The Two Kings

by Marian Gray

  He pressed into my stomach, massaging the flesh as he worked over my hips and down my legs. I could feel the nubs of his missing fingers. When he met my ankles, his bony grip traveled back up until it met my thighs. There, his hands halted their march. He tugged my leg slightly toward him, widening the gap between my thighs. His head leaned in closer and pretended to examine the muscle, but I could see his eyes. They were pointed at my vulva. A whimper for help built in my mouth, but I held it in.

  He swallowed hard and masked it by taking a deep breath. His examination proceeded upward, climbing along my abs and stopping at the base of my breasts. His hands angled upward and grabbed one in each hand, feeling flesh while two fingers flicked my nipples. I saw the bulge grow in his white loincloth and shut my eyes. I couldn’t watch.

  My eyelids pressed tight together, banishing the images and the scene from my mind. My breath stuttered.

  I hated Essony. I was sick of living here, sick of pretending to care about this ridiculous sun god and his house of brainwashed followers. I hated it so much. Sometimes I contemplated joining a few of those girls and flinging myself off the top tier down into the city. My body could meet the hard stone and splatter into freedom. It happened every two weeks or so that we heard rumor of another girl jumping. If it weren’t for my other life, my real life outside this place, I wouldn’t have lasted this long.

  I sucked down a deep breath, trying to shove away the sensation of Patriarch Menaries’s warm hands against my skin. The tears clung to the inside of my eyelids. Those hands were supposed to be muscular, inviting, and tender. I never imagined the first time I’d be intimately touched by a man would be like this. He was robbing me of what was supposed to be a special memory. How many other women had he done this to? How many had he similarly robbed?

  “Tell me, Derethe, are you still a virgin?” His hands pried my thighs open a little wider.

  “Yes.” The word shook coming out of my mouth.

  “No heathens have laid their hands upon you?” There was an ounce of skepticism in his voice.

  “No.”

  I felt his fingers split me open, and the tears slid from my eyes. I’d rather have any of those heathen men touch me than this one who was supposed to be the sun god’s chosen servant.

  “It is good that you cry. You are releasing the sadness. And my—” I heard the breath draw in through a rounded mouth. “You are still a virgin. Stunning. The sun god delights in women who keep their bodies pure for him.”

  I felt my skin flush. The heat had been swimming deep in my bones, but now it rose to the surface. The anger boiled in my belly. I willed it to spring and strike him, but it would not come out. Like a wooden stopper in a jug, it couldn’t slip through.

  My teeth clenched together. I couldn’t lie here a moment longer. “Let me go,” I cried. My eyes whipped open, and my hands gripped the edges of the table. I pushed to sit up, but his arm slammed against my chest, knocking me back down.

  “You will rise when I tell you to rise,” he hissed. “And you will not address me in such a casual manner. Have you forgotten your place, acolyte? Test me again, and I’ll see you placed in a dung heap on the lowest tier with your neck split open.”

  I swallowed hard. The skin along my throat stretched but remained connected.

  Whenever my day came and the opportunity to assassinate the Esson king arose, I would make sure this beast followed in death alongside him.

  XXV

  A Spurious Spade

  The eight of us rode into Torvik with our horses walking two-by-two. Phlox lined the muddy street with soft purple petals and round leaves the color of emeralds. It peppered the ground as it spread, curving around tree trunks and combating the wild heather. Between the pink and violet shades emerged the bright yellows of daffodils. The sunny color broke apart the waves of cool colors, giving the eye something to admire.

  “It’s rather pretty, no?” Irska said.

  “Like something out of a dream,” Brungen added.

  A little ways ahead, homes and shops blossomed into view. The lumber was still fresh from new construction. Over the last year, the town looked to have doubled in size based on the raw color of the wood. And there were even a few more areas cleared and marked for development. The village of Torvik easily dwarfed Lungdal.

