“Aye.”
Sayeed took Darien by the shoulders and pulled him close, pressing a kiss against his forehead. Darien suffered the touch, not liking it, but was too surprised to object. Sayeed bowed and stepped back, opening the chamber doors.
Setting his hand on the hilt of the scimitar, Darien strode out into the hall. There, a retinue of Zakai awaited them dressed in formal uniforms. Today they were far more than just his personal escort. Today, the Zakai stood in place of the family he no longer possessed.
Sayeed fell in at his side as they left the residential wing.
Darien was shocked to find the usually silent halls of Tokashi Palace teeming with people. At the sight of their party, a cry went up from the gathered onlookers. Drums and pipes began to play as shrill trilling noises rang off the walls. The crowd surged forward, people scrambling to reach out and touch him as he passed.
Sayeed had warned him about the custom. Something about luck, though Darien didn’t understand it. He bowed his head as a wash of panic overcame him. The world lurched, suddenly unstable. He couldn’t stand the proximity of so many faces, the feel of their hands on him. He closed his eyes and tried to trust Sayeed to guide him through the crowd. Fingers brushed his face, pawed at his clothes, slid over his hair. The noise of the crowd and the blare of instruments overwhelmed his senses.
“Are you well?” Sayeed whispered in his ear.
Darien nodded, swallowing his panic.
At last, they broke out of the thick of the crowd as his entourage led him onto a bridge that spanned the chasm above the river. There, Darien felt comfortable enough to open his eyes and look down. It was much cooler here, the air fed with chill from the ice caverns below. The bridge arched upward toward a canopy that had been erected for the occasion.
Great crowds gathered to line both sides of the river’s chasm. Darien drew to a stop under the colorful fabric of the canopy, his eyes falling on the priest who awaited him in crimson robes.
A priest of Xerys.
He shouldn’t have been surprised, but for some reason he was. Despite his reservations, Darien moved ahead of his retinue and strode forward to shake the cleric’s hand. The gaunt and dark-haired man said nothing, looking confused by the gesture.
A loud, ululating noise erupted from all around the cavern, coming from every direction at once. Darien glanced down and saw the crowd parting like a wave. A lone figure emerged from the thick press of bodies, veiled in red, a red sash tied around her waist. Women in colorful robes guided her forward through glistening tendrils of magelight that gleamed like daybreak, escorting her onto the bridge.
Darien felt his mouth go dry as he watched Azár’s procession. His grip on the sword hilt grew intense. He tried to get a glimpse of her face beneath the veil, but the thick red lace obscured her features. She came to a halt on the far side of the canopy, the priest of Xerys between them.
The priest turned away to light the flame of a single taper on an altar behind him. He then raised a pitcher and waited for Azár to present her hands. He poured a thin stream of water onto Azár’s open palms, then did the same for Darien.
The solemn man took Darien’s hands and led him forward until he was standing in front of his bride, a woman whose face he couldn’t see, whose heart he didn’t know. With the priest’s guidance, he took her hand in his.
Skin so soft.
He traced his thumb over the back of her hand.
Words were spoken, but he wasn’t listening. The contract was signed, first by his bride and then by himself. More words passed him by. The whole while, he was gazing down at Azár’s hand, studying every fine detail of it.
An explosion of noise echoed through the cavern, swelling to a deafening thunder. Shaken, Darien at first didn’t understand the reason for it. Only when Sayeed nudged him forward did he realize it was time to kiss his bride. Reaching up, he drew Azár’s veil back over her head, revealing her face.
His breath clotted in his throat.
This was not the fierce woman he thought he was marrying. A soft beauty stared back at him with nervous eyes, unbound hair flowing down her back. Her red-stained lips trembled. Darien hesitated, unsure of himself. Then he leaned forward, kissing his bride on the forehead, just as Sayeed had instructed him to do.
