Handmaiden's Fury (7 page)

Inkstains covered me while my
neophyte Devoted brushed soapy water around my feet. When I was not in session
with Sire Mattias, a client, or taking my turn at leading the temple worship, I
would be working with Rand.

I truly didn’t need more duties, but
that didn’t much matter.

We were strengthening his focus so
that he would not lapse into his submissive kneel again. I had to repeatedly
ask Rand what he was doing so that he might remember himself. I was reminded of
a time in my childhood when I had been taken to see a circus. The ringleader
had kept brandishing his whip while a beautiful woman stood on the back of a
rare, pure white horse as it galloped in circles. I had paid more attention to
the whip than the animal, but now I wished I had paid more attention to its
antics.

“Rand, what are you doing?” I asked
for the thirteenth time.

“I am washing the floor, Mistress.”
He answered as he scrubbed the
patterned flagstones.

We were in the main sanctuary, a
large dome of marble and polished amberwood decorated with several spiraling
pillars surrounding the central altar. Lavished with plush cushions of velvet
and silk, the rounded alcoves branched off the main room like the petals of a
flower. Beautiful tapestries hung at each doorway, embroidered with scenes from
the lives of many of the Patrons, not just Rydia alone. These might be drawn
across the archways to the small alcoves so that a devotee might worship
privately with the secluded attention of a Handmaiden.

 We had been there for so long that I
had lost all track of time.

I cleared my throat and asked for the
thirteenth time, “Whose floor are you washing, Rand?”

“Yours, Mistress. All I do is for
your pleasure.”

“It is
Rydia’s
floor,” I
emphasized.

“Rydia’s floor. I am scrubbing
Rydia’s floor for you, Mistress.”

“Very good, Rand. Now, keep
scrubbing,” I said hurriedly as he raised his head, a wide grin on his face.

“Yes, Mistress.” He pushed faster,
crawling on his hands and knees, nearly bumping into Camille as she entered the
room.

“Oh!” she exclaimed as soapy water
sloshed over her bare feet.

I rushed forward. “Camille! My
apologies,” I said hastily. “Rand, it is my pleasure that you scrub over
there,” I pointed at a far corner, “until Teren is satisfied. It is also my
pleasure that you do as she bids until I tell you differently. Teren will help
you remember why you are doing the things that you do, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress. I will. I will scrub
the fl—
Rydia’s
floor, over there, for your pleasure. Then I will do what
Teren says you want.”

“Good.” I turned back to Camille and
gasped. “Handmaiden!” Reverence warred with concern. Camille’s long, blonde
locks had been tied in a single high tail at one point, but the thick black tie
she had used now dangled around chin level, held by a tangle. Watery black
trails marked the death of her kohl and rouge. Vivid red marked her at neck,
wrist, and ankle. Under the gauze that served as her robe, weal marks curved
around her thighs. She trembled a bit as she slowly made her way to the chair I
had recently abandoned.

Camille had been chastised. Used. She
had displeased someone.

What made matters worse, she was in
my circle. We shared the same Sire.

“Sire Mattias?” It was both a statement
and a question.

She met my gaze with the tiniest of
nods.

She sat gingerly.

I noticed that she took care not to
let her back touch the chair.

Her voice came in a hushed whisper.
“He’s looking for you. He wants you immediately.”

The expression in her eyes terrified
me.

Something was wrong.

Velvet darkness, sweet balsam, and
myrrh incense awaited me.

Sire Mattias sat in his plush chair,
with a low fire flickering in front of him. I could see the table at his side,
and the drink he had sitting on it. Faintly, I could smell the cinnamon tang of
Siab
, his favorite liquor.

“Come in.” His voice was crisp,
controlled.

I softly shut the door behind me,
then slipped off my shoes and left them by the door. Quickly, with no
direction, I walked in front of him, knelt into the thick carpet, and met his
silvery eyes with mine.

“Sire.”

Oh, his eyes. The flickering fire
glittered in their depths, giving him a feral mien, the gaze of a predator. As
his eyes roamed over me, my breath quickened. The fire behind me leapt higher
just for an instant.

“Handmaiden.” Only one word, yet it
said so much. The light in his eyes wasn’t lust, it was fury.

His anger, though tightly bound,
heated the room like the wrath of a forge. His right hand curled into a
white-knuckled fist, while the left casually lifted the sweet liquor to his
lips.

He looked right through me.

A long moment passed, where I simply
sat, awaiting him.

His eyes were glittering
ice-diamonds.

“It was for nothing.” His words were
flat, emotionless.

“Sire?”