  People passed to and fro, going about their daily chores. There were more inhabitants than I had expected to see—a lot more. And not all of them looked to be Norrender, which wasn’t surprising given the proximity of Torvik to the northeastern tribes.

  “Excuse me,” I started as a woman passed by, but she didn’t stop, let alone glance at me.

  I turned to a man that was carrying logs. “Do you—” He didn’t break his stride for a second.

  I shuffled the reins in my grip, kneading the leather with my fingers. “What is going on?” I asked the other seven with me. “Why will no one stop and speak to me?”

  But nobody could provide an answer.

  “We shouldn’t have come here,” Lars muttered. His elbows were tucked tight to his sides, and his eyes roamed the village with unmistaken caution. “My father warned you.”

  Brungen whipped around in his saddle. “If you speak to the ark like that one more time, I’m going to pull you from your horse and finish the job he should’ve when we were at Lungdal. Champion, my ass! What a cowardly move.”

  Lars’s lips flattened until they were a bright red line, holding back his fury.

  “Let’s just keep moving,” Irska said.

  I nodded my agreement, and our horses resumed their pace.

  We turned a corner and spilled into a thriving market. Instead of just a few smatterings of stalls and wagons, there was a designated area lined with logs. It stood before a hall that rivaled the size of Arus’s. Half of it was comprised of graying wood that had been weathered and aged, while the other half was the color of young oak. The slight blush in the lumber was still visible and vibrant.

  As we drew closer to the hall, the double doors opened, exposing the large building to the entirety of the market and town. Two guards stood at the ready, watching with an unmoved patience as we proceeded to them. Their faces were rigid, mimicking the other’s expression.

  “Welcome Ark Iver,” one of the guards said once we had reached the steps. Her blonde hair was pulled back so tightly that it appeared pasted to her scalp. “Thane Oskar has been expecting you.”

  I shared an uncertain glance with Irska out of the corner of my eye. “Has he?”

  The other guard grinned, revealing a wide mouth full of gleaming teeth. “For weeks now. He has seen that you were coming.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  Thane Oskar was claiming to be able to foresee the future now? “Will he meet with us?” I struggled to be amazed by this foretelling, given I had requested his presence in Lungdal. Surely he assumed I would venture up here once I had seen that he didn’t attend.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “All of us?” I wasn’t stepping in that hall without my numbers.

  “If you wish,” she said, stepping aside to allow us passage. “I will fetch a boy to water and feed your horses.”

  As I slid down from my mare, I could feel the tension building between my men. “Dismount,” I told them. They were feeding into the mystery and allure of this new leader. There were powerful and magical things in this world, but this man was a fraud.

  They did as I ordered, but there was noticeable reluctancy. Especially amongst the three from this region, but that was to be expected. Youth had a way of exploiting our imaginations and concocting outlandish outcomes.

  “I see there’s been a lot of new construction,” I said, making small talk with the guards. “The town must be doing well for herself.”

  Neither responded, but I didn’t miss the small glance that they shared.

  “Follow me, please,” the first guard said. She turned on her heel, and with the eight of us trailing behind, led us into an open hall
.

  The entire structure, save the floor, was made of oak. Tall, three-story columns stretched from foundation to roof, guiding the eye to the ornate etchings on the ceiling. I stopped and spent a few moments admiring the work. It was unusual. Something one would never expect to see in a thane’s hall, but at the same time, I admired the originality and thought put into it.

  “Welcome, welcome.” Oskar’s voice resonated in the grand structure as he stood on the raised dais in the back of the hall. A curly tuft of strawberry blonde hair sat atop his head. His face was pale, the color of birch bark, and he wore a flowy black dress. The quintessential garment for all spades. “I am honored that you have come, Iver.”

  “Thank you for receiving us,” I replied but didn’t meet his warmth.

  “I have foreseen your arrival,” he paused, waiting for our surprised expressions. But when they didn’t appear, he continued, “but I’ll admit, my visions didn’t explain to me the purpose of your journey here. Why have you come to Torvik? How might I serve you?”

