by Kim Knox
Chapter One
Cold shadow edged over the balcony and swept a chill through Ceta’s skin. Her fingers curled into her palm. It was here already? Pushing herself to her feet, she willed her body to leave the safety of her small desk and move closer to the window. Thick blackness slid in a slow wave over the smooth tiles of her room, rolling toward her bare toes. She staggered back. The knowledge of what caused it had fear hard and sharp in her belly.
Ceta drew in a deep breath, needing to ease the anxiety that threatened to have her running, running and never stopping. She shut her eyes. It would be pointless to run. She could never escape what had to happen. She was a Schedir candidate, the highest honor anyone could achieve within the quadrant. Ceta clung to that myth, hoping it could break through her fear. It didn’t work. It hadn’t for weeks now.
Chilled air sank into her lungs, filling her, riding with her blood. The roll of the icy shadow wiped away all hint of the temple’s surrounding fields, taking with it the soothing hint of ancient stone and replaced the scent with…what? It tasted bitter against her tongue, a sourness that sat too heavy in her stomach, nausea almost rising with it.
She wiped at her damp forehead and a wry smile pulled at her mouth. Instinct even had her sampling, analyzing the air. Yes, the temple had trained her well.
Her heart jumped at the rapid series of knocks at the door. She forced her heart to slow and turned her head toward the sound. Her whole room was almost lost to thick shadow now and a dull throbbing beat against her eardrums. Ceta pulled in her courage, wanting it to strengthen her voice. “Come!”
Hinges whined and the old wooden door creaked open in the blackness. “It’s here, Ceta!” One of her trainers—from her excited voice it sounded like Mirari Paola—burst into the room. Her sandaled feet slapped against the stone floor. A small hand gripped her arm and tugged her toward the still-closed balcony doors. Ceta’s bare feet slid against the smooth stone floor, and she lost sight of them to the inky shadow. “You have to see this.”
“I’ve seen it every year.” Ceta couldn’t keep the waspishness from her voice. She wasn’t a novice, brought terrified and new to the temple. She’d lived behind its high, inescapable walls for over five years. “Today is no different.”
Mirari threw back the slatted doors, opening the room to the full blast of the cold air. Ceta shivered, rubbing her hands over her arms but finding no warmth. A great blackness covered the sky, casting a thick shadow over half of the temple compound. Already, bright torches flared in the blackness, marking walls and pathways. Soon the blackness would cover the sun, and the arrival of the sovereign Feodor Kyrillos would become official. A deep shudder shook her.
“Ceta, you have to remember this is the greatest honor. The sovereign prizes his Schedir candidates above all of his subjects.” Mirari gripped her arm and pulled her out onto the narrow balcony overlooking the small square. Shadow crept across the familiar stone flags and swallowed everything, plunging the ancient architecture into an inky darkness. “Without the candidates, the sovereign would never come to Schedir-prime. We would be without food, energy, be completely abandoned. Unprotected.” A short smile pulled at her mouth. “Not a good thing.”
“I know,” Ceta murmured, and she tried to feel honored. She did. Because maybe that would chase the terror from her gut. She didn’t want to disappear onto the sovereign’s vast ship, never to return. Mirari had already stood as a candidate seven years before, stood and had the good fortune not to be chosen by the sovereign’s paladin. Ceta wanted her luck but couldn’t trust in it. “And I am honored.” She said the words and felt only a tight knot in her stomach. “It would be a great honor to be chosen.”
Lights flickered on the smooth surface of the balcony’s balustrade, activated by the heavy presence of the shadow. They carved golden shapes against Mirari’s body, face. Her chin lifted to the sky and a mix of envy and disappointment flared over her features. “For three days, I would have been the sovereign’s right hand. Then after proving myself, I’d join his retinue as Ulla, Rikka and Sarina did.” She let out a slow sigh and glanced back to Ceta. “Anything has to be better than the monotony of the temple.”
“You could always stand with me.” Ceta wanted to say “instead of me” but knew that was too dangerous to voice, no matter how many of the candidates secretly thought it. Mirari was right. Their way of life depended on the sovereign. Without him, his resources and protection, they would have crumbled to dust long ago.
