Wicked Empress:The Onic Empire, Book 4

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  Determined to find a way to right his own wrong, Viltori left the empress suite. As soon as he did, a contingent of guards fell into line behind him. Somewhat embarrassed, Viltori strode toward the temple. When he’d been an acolyte, he’d never really felt a connection to the gods, but he had found a sensual peace in the rituals. Perhaps if he could center himself, he could determine a solution.

  Lingering just outside the fabric door to the temple, his guards let him enter alone. Subdued azure light filled the vast space. When he took a deep breath, he tasted the familiar burning herbs. As he moved toward the massive statue devoted to the god of bonding, his eyes were drawn toward a small rendering. Her features were subdued, her head lowered demurely. Viltori could not remember having seen this goddess before, so he had no idea what she was the goddess of. Still, there was something about the tentative way she stood, with her long, straight hair hiding her face, that intrigued him. Her right hand crossed her body, cupping her left shoulder, as if she were protecting herself from an unknown foe. Unable to see where her left hand was, he rotated the statue, and her tiny hand touched his.

  Startled, he almost dropped her as he hurriedly yanked his hand away.

  “Have you come to save me?” Her voice was that of a lonesome child, high-pitched and indecently compelling.

  He wanted to say no, to turn away, but he couldn’t. He was here to solve his problem not take on whatever issues she had. Shaking his head, he hoped to dislodge the hallucination that was surely brought on by the drug-laced air. Oddities such as talking statues were not common, but they weren’t unheard of, either. Many acolytes claimed the inner workings of the person’s psyche were to blame for most, but not all, of such illusions.

  “Are you a coward?” Now her voice took on a sinister edge.

  Her accusation enraged him, but he replied, “No, I am not a coward.”

  “Then help me.”

  “What do you want?”

  “A child.”

  Now he knew all of this was in his mind. The horrors of creating a child that would suffer for his existence had consumed his thoughts. “I’m not giving you a child to kill.”

  “Why would I want to kill a child?” She turned her face up, which slid her hair back, revealing that half of her face was horribly damaged. Twisting scars crossed from her forehead to her chin. She noticed him looking and quickly covered herself with her hair. “I want a child to love me.”

  It was as if she’d reached right into his chest and squeezed his heart. “I can’t give you a child.”

  “Yes, you can. You can create a child that will worship only me.” Her little face radiated joy. “All over the temple there are those who bow and pray and sacrifice to the other gods and goddesses, but none lay at my feet.” Pain radiated from her voice.

  Such compelling distress dropped him to his knees. “I will worship you.” Viltori wanted to alleviate her suffering.

  “You are too old and you do not really believe.” She shook her head, her ruined face flashing in and out of the light. “I want a devotee trained only to me. One who lives only for me, one who would sacrifice anything to me, even her very life.”

  Viltori shivered. “I wouldn’t ask a child to do that for me, so what makes you think I would give one to you?” In an effort to break free of her commanding presence, he turned his face away, but he felt the pressure of her hand upon his shoulder. A full-sized hand and not the tiny one that had touched him only a moment ago.

  “Why do you refuse me? Giving a child unto me would pay your debt.”

  Shivering despite the moist warmth of the temple, Viltori wrapped his arms across his chest. “I will not. I cannot.” He would do anything to find another way to pay what he owed.

  “Then I will take one from you anyway.” Her hand tightened on his shoulder, crushing him so hard he felt his bones ready to break under her grip. “I will take one produced by your lovers.”

  “No!” Lunging away from her, he was halfway across the floor when he opened his eyes and looked about. The tiny statue was still within the niche on the wall. Not a soul was anywhere near him. Climbing to his feet, he clutched his shoulder, shocked to feel tenderness.

  Simultaneously his guards and a group of acolytes rushed into the room. His guards came from one end and the acolytes from the other end of the long room. Swords drawn, his guards considered the acolytes, who rapidly backed away.

