rest. I am so proud of your accomplishments.”
Kio bowed to her before exiting through the secret door. The High Priestess watched the door until it clicked closed, and then she returned her attention to Scorch.
They were alone.
“Kio is a special girl,” she said.
“Yeah. The best.”
“But you are special, too, aren’t you?” she coaxed.
He snorted. “I’ve been told I have nice hair.”
The High Priestess narrowed her eyes at him. “Through my research on one of your fellow abominations, I discovered something.” Her hand danced across a metal wheel jutting from the wall. “When overcome by an opposing force, your powers are rendered obsolete. Kio tells me you changed into something quite formidable during your trek through the desert. I wonder whether my discoveries hold true for a creature as powerful as you. Shall we test it?”
“You’re making me seriously reconsider my priest kink.”
She appraised him passionlessly. “It is too bad your parents were slaughtered before they could teach you any manners,” she countered, pulling a long ceremonial dagger from an inner pocket of her robe.
“What?” he asked, his cheeks reddening from the flare of heat beneath his skin.
Her bare feet slapped against the floor as she crossed the narrow pathway to his pedestal. “Does that make you angry?” she asked him. “Kio tells me you are plagued with nightmares, and that, for a vile, monstrous thing, you’re sensitive. Soft.” She held the knife’s edge to his mouth, pressing it against his lips until blood sprang forward. Scorch tensed against his bindings as she dragged the knife down, splitting his lip with a thin red line. “You do have nice hair,” she continued. “But you need a shave.” She swiped the blade along his jaw with a laugh. “Oh, I can feel your heat from here. Spectacular.” Her knife whispered down his throat until it reached the collar of his furs. The smile on her face was smug as she cut the furs open, down to his navel.
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