Blackness swallowed the warmth and light of the morning sun and the cloister bell began its heavy tolling, a counterpoint to the deep thrum of the sovereign’s vast ship.
“Time to make you ready for the paladin,” Mirari said, turning from the balcony, her hand tight on Ceta’s arm. She grinned. “You’re my first candidate to make it this far. You’re going to look perfect.”
Golden light filled Ceta’s room now from sconces on the wall. Its familiarity, her small bed tucked into the far wall, her desk, her small couch set beneath her shelf of books and trinkets, tugged at her heart. She’d never asked to be a candidate. But when she reached the age of twenty-one, a warden from the temple presented her with a summons. Her small town had seen it as an incredible honor that one of their number would perhaps one day reside with the sovereign. Ceta pinched at her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. For a few days, she’d thought the same…but then she’d witnessed her first choosing, seen the paladin manacle Ulla Paola and lead her to his transport. The doors shut with a dull thud in the echoing hall and Mirari’s younger sister was gone.
“Ceta. You have to focus.” Mirari unbuttoned Ceta’s shirt, pushing it back from her shoulders, her fingers cool, light against her skin. Goose bumps prickled, the cold biting into Ceta and she shivered as Mirari’s deft fingers moved to her breeches. She tugged them down and Ceta stood exposed, naked in the freezing air sweeping in from the balcony. “Where’s your costume?”
“Hanging in my wardrobe,” she said, her flesh tight with cold, her nipples peaked. “Can you hurry? It’s icy.”
Mirari smirked at her, her face golden in the wash of light from the wall sconces. “You should face the paladin naked. He’d be sure to take you, in more ways than one.”
Ceta winced. “Funny.”
Mirari disappeared into the little side room and the sound of doors creaking cut through the vibrations of the overhead ship. Her voice carried back. “Close up, the paladin is beautiful, you know. I’ve never seen a man look quite that good in a skirt.” Her soft laughter rippled from the room. “And it’s not just the sex-starved temple woman in me talking either.” Mirari emerged from the room, the plain white robe folded over her arm. “He’s…dark perfection. When he focuses on you…” She shivered and a naked look of longing filled her eyes. “I swear, he still fuels my fantasies to this day.”
“That’s not difficult, Mirari. Our choice of men here is limited.”
Her trainer snorted. “Limited?” She brushed out the small creases in the robe and Ceta lifted her arms, the heavy fabric sliding rough against her bare skin. “Without the simulator, I’d be sidling up to the head guard.”
Ceta snorted, her face full of heavy robe. She tugged it down, finding Mirari’s hands under hers as they fitted the tight material to her slender body. “Nobody’s desperate enough to touch him.”
“If the simulator lost power…don’t doubt it.”
Ceta laughed and it eased her tight fear. Simulator privileges made living in the temple compound bearable. A gift from the sovereign, it appeared to be a stone-lined room, empty, uninteresting until a member of the temple was given the activating code and the room came alive with dark fantasies. She felt the rise of a flush under her cheeks. Mirari wasn’t the only one who found the paladin fascinating. Yes, the
simulator room kept them all sane.
She wondered if it was her trainer’s guilty secret too. It was, after all, illegal to simulate a real individual and Ceta had only risked rendering the paladin a handful of times in her five years in the temple. But she’d never followed through, never had sex with him. Stupid her. “So you imagine him in the simulator?”
Mirari smirked and showed no trace of guilt. “Oh yes. The paladin and I often have fun together. He’s very…” A devil’s light lit her dark eyes. “Inventive.”
Mirari’s appetite never dulled. Ever. And her trainer was always honest. Ceta doubted any other man had ever found his way into the simulator with her. She laughed and more of the dread in her stomach eased.
With her newfound strength, Ceta stared down at her robe, the fabric itching against her skin. The temple insignia, a nest of interweaving golden circles, stretched down over her chest and abdomen. However, the fear edged back under her skin and her stomach cramped. It was real. She would stand with the other candidates waiting for the paladin to chain one of them and take that candidate away.