“Lithia. I have presented her with
ample evidence of Devariis’ sorcery. We have proof of human-kin slaves, have
traced the transport of strange and rare materials that could only be ritual
components, have tracked the gold entering his accounts. I even sent you, so
you could return with a Handmaiden’s proof.” He shrugged. “It’s not enough.”

He was cold, distant.

More than anything, I wanted to reach
for him, wanted to please him, make him smile. At times his smile had been the
only light in all my world.

He stared past me, his lips tight,
his knuckles white on the goblet.

“Sire, I—” I didn’t know what to say.
He had been chasing Devariis for months. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

He shrugged again, small and
non-committal. He lifted his glass and took a long draw. “It doesn’t matter.
The Headmaiden gets the final say. I have no more control of her will than you
do mine.” His eyes narrowed. “The man is filth. He is a sorcerer and a heretic.
I know it. I
know
it.”

The truth burned like a fire in the
night. Sire Mattias didn’t care what the Headmaiden said. Devariis was a
sorcerer. Sorcery was an art that could not be allowed to flourish, no matter
what the cost.

It was simple.

“Sire…” I reached for him, and rested
a hand on his knee. More than anything, I wanted to turn away his dark mood.
“Let me tend to you. Let me give you ease. Then, we can discuss—”

He set his goblet on the table. “I
didn’t call you here to give me ease, Handmaiden.” His voice was like a tightly
coiled spring. “My passions are my burden, every bit as much as your passions
are yours.” The tiniest of smiles pulled at the edge of his mouth. “Is that why
you thought I called for you? To be a balm for my fury?”

I flushed. “I saw Camille, Sire. I
thought—”

He chuckled. “Camille was punished
for being forgetful with her disciplines. She is a spoiled girl who needs
tempering.”

Some hard knot in my heart, which I
hadn’t even known was there, released. I hadn’t even realized the tension in my
back, the worry in my brow. My Sire wasn’t the kind of man to take out his own
anger on one of us. That made up no part of who he was.

I had been foolish.

“I—” I looked down. “I want to help
you, Sire. Let me gift you. Some bed play will ease—”

“I will not be eased.” His voice
stung like a razor. “My ease, my calm, will not help those that Devariis has
taken. It will not stop his blasphemy.” He took up his drink again and finished
it in one gulp. “No, if Lithia will not commit the House of Pleasure, then I
will take action myself.” He eyed me again, his gaze glittering in the
firelight. “I’m going after him.” He smiled, tightly. “I want you to come with
me.”

What he asked didn’t oppose Lithia’s
will exactly. Only she truly had the power to commit the temple to sanctions.
However, as the Children of Rydia, we retained the capability to pass judgments
ourselves, as long as our judgments lined with the edicts of the Lady.

That didn’t mean that Lithia would
like it.

Still, his will was mine. I had no
choice, not really.

He was my Lady’s rod, Her lash, and
Her tongue of fire.

Breathe.

When I glanced up at him, I had
already committed. My body, my heart, and my mind all bent to his purpose.

“When do we leave?”

Shortly after dawn the next day, I
found myself already in the Downmarket. I had the purse Sire Mattias had given
me and his instructions. Eschewing my ritual gear, I wore nothing that would
identify me as a Handmaiden. No, today required a simple dress and a hooded
cloak. I looked the part of a governess or some merchant’s wife. A woman of
moderate means.

I could smell the wind off the ocean,
even this far into the city. The fog seemed to portent a day where the sun
might never pierce the mists.

Typical in Stormhaven.

The name Downmarket confused some
newcomers to the city. Typically they sought it out near the docks, near where
the water lapped at the feet of our fair city. They would scour the tiers of
buildings rising into the surrounding mountains and think they were as ‘down’
as they could be. The lucky ones wandered into the Fishmarket, never to know
the difference.

No, the Downmarket was located on the
northern side of Stormhaven, nestled at the base of the main road out of the
city, the very base of Trade Road.

It meandered out among the streets,
creating tiny roads of its own, barely wide enough to squeeze through three
abreast. Tents and carts switched out every few days, set side by side with
more permanent structures. Vendors hawked exotic cooked delicacies, prepared
right before the patron’s eyes, caged animals, for consumption or novelty. Even
fortune-tellers and various entertainers made their daily coin by travelling
through the Downmarket.

For such an early hour, the market
did a brisk trade, mist be damned.

I wandered, keeping a careful eye
about myself.
In the
veiled sunlight of day, the Downmarket made for a less-than-reputable
destination. After dark, it turned treacherous. At least during the day I could
count on the presence of an occasional town warden walking his route.