The noise in the cavern crescendoed to a climax. Drums clattered and bagpipes skirled. Trills of celebration echoed off the walls of the ice chasm. Through it all, Azár somehow managed to smile. He found it comforting. Taking his bride by the arm, he led her down and off the bridge, following his retinue of Zakai.
The thunder of celebration followed them all the way to the Grand Hall of the palace, already teeming with color and noise and wondrous smells of food. Darien took a seat beside Azár in cushioned chairs on a raised dais. Men and women flooded in, dressed in regional costumes and bearing gifts.
One by one, the men of the clans stood and came forward. They mounted the stairs to the dais, where they fell to their knees before Darien and his bride. One by one, the warlords knelt and kissed the hem of Darien’s robe, pledging their fealty. One by one, he accepted their allegiance with a nod. His fingers still clutched the hand of his Asyaadi bride who looked on but said nothing. After the last man rose from off the floor, the drums thundered back to life and the feasting began in earnest.
“It is time, Lord,” Sayeed whispered in his ear.
Darien stood, Azár rising at his side as the guests rushed forward to link hands, forming a long tunnel to the door. Darien ducked, still holding Azár’s hand as they moved beneath the span of arms, swords, and spears. The thunder of applause vibrated the walls even as the doors of the hall swung closed behind them. The guests returned to continue their celebration as the newlyweds retired to their wedding night.
Darien turned to Azár as uniformed Zakai swarmed around them in the hallway. “Are you well?” he asked her.
She nodded, uncharacteristically demure, flashing him a fragile smile.
He held her hand the whole way as the officers escorted them back to the Residence. Mercifully, they let him enter his own chambers alone with his bride. As the door closed behind them, the soldiers outside gave a loud, whooping shout.
Darien closed his eyes and sighed, thankful just to be alone.
Almost alone.
Obviously, he was not.
His nerves snapped tight like over-tuned harp strings.
There was a rustle of silk as Azár moved to stand in front of him. He felt her hand touch his cheek. He resisted the urge to draw away. Her fingertips stroked the whiskers of his face, tracing his jawline. Then her lips were on his, the slightest pressure of a kiss.
It was too much. He winced, taking a step back.
“You don’t like to be touched,” she said. It was not an observation. More like an acknowledgment of a boundary.
“No,” he admitted. “Not anymore.”
She reached out and took his hand in hers. “My poor husband,” she whispered. Her kohl-darkened eyes slipped to the floor. “You are just as damaged as I.”
He frowned in concern, his thoughts faltering. “What do you mean?”
Her gaze fixed on the ground, she informed him, “My master used me every day. Sometimes more than once a day. He hurt me badly. In many different ways.”
Darien’s nerves turned to water, then to ice. Then to fire. Anger consumed him until he burned and shook with rage. But there was nowhere to direct his wrath; Azár’s abuser was already dead. Already right where he needed to be: burning in the depths of hell.
Where Darien’s wrath would find him eventually.
His bride continued, “I told you I was not looking for love. Above all else, I need a man I can trust not to hurt me. I am sorry, my husband. That is why I chose you.”
Darien shook his head, his mind grappling with this newfound reality. “I don’t understand,” he whispered, drawing back. “You’re the one who kissed me. You said you wanted me…”
“I’m sorry. It was just
a test. I had to know how you would react.”
“But that time in the lightfields—”
“You made a promise to me. And you kept it. You and I are a perfect match, don’t you see? You desire sex but are unwilling to risk your heart. I desire love but am unwilling to share my body. Together, we will learn from each other. We will conquer our fears. In the meantime, feel free to indulge in concubines.” She placed a hand on his chest. “Just save your heart for me. Someday, I will come to collect it.”
As Darien stood in shock, she turned and moved away, wandering deeper into their shared quarters. She glanced around, appraising the dim space.
“We will need another bed,” she muttered.
14
The Goddess of Mercy
“We’re going down there.” Quin gestured into the gaping blackness of the hole that the explosion had created in the side of the building.