“Ceta, your hair.” Mirari pushed her toward the small washroom, golden light flashing over the sealed stone as they entered the square room.
The mirror reflected them, light shining against the harsh white of her robe. Ceta looked odd, too tall in the ceremonial costume that stretched down to her bare feet. Mirari dragged a wooden chair from beside the shower stall and pushed Ceta into it. “I’ll get the box. Sit, relax. You will look regal.”
She left Ceta, who sat and stared at herself in the mirror, her face pale, save for two bright spots of color on her cheeks, her dark eyes haunted. She tried to tell herself there was nothing to fear. If the paladin didn’t choose her, then she would live out her life in the temple, training others to be candidates. An honorable enough position in the temple. And if he did choose her—her chest tightened—then she would spend the rest of her life on the sovereign’s ship. The mysterious, the unknown, with no idea what would follow.
She jumped as Mirari slid a box onto the small table beside the stone sink. Mirari’s hands dropped onto her shoulders and she met Ceta’s gaze in the long mirror set over the sink. “He will choose you—you know that.” A smile curved her mouth. “Our paladin likes them smooth and pretty.”
“He always picks blondes.” Ceta wanted to take comfort in that fact but couldn’t. She could be the exception.
Mirari opened the box and teased out a long strip of gold leaf. Taking a strand of Ceta’s long, dark hair, she entwined the first strip of gold, the only decoration allowed to a candidate. “Then it’s time he changed. The blondes this time are waspish, haggard.” She entwined a second strip. “You’re lush, ripe—”
“I’m not fruit, Mirari.”
Her trainer laughed. “You’ve seen the paladin—well, at a distance—he’s not a man who would choose haggard over lush.”
She watched her friend weave more gold into her hair, curling it, pinning it into an ornate style that mirrored the temple insignia. Yes, she’d seen the paladin and could understand Mirari’s obsession. Hell, she shared it. He was beautiful, a cold, hard beauty that made her wonder what it would be like for a man like him to lose control. It had to be a large part of his appeal.
Mirari patted her shoulder. “It’s time to go down.” She smiled at her in the mirror. “You’re my first candidate to make it to the final selection. Make me proud.”
Ceta met her smile. “I want to,” she said, not feeling the desire in her gut. What she really wanted was to go home, go back to her life as a clerk in a transport plant. A dull, mindless job but with a personal future she’d stupidly taken for granted. She pushed herself up from her chair and smoothed her hands over the front of her robe. It stopped Mirari seeing the obvious tremor. “All right, I’m ready.”
They left her small rooms and ran into the flurry of activity the arrival of the sovereign’s ship always brought. Temple staff chased errands through the twisting stone corridors and their urgency itched more unease into her tight gut.
The paladin wouldn’t choose her. For five years she’d witnessed him stalk along the line of blank-faced candidates and he’d never once picked out a dark-haired woman. She could face the monotony of the temple if he kept her from the sovereign’s ship. A trainer if she was lucky, a lackey if she wasn’t. And if the paladin chose her, for three days she’d be the sovereign’s taster, of what she didn’t know. After that, the vast unknown of the sovereign’s ship would swallow her life.
There it was again—her fear of the unknown.
Mirari slid her hand into Ceta’s and gripped it tight. The human contact brought focus to her scattering thoughts. She concentrated on the wide stone of the stairs that would take her down to the central hall, younger and older women giving her a wide berth. Yes, being a candidate was a great honor, but still, it didn’t mean someone from the temple got too close to one. Candidates could be gone in a blink.
Icy air rushed into the hall from the huge archway, its doors folded back against the smooth stone. Mirari pulled her into a swift hug on the last stair, her arms tight.
“You will be chosen. I feel it.”
The words, meant to reassure, dropped a cold stone into her stomach. “Thank you. And thank you for all your efforts.”
Mirari eased free from her tight hug, her hands light on Ceta’s arms. Her head tilted and she smiled. “You’re a natural, Ceta. You have the most delicate palate anyone has ever trained.” She grinned. “This from my most senior supervisors. That information has to influence the paladin, despite his fetish for blondes.”