Still, I kept to myself. Prudence
cautioned me to be wary.

The goods offered under a green and
orange striped awning caught my eye, but the large baskets of brightly colored
spices greeted me with nearly overpowering odors. I hurried away as fast as I
could while still remaining gracious. The next stall held dried fruits that the
vendor claimed hailed from the faraway lands held by the Clyndiir peoples. I
smiled at the story and moved along.

In the end, I bought some juicy
cereis fruit and a couple of small potives that a lady might buy when out by
herself, tending to her needs.

It was all very typical. Nothing
suspicious.

My Sire had cautioned me.

“Lithia has no say in this matter.
She has surrendered that right.” He paced, as he often did when he thought.
“Still, she knows I am unhappy with this outcome. She might have us watched.”

“Wait then.” I thought my counsel
reasonable. “Give it a few days. Watch. See if you are being followed.”

He shook his head. “My people say
that Devariis is up to something. We have no time to wait. I need you moving
tomorrow.” He leveled his gaze at me. “We can’t be seen. It can’t be noted that
we are preparing. I don’t know why Lithia won’t move against him, but we have
to make certain she doesn’t try to stop us.”

Therefore, I moved through the city
as an average woman might, stopping here and there, shopping. I kept a wary
eye, trying to note if anyone tracked my movements or watched from the shadows.

I seemed alone, even in the busy
street.

I checked twice more as I moved
toward Billows Street. Once there, I stopped for several moments, shuffling my small
packages while actually watching the street.

Certain no one followed, I stepped to
the outer door of Gryn’s.

The door had a glass window, but it
was smoky and dark. No sign hung above the door nor painted on the outside to
designate this shop.

None knew of the alchemist unless
they had cause.

Quickly, I opened the door and pushed
my way into shadows, mysteries, and strange, exotic scents.

Gryn trafficked in exotic herbs and
bubbling concoctions. He was heavy-set but sharp witted. His entire shop brimmed
with drying herbs, musty books, and bottles of things strange and horrifying.
Gryn had tracked Devariis’ purchases of rare, delicate, and hard to find plants
and compounds.

I stepped gingerly over the
discolored stone floor. Odd smells greeted my nose; sharp vapors that bit at
the nostrils and watered the eyes. I blinked rapidly around the crowded room.
It was close and poorly lit, the only source of brightness a hearth fire,
burning merrily as it gave off an oddly cheerful, orange smoke that hazed the
room.

A large man hovered over a cauldron
suspended above the flames and upended a vial of teal-colored powder redolent
of incense into it. He cocked his head as he turned to face me. His face was
seamed and bore mottled red patches as if he’d been steam scalded, a horrifying
visage.

He was also Sire Mattias’s man.

I pulled the hood from around my head
and let my tresses shake free. Free of my persona, I could be the Handmaiden
again.

“Lil’ late, aren’t you?” Gryn’s voice
was like gravel and broken glass. “The man said you’d be here at sun-up.”

“I was careful. You’d prefer that,
I’m certain.”

Gryn grunted and nodded. He reached
underneath his counter, moving an alembic aside. He set the alchemical still
carefully out of my reach. A whiff of something caustic wafted by as he moved
it, and I wondered what the connected bottles contained.

“
Got a message for the Sire.
I was gonna send a runner, but I reckon you’ll do as
well.” He gave me a heavy scowl. “Devariis sent his man last night. He had a
long tally-list. I had most of what he needed, but some of it was pretty rare.”

My curiosity poked its head out.
“Like what?”

Gryn shrugged. “Quicksilver,
draw-iron, that was easy enough.” He fixed me with his gaze. “But he wanted
more than I could give him. He asked about sanguine ink.”

An oddity, that ink took much to
prepare and had few legitimate uses.

“That seems like a foolish request.
The kind of request that would draw attention.”

Gryn shrugged. “They trust me. Seem
to think I’m a man who can get anything.” He cracked a lazy smile.

I pulled Sire Mattias’ coin purse
from my belt. “I only hope you have what my Sire requires.”

The man grinned again. “I keep myself
stocked for Sire Mattias’ needs.” He pulled out a heavy box and opened it.

I peered inside. Two vials of
essential salts in aqua atramentum, one of civet musk and another of lavender
essence, plus a gently glowing tumbler of ignis vitae.

Perfect.

I handed Gryn the purse and closed
the box.

“Thank you, Gryn. Of course, if
anyone were to come asking—”

He appeared offended. “I wouldn’t be
in business long if I couldn’t hold my tongue.”

I simply smiled.

Soon, Gryn’s shadows and exotic
scents lay behind me.