Naia could feel her face paling, draining of its color. She leaned over to peer into the jagged crack in the temple’s wall. Her gaze traveled only as far as the glow of Quin’s magelight would allow. From what she knew of Death’s temples, she could tell the hall below was part of the Inner Sanctum, a network of chambers secreted away from the public eye, where many of the temple’s holiest rites were performed. Imposing columns, many stories tall, marched up the length of the room on both sides. A series of wrought-iron chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling, hung at intervals one after another until they disappeared into shadow.
Naia’s palms tingled as she gazed down at the floor many stories below. Unless they could fly, they could never get down to it.
“It’s too far….” she began, staring at the black circlets of the chandeliers that formed what looked like an aerial skipping path.
“I think we can drop from here down onto the top of that column.” Quin nodded down at the ledge created by the flared lip of the column below, where it met with the lintel of the wall. The column was a lot closer to them than the ground, but still quite a fall. And a narrow target to aim for. Naia couldn’t believe he was even suggesting it.
“Not without breaking bones,” she disagreed. The tingling in her palms swelled to needling pinpricks.
“So what if we do break some bones? We can heal them.”
Quin’s wry tone was entirely too jovial for Naia’s liking. She spared him a sharp glare of reproach, growling, “What if we break our necks?”
The darkmage shrugged. “Don’t land on your neck.” He added a belated grin.
The expression didn’t help. Naia frowned as she examined the narrow ledge below them. She wasn’t sure it could support their weight. But she didn’t see any other way down to the floor either. She looked around for another path down the wall, but didn’t see any other option.
Naia sighed. “Say we do manage to make it down there without falling off. Then what?” She stared at Quin fiercely, challenging him to come up with a solution.
He complied. “I think I can sway that chandelier over. Then all we have to do is jump on.”
Naia looked down at the light fixture. It was an enormous, black iron circlet bedecked with dozens of tapers. It hung suspended from the ceiling by a lengthy chain. Naia was uncertain whether the chain would break beneath their weight. Especially considering it had been hanging there for a thousand years.
“I don’t believe I can do that.” Her voice trembled in her throat. The pinpricks in her palms had devolved into cold, clammy numbness. She felt terribly dizzy.
Quin grinned and patted her on the shoulder. “It will be an adventure, but I think you can manage it. You seem nimble enough.”
How could the infernal man be so optimistic? There was a very real chance both of them would fall to their deaths. Well, perhaps not both of them. Naia had to remind herself that Quin Reis was already dead. Which might explain his casual cheer in the face of near-certain disaster.
She said through clenched teeth, “Assuming our weight doesn’t snap the chain right out of the ceiling, where do we go from there?”
Quin spread his hands as if the answer should be obvious. “Then we sway it over to the next chandelier. And then the next. And the next, all the way down the line.”
Naia stared into the darkness that encased the far end of the hall. The glow of Quin’s magelight didn’t penetrate far enough to disrupt the shadows at that end. There could be anything down there. Or nothing.
“And what then?” Naia asked, still gaping into the dark.
The darkmage issued an exaggerated shrug. “We’ll figure it out when we get there.”
Naia arched an eyebrow. “You’re not serious.”
“I’m always serious. I seldom get taken seriously, but that’s a topic for another conversation.”
Naia shook her head, settling back against the side of the building. “I… I can’t. Do. That. No.” Her head-shaking became emphatic.
Quin patted her back and grinned. “Of course you can. There’s nothing stopping you.”
“Just common sense!”
“Overrated. Never got me out of trouble.”
“Then what did?”
He appeared to consider that for a moment before admitting, “Usually murdering somebody.”
Naia scoffed. “And that’s supposed to make me feel comforted?”
“No. But you did ask.” He reached up, adjusting his hat. There was a fiendish sparkle in his eye. “It’s either this or we walk all the way back to Bryn Calazar and hire a ship. By the time we actually make it to Titherry, the war will be over, and you’ll be dead. Then I suppose I can just retire to hell and rot for all eternity.”