Ceta gave a short nod. She glanced down to her bare feet, seeing the edge of the last stone step. Panic swelled in her gut and anxiety rose, threatening to crack the calm mask that she needed to hold over her face. “Here’s hoping,” she muttered.
Mirari stepped back from her, moving up the stairs away from her. She looked up at the ancient stone, the light-washed buttresses jutting into the shadow of the arched roof. “Good luck, Ceta.”
“Thank you.” Cold air swirled around her, washing over her bare feet and curling up her ankles and calves. It almost froze her feet to the final step, but she had to take it. Had to walk across the great circle to be with the women already standing on their markers.
The curve of the galleries carved around the hall from living rock buzzed with gathering novices and trainers. Ceta felt stiff, uncoordinated as she made her way across the circle. Taster to the sovereign. The strange title ran through her head. Trained to fulfill a ceremony about which she had no clue. None of them did. A candidate needed to prove that she had the finest, most delicate palate—and that was the extent of the knowledge of anyone in the temple.
The official line ran that afterward the taster would receive an honored position in the sovereign’s entourage. The unofficial rumors said that the tasters never came back because they were dead.
Ceta crushed that thought. She took her place next to Kriska, giving the woman a brief, tight smile, before her attention turned to the great, open arch ahead of them. A series of white lights shifted in the thick blackness, cutting through the golden wash of the torches lighting the temple. They grew brighter, closer and Ceta winced, the whine of engines jarring her teeth.
The paladin’s shuttle dropped into the courtyard and the engines died. Ceta let out a slow breath and lifted her chin, willing the hard, professional mask into place.
She’d watched other ceremonies from the safety of the galleries, her breath short, hands gripping the ledge in front for the first sign of his emergence. Mirari was right. The paladin was beautiful, and something about him…tugged…at her. It was a feeling she’d never shared with anyone, not even Mirari, exploring it occasionally in the privacy of the simulator. Even then, whatever it was, felt too…private, to expose. She pushed her shoulders back, dreading meeting the paladin in the flesh. Yes, everything about her candidacy was screwed.
Steps hitting stone echo
ed and the buzzing galleries fell into a swift hush. Visored guards tramped out of the transport and down the few steps to the courtyard floor. The sharp whine of weapons priming burned against Ceta’s ears. She could never get used to their technology, every part of it jarring her senses.
She risked a sideways glance. The others were better at hiding their reaction than she was. Ceta muttered silent curses and focused. The dark figure of the paladin strode out from his transport, blood-red cape billowing in the icy winds.
Her heart tightened and she stopped herself from shifting her feet as nerves bit again. Light cut over his sharp face and her stomach did that stupid little flip-flop, the same one it’d been performing since she’d first set eyes on him. Sex-starved temple woman. Mirari’s voice resonated in her head. That explained a lot of her interest. Had to.
Flanked by his guards, the paladin strode across the courtyards and under the open arch. The temple attendant stood waiting for him, a data sheet in her hand. She bowed low and offered the transparent device. The paladin took it without looking at her.
His golden breastplate gleamed, the leather and metal strips of his kirtle kicking out as he strode toward the first candidate. Ceta tried to lift her gaze from the brown, muscled strength of his legs…but couldn’t. She speculated—as no doubt others did—on whether the rest of him was equally as lithe and toned. The simulator had certainly imagined a stunning body for him… Shit, what was she thinking? Focus. She had to focus.
He studied the data sheet, a line of concentration forming over his nose, before he looked up to examine the first candidate.
Ceta snapped her gaze away and fixed it on the smooth lines of his transport craft. Time dragged and the chill winds bit into her flesh, numbing her. She was the last in the line and only fear kept the heat in her gut. She counted the dulled beat of her heart, the sound too loud in her ears. Ceta ached to close her eyes, to find peace that way, but she had to stand straight, her chin high and her eyes fixed on the middle distance. Mirari had made her practice, bloody hours of it. And yet all that instruction failed her.