  “How about a drink and some bread before we begin discussing business?” Brungen suggested. “I’m sure we’re all a bit hungry and thirsty after our ride.”

  This should have been something Oskar offered as soon as he laid eyes upon us. It made it obvious the man was not raised or trained to be a thane. He wasn’t born into this class. However, the skeptical side of me argued that Oskar did it on purpose. It was a slight to say what he was too cowardly to do with words—we weren’t welcome. He didn’t want us to linger here for long.

  “Apologies,” Oskar began. His arms dropped to his sides, and the long dark sleeves tumbled downward, covering his fingertips. “It is not often that we get foreign visitors, but that sounds like a delightful suggestion.” He turned to one of his servants and ordered for one of the tables to be set with an array of food and drink for all.

  “Foreign visitors?” I drew emphasis to the phrase. “Why do you call us this?”

  “You are from Varund, no?”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Yes, I am.”

  “So, you’re not from the region, and therefore, you are a foreigner.”

  The logic was simple, but that wasn’t how we defined the word. No matter what city or town or region you were from, you were still never regarded as a foreigner. Foreigners were people who were not born and raised as a Norrender. Did he no longer see himself as one of us? Had he decided to side with the northeastern tribes?

  Perhaps this is what they were referencing when they had said that things here were strange.

  “Regardless, let us sit and break bread,” Oskar said, directing us to the table.

  I turned on my heel and was taken aback by how the servants had arranged the long oak table. There was a single plate and cup on one side, and settings for eight on the other.

  Oskar was drawing lines in the sand.

  But I motioned for my cohorts to sit. I shared the center with Brungen since there wasn’t a central spot other than Oskar’s.

  I raised my silver goblet, maintaining an even countenance. I didn’t want him to notice that his actions miffed me. “What shall we drink to?” I didn’t want him to draw any satisfaction from passively reducing my status.

  Oskar lifted his cup, the many jewels on his fingers glittered in the firelight. They were the colors of fire, earth, and water. “How about to prosperity?”

  I nodded. “To prosperity.” And the others echoed it as well.

  The miode wasn’t as rich in flavor as that of Lungdal’s brew, but after the long ride, it was appeasing nonetheless. There were floral accents that made it more earthy in nature rather than sweet.

  “Now that you have had your drink and there is food before you, I wish to ask again. What is it that has brought you here?” Oskar stared at me with his milky blue eyes.

  I leaned back in my chair, resting my hands on my legs. “I’ve heard rumors from your neighbors that you are a spade and I wanted to see for myself.”

  Oskar grinned, revealing two rows of yellow teeth. “I am flattered that you would travel this way to witness my power. And I assure you, they are not rumors but the truth. I am a spade, and I do have the ability to control magic.”

  “But how is that possible?” Brungen asked. “The Temple and the Codex claim that only women can be spades.”

  Oskar held out his hands in question and shrugged. “I’m not sure. My own existence continues to escape me, but you are correct. If the Temple and the Codex are to be believed, then I shouldn’t have any powers. But I do.”

  “Have you shown anyone these powers?” Irska asked.

  “Absolutely! And if you’d like, I don’t mind putting on a show for the eight of you.” There was a noticeable note of giddiness in his voice. “What do you say, Iver? Would you like to see the magic of the gods at work?”

  I nodded. “Of course.” It was why I had come after all. Well, that and collecting tribute.

  His chair screeched across the stone floor as he pushed back from the table. When the sound fell, he rose onto his feet. With light but determined steps, he paced himself away from the table, rolling his plush sleeves up to his elbows as he went.

  I hadn’t thought of him as a thin man, but seeing how thick his dress was, I quickly realized that his clothing added bulk. Was he ashamed or self-conscious of his size? Did he believe the fabric fooled us?