  Lifting his hand, Viltori held them back. “It was nothing. Please wait for me outside.” His head was spinning and his stomach clenched.

  With a suspicious glare at the acolytes, the four guards left, but he could hear them just beyond the doorway. They took their role of protection seriously, probably because of Bithia’s threat to stone anyone who let anything happen to either him or Drahka.

  Before the acolytes departed, he called one over. She was tiny, possibly the smallest woman he had ever seen next to a serbred. “Who is this goddess?” Pointing from where he stood, he didn’t want to be any closer to the statue than he had to be, and he certainly didn’t want to be alone with it.

  Unable to see from where she was, the diminutive acolyte approached and peered intently at the statue’s face. “Shartaya. She is the goddess of tragedy.” The acolyte flipped back her oddly cut black hair and cast him a look that he should know since he was a former acolyte.

  “Does she have followers?” Who would worship a woman that represented heartbreak and disaster?

  Frowning slightly, the young woman nodded, then paused, her head tilted to the side. A slow creep of shame covered her face. “I do not know. She is a lesser goddess and she is tucked away back here.” The acolyte reached out toward the statue as if to scoop it up and perhaps move her to a more prominent spot. Viltori stopped her before she could. Yanking her hand away, the acolyte practically fled from him. He understood why. His skin was ice cold.

  Realizing he was alone with the statue, Viltori departed the temple, his awareness of his surroundings dampened as he tried to understand what had happened. To him, the goddess represented his greatest fears. Devoting a child to her worship was symbolic of what he feared would happen to any child the three of them created. All his trip to the temple had done was increase his distress.

  Silently cursing the gods, Viltori hurried through the halls, unaware of his destination. Clomping away behind him, his guards dutifully followed. When he came upon the tishiary, he sighed with relief. Here he felt safe. Wary, the guards followed within. They had their own place for bathing, dressing and gossiping. Besides, they were clearly upset he would ever wish to return to the place where he’d been beaten almost to death. He didn’t bother to try to explain. In the large bathing pool, Rown swam back and forth, a happy smile lighting his face when he saw Viltori enter.

  “My friend!” Rown almost shot himself right out of the water with his joy. “I am glad to see you.” Rown moved as if to join him beside the pool, but Viltori motioned him back.

  “I am glad to see you too.” Removing his clothing and setting each item aside, Viltori noticed his guards turned away, as if to offer him privacy, which he appreciated but didn’t need. He had been a recruit, after all. Rown watched him with sparkling eyes and clear appreciation. Once he was bare, he slipped into the water and swam over to Rown. “Tell me of Sterlave.”

  Taking a deep breath, Rown launched into a detailed account of everything that happened with the Treagen people. Much like Drahka’s telling, Rown’s tale excited him too, causing him to harden below the water. Possibly the most compelling part of the tale was Rown’s own enthusiasm.

  “As soon as I saw Drahka, I completely understood your longing. He’s huge, and so silent, and strong.” Lowering his voice so the guards could not hear, he added, “However did you dare to approach such a stoic man?” Rown shook his head, clearly impressed. “I do not think I would have had the courage. Well, Sterlave was brooding, but Drahka is more so, and look what I had to stoop to in order to get Sterlave to finally acknowledge—”
>
  “For the love of the gods, Rown, take a breath!” This was what Viltori could never explain to someone else about why he would never tire of coming here. He loved listening to Rown’s rambling stories. It wasn’t the same meeting up with him elsewhere. Water brought out bubbly, effusive elation in Rown that soothed Viltori’s stress. Despite incredible difficulties, Rown never lost his joy in life. Perhaps that was the answer as to why one would worship the goddess of tragedy. By kneeling before a goddess who embodied all that was most painful and horrible in life, one made peace with it. Acknowledging tragedy took away the shock of it when it happened, for it always happened. Not a soul anywhere had ever lived a life free of tragedy.