Naia sighed, glancing once more at the shadows. “Fine. Do you want to go first, or shall I?”
“Oh, I think I should go first,” he said, standing up. He shrugged out of the straps of his leather pack, handing it down to her. “Here. Would you mind hanging onto this? You can toss it down to me later.”
Naia accepted the pack, throwing it on over her shoulder next to her own. Before she could come to terms with the fact that they were actually going forward with this ludicrous plan, Quin was already seated on the edge of the hole. He hoisted his legs over then dropped down, clinging to the blocks with his hands. His head shot up from the other side like a gopher popping out of a hole.
“Kiss for luck?”
Before Naia could gasp her disapproval, he let go and disappeared.
There was a short span of silence. Followed by an echoing wail of pain.
Naia surged forward, leaning over the break in the wall to search the shadows below. Quin had landed on the ledge. He was tossing about like a turtle on its back, holding one knee against his chest, face twisted in pain. She could tell the moment he healed the injury, watching him sag visibly in relief. He sighed and collapsed back against the stone.
“Are you all right?” Naia called down to him.
“Never better.” His voice wasn’t as cheerful as before. He rolled into a sitting position then pushed himself erect, back flush against the wall. At least the ledge was wider than it had looked. Smiling up at her, Quin raised his arms. “My pack, if you please?”
Naia held it out over the wall, letting the pack sway over him before letting it go. Her aim was a little off. Still, Quin managed to snatch it out of the air with one hand.
Naia realized it was her turn to jump down to the ledge. Suddenly, she felt very pale and very clammy, and more than a little queasy. The world seemed off-kilter, the ground unstable. Her heart kicked up its pace, sprinting in her chest. She didn’t care for heights. She cared even less for drops.
Swallowing, Naia paused to gather her dignity and her courage. She lifted her skirt and settled down on the crack in the wall, swinging her legs over. She made the mistake of looking down.
The floor of the temple was very far below. And the ledge was exceptionally small. Quin stood directly beneath her, holding his hands up as if preparing to catch her. Naia wasn’t sure that was a good idea; she was likely to fall off and
take him with her.
“A little to the left,” he called up.
She scooted over. She could see him just between her feet.
“There! Now just kick off.”
Just kick off, she thought. As if it were that easy.
It was.
She flung herself forward before indecision could stop her. The edge of the column came rushing up, and she smacked hard, face-down against the stone.
The next thing she knew, she was staring up, blinking, into Quin’s grinning face. He was absent his hat, which was peculiar. A darkmage needed a dark hat, she figured, and thought he looked rather diminished without one. His curly hair hung tousled about his shoulders, lending him a feral appearance that seemed entirely out of character.
“Where’s your hat?” she muttered. Her voice sounded weak and bleary. She didn’t understand why.
“In my pack. How do you feel?”
She gazed down the length of her body. She was lying stretched out on the marble top of the column, her head pillowed in Quin’s lap. It was dim and cold, the air thick with mildew and humidity. It smelled like rain.
“I feel … alive,” she said. “You deserve a good kick. You almost got us killed!”
“But I didn’t.” The darkmage smiled. “And we’re right where we need to be. See?” He gestured around at the expansive emptiness that surrounded them.
Naia sat up and gazed at the shadows of the hall, its walls and arcades awash in the glow of Quin’s magelight that trailed like a red mist down the length of the hall. The far end of the chamber was no longer lost to shadow. There, two great statues of the goddess sat on enormous thrones, a thin waterfall spilling between them. Naia recognized the statues: the aspects of Mercy and Sacrifice, two faces of the goddess she knew well.
The floor of the hall was still so very far below. She had no idea how they were going to get down to it. Magelight erupted from the ancient rings of the chandeliers, drenching the hall in a greasy, blood-red light.
“Are you ready for the next hurdle?”
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