  Once he was ready, Oskar held out his hands. The entire hall held its breath, awaiting the first sight. And then it happened. The light began to pour from his fingertips. It popped and shocked the air around him, sizzling materials when it drew too close. It reminded me of the same magic that Derethe possessed, only it was different. His moved like a wispy essence, whereas hers had a quick snap to it.

  As everyone’s necks craned upward to watch the multicolored sparks, my eyes fell to Oskar instead. His face was rigid and tight, and the muscles in his jaw flexed. Even his breathing appeared to be uncomfortable, holding it during small instances and releasing big blows at others.

  He was struggling to maintain control over the magic. But not in the same way a budding spade does. Whenever the light came too close to him, his eyes widened with fear. He behaved as though it could hurt him. Real spades didn’t fear their own powers. The magic that poured from their fingertips was a part of them. It couldn’t harm them.

  Sitting in that chair, watching Oskar, I knew within a few moments that the servant from Lungdal was correct. There was no doubt that what this man controlled was magic, but it was different.

  And I didn’t know why.

  XXVI

  An Unwelcome Invitation

  The blood dripped from my hands into the basin below. peppering a litter of small, short-haired hides lingered below. I dropped the fur on the mound, and tossed the skinned body onto a nearby table. The deep, old red color slid down my arms. I had half a mind to rinse it from my skin, but I reveled in its appearance. I imagined it being the patriarch’s own life essence flowing along my flesh.

  He hadn’t left my mind for days. My skin was stained where his hands had touched me. I couldn’t visibly see his prints, but I could still feel them. And the only way I knew to wash them away would be with his own blood.

  “Sister Derethe.” Sister Zoa’s voice floated to me as though it were traveling through a dense fog, but she only stood a few feet away from me. Her hand working quickly to wipe the dust out of several bowls. “Are you alright? You’ve been rather quiet lately.”

  I stared at her as other sisters rushed in and out of the pale stone kitchen. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to crumble and tell her all, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t find the words to describe what he had done to me. What he had taken from me.

  “You need to smile,” Sister Ladice said as she began stacking the dishes that Sister Zoa had wiped clean.

  The comment hit me hard. “No, I don’t.” I choked on the words as they came out, struggling to suppress my tears and rage. I rested my hand on the cold counter
, steading myself.

  She turned to me with a stern gaze. “Yes, you do.”

  My eyes narrowed, and muscles tensed. I yearned for a fight, to rip out the next person’s throat who told me to smile and that I was too sad. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  The lot of them were just materialistic dolts, constantly prattling on about jewels and wealth. They knew nothing of the world and how harsh and cold it could be. They passed through life moving from the warmth of their families’ hearths to the bright sunshine at the top of the mountain. Never had they experienced deprivation and hunger.

  “What?” Ladice’s tone was marked with incredulity. “You think we smile and sing the sun god’s praises because we’re all so naive and happy?” She scoffed. “No. It’s a defense. It’s because His Molestedness will begin ‘sessions’ with us if we don’t. We’re only looking out for each other, trying to save those around us. His cure is an excuse to touch and abuse us.” Her words dripped to a sympathetic tone. “But I’m guessing you’ve already figured that out.”

  “Shhh.” Sister Zoa hushed her. “Don’t speak so loud when you say those things. You never know who is listening.”

  Ladice rolled her eyes. “There are very few amongst us who don’t know about the patriarch’s guilty pleasure. I’ve heard rumor that he even regales some of the fathers with his stories as a means of entertainment.”

  “And they do nothing?” I was shocked, but I shouldn’t have been.

  “No,” Ladice answered. “They all become sick at some point. There’s something about this place that turns even the most humble and caring into predators.”

  “Lower your voice,” Zoa warned her.

  But Sister Ladice wasn’t finished. “And the mothers only enable them. They know what we’re going through, because they went through it when they were only acolytes as well. But they stand aside and do nothing.”

  “Ladice, that’s enough,” Sister Zoa snapped. Whether she was insulted by the insinuations or attempting to protect Ladice, I couldn’t be sure.