  Sighing dramatically, Rown sobered. Reaching out, he cupped Viltori’s chin. His hand was cool from the water. “I thought I would never see you again.”

  Taking his hand in his, Viltori nodded. “I am blessed to be alive. And I thank you for your part in making that so.” After a moment, he pointedly added, “Even if you did use the situation to your own lustful ends.”

  Blushing, Rown shivered in the water. “I worried that when we returned, Sterlave would return to his same elusive silence, but he didn’t.” Glancing over at the guards, who were vigilant but not eavesdropping, he added, “Three times he has been with me since we came back.”

  “He told Kasmiri?” Sterlave’s bondmate, the prior empress, wasn’t known for her indulgence. Before her renouncement of her throne, Kasmiri was considered a greedy, selfish and insufferably vain creature. Viltori found it difficult to believe that pregnancy had softened her nature.

  “He did. And Sterlave confessed the truth with his head held high.” Pride filled Rown, causing a smug satisfaction to cross his features. “Sterlave looked her right in the eye and told her everything. And do you know what she did?”

  Viltori considered. “Clearly she didn’t castrate him or you wouldn’t be so happy.”

  Rolling his eyes, much like his mistress, Rown said, “No, she didn’t castrate him. She put her hands on her hips and said it was about time.” Rown demonstrated by cupping his hands to his waistline below the shimmering water. “She couldn’t believe he’d denied his feelings for as long as he had.” Smirking, Rown released his hands and fell back in the water with a great sigh. When water washed over his face, he sank down, almost to the bottom, then shot up, flinging water out of his black hair.

  “So everything worked out.” Viltori was happy for his friend, but envious as well. He wanted the same for himself and the two people he loved.

  Pouting in a stylized way, Rown swam in a tight circle around him. “I can tell that you are genuinely happy for me.”

  “I am but something else troubles me.” Viltori swore he wouldn’t tell Drahka or Bithia, but Rown was ever so good at picking a problem apart until it no longer seemed a problem at all. “I shouldn’t be here.”

  Rown looked about the vast space of the tishiary.

  “Not here, exactly, but anywhere.” Viltori took a deep breath, feeling his chest expand against the weight of water. “I shouldn’t exist.”

  Stopping suddenly, facing Viltori, Rown blinked. “You would rather be dead?”

  Unable to decipher the emotion on the young man’s face, Viltori hastily tried to take back his words. “No, that’s not—never mind.” Viltori dropped below the water, letting the cool wet embrace cut him off from all other sensations. Only for a moment. When he rose, everything came right back with him. Whipping his head around, flinging the water off his face and hair, he considered Rown for a moment. “There is a debt to be paid for my return. One I cannot pay myself. I was in the temple and…” How could he tell Rown he must dump his burden on a child? What would his friend think of him then? Blurting everything out before he could change his mind, he gushed, “The goddess of tragedy wants a child from me, a child to worship only her, a child forced to devote her life to her.” Once he’d spewed everything out, he took a gasping breath. In the oddest way, he did feel better at having told someone else. What didn’t make him feel better was the way Rown was glaring at him.

  Arms crossed, Rown clenched his jaw and pressed his lips so tightly together they almost disappeared. Very softly, he said, “If your guards did not stand ready to pounce, I would strike you, even knowing you would best me in a fight, I still would. Even knowing what you went through not far from here, I still would hit you.”

  Stunned, Viltori reached out to his friend, but Rown flinched back, splashing water with the sudden jerk of his body. This in turn alerted his guards. One man stepped closer, but Viltori waved him back. They were like a pack of hunting animals ever vigilant to the sounds of chase.

  Lifting his hands in a plaintive gesture to Rown, Viltori asked, “Why?”

  “Tell me what you find so reprehensible about a person who is faithful to their god.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then what’s wrong with a child who is given to a god?” Rown barely held back tears. “I am a devotee of Behdera, given to him on the day of my birth. I had no idea this made me less in your eyes.”

  Viltori realized he’d denigrated Rown’s entire existence. He was about to say he didn’t mean him, but that would only make matters worse, so he said the only thing he could think of. “I’m sorry.”

  “You are not.” Rown turned as if to go, but whipped back around. “You’re sorry the truth came out. I always knew you did not have faith in the gods even though you were a part of the temple, but what I didn’t know was what low esteem you held the faithful in.”

  “I do not hold you in low esteem.” Anger flared. “But what kind of a man would I be to give a child in my stead?” Viltori hoped this would explain. His words only further infuriated Rown.

  “Oh, so you would not wish my existence on your child.”

  Viltori’s face must have told the truth that his heart didn’t dare speak.

  “I thought you were my friend.” Something broke then, twisting Rown’s face, ripping away all the joy that was so much a part of him. “I thought you understood how difficult my relationship with Sterlave had been because of my station as an ungati. Little did I realize that you were looking down on me the entire time.”

  “I have never looked down on anyone, and certainly not you.” Viltori could not believe the conversation had gotten so far from the point he was trying to make. He felt nauseous and dizzy, as if the water around him swirled in a great downward spiral. Every word he uttered dragged him further into oblivion.

  “I remember now, that time when you suggested I simply break with my god and give in to the pleasure Sterlave wished to give to me.”

  Viltori remembered that day. On that day, he learned the depth of Rown’s devotion. Giving pleasure was what Rown did for his god. Taking pleasure was something he could not do unless he was alone and giving of himself to his god. Rown spoke with finality. As if that was the only way he could ever be. Breaking with his traditions would be like breaking his soul. Without his faith, Rown would not be Rown.

  “I was willingly given to Behdera on the day of my birth,” Rown turned and began slogging his way out of the pool, “and for you to make that sacrifice ugly—”

  Viltori grabbed him by the shoulders, refusing to let go even when he struggled. Rown’s body rubbed against his, but not playfully, not like he had that day that felt a lifetime ago. Now his struggle was in earnest, but he was no match for Viltori’s strength. He felt horrible for what he was doing, but he also wasn’t about to chase him around the palace naked. Viltori wanted Rown’s attention and, by the gods, he was going to make him not only hear his words but listen to them.

  “Did your parents give you to a god to pay a debt on their souls?” At this, Rown ceased resisting. Wide-eyed he peered at Viltori. “Because that is what I would be doing. Selfishly I would give Shartaya my child so that I could live in peace.” Shaking Rown within his grip, he pressed his face very close. “Do you see now what eats at my soul? How can I in good conscience give away an i
nnocent to atone for my sin?” At that, Viltori pushed Rown away, causing a great ripple. “For the sin of Bithia and Drahka. They brought me back, but now I have to pay for it!”

  The truth tumbled from his lips before he could shut them. Viltori was so angry with them for what they’d done to him. The wave created by his shoving of Rown broke along the side of the bathing pond, spilling water beyond the edge. “Because they could not let me go, they changed what should have been. Dead should remain dead. But now I walk in shadow, unable to live my life for fear of my burden becoming another’s.”

  Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Viltori turned his back on Rown. What was done was done. He couldn’t take back a word he’d uttered, nor could he undo what his companions had done. Hating those he loved for giving him back his life was wrong, and Viltori knew it, yet still the fury gnawed at him. If not for their intervention, he would have died, and hopefully, gone on to a life among the gods in Jarasine. But no. Because of the interference of Bithia and Drahka, Viltori was trapped—too afraid to live and too afraid to die.

  And still remained the question of what he would do.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Endless petty arguments had dominated the meeting, but Bithia was determined to put the most pressing matters to rest. First and foremost was making Menon’s position as magistrate official. After he’d offered his vow to uphold the office of magistrate, he settled himself to the next highest chair. He sat tall and proud but still clad in his work-worn black clothing. By the celebration tonight, he would have proper garments of silver to indicate his rank.