The Eye of God (The Fall of Erelith) (13 page)

Another sigh escaped him and Blaise rose to his feet and offered the Heart of God across the desk. The Archbishop shook his head. “Knowing you as I do, Blaise, you would sneak out at the first chance and search for the Hand with the other bishops. Not this time. Your duty is to remain in your chambers and guard the Heart until I tell you otherwise. We’ll be spread thin enough as it is.”

Blaise pressed his lips together and swallowed back the wordless growl building in his throat. He tightened his hold on the staff fashioned out of his bone, tapping it against the floor. When he didn’t reply, Alphege smiled.

“Cassius, go with them. It’s in the interest of the Emperor to ensure that the Heart is protected, and I think it is a suitable that both the military and the church safeguard the Heart until the Hand is found,” Leopold said.

It took Blaise several deep breaths to contain his rage. When he smiled, the Archbishop flinched. “I’ll be in my chambers, then.” Resting the Heart of God against his shoulder, he swept out of the room, leaving Frolar and Cassius to follow in his wake.

He prayed his confinement wouldn’t doom all of their souls to Lucin’s hunger. His frustration peaked and something snapped within him. He could no longer force himself to care if they were all devoured.

The mortals might have very well deserved it.

It wasn’t Blaise’s problem if the humans learned first hand that the hell of blood and flame they believed in didn’t exist, and only oblivion awaited those devoured by the Hand of God and the prisoner contained within it.

Chapter 6

Terin sat among the shards of broken vases and piled the pieces together. Blood smeared the glazed surfaces and gleamed in the light. He bit back a yawn and considered the quickest way to clean away the evidence of Zurach’s attempts to kill him.

He wasn’t sure what the two men wanted with him or why he was wanted at all. He didn’t recognize either one of them as an enemy of his master. He frowned.

If he hadn’t resisted, hadn’t dodged, and hadn’t fought back, he could’ve escaped slavery in the most permanent way possible. He reached up and touched the collar. Through it all, it hadn’t warmed, it had done nothing, because he obeyed Zurach’s will. It remained inert, as if trusting his aching throat to keep him quiet and obedient.

It worked, and he hated himself.

Terin snatched a stray shard and dropped it on top of the pile. The whole thing collapsed, scattering the pieces across the floor. Scooping up the ceramics, he shoved them back to their proper place and winced as the sharp edges sliced his fingers.

Even if he wanted to escape, he doubted his quivering muscles would carry him as far as the bath, let alone to the sewers, assuming he could figure out how to open the door.

The burn at his throat he expected didn’t come, and the cool of the collar mocked him, knowing his thoughts of freedom were futile and pointless.

“Only through destruction may there be renewal, so Spoke God,” he whispered, waving his hand over the fragments in front of him. The remains of the ceramics crumbled away to dust. With a sweep of his hand, he scattered the powder. The scripture to clean away the dust stuck in his throat.

The strength flowed out of him and his eyes watered. Brushing away the tears, he forced himself to take several deep breaths. His throat tightened and he struggled to keep calm. Crying wouldn’t help anything, it never did, and it never would, and if they caught him, he’d be punished for his weakness.

With his eyes burning, he crawled to the damaged divan. Every breath emerged as a pant and he struggled to concentrate on the words for renewal. A buzz filled his ears and head. Unable to sit without trembling, he leaned against the armrest, the tips of his fingers brushing against the plush upholstery.

The words he Spoke came out mumbled, but the wood creaked and shifted beneath him. The damaged cushion unraveled before retaking its original shape. A pale light surrounded his hand and enveloped the room. Colors long since faded due to the steady passage of time brightened beneath the glow.

Terin slumped and struggled to slow his gasps. Sweat stung his eyes and trailed down his face. Once again, his frustration boiled within him and manifested as tears he couldn’t force back just by wiping at his eyes and pretending everything was as it should be.

If he disobeyed Zurach and Emeric, he would be punished. If he returned to his master, he’d be punished. Then he’d be killed for his failures. If Terin were truly unfortunate, his master would strive to make him suffer as much as possible before letting him die.

His breath left him in a sigh. The collar remained cold and inert. That it didn’t force him to return to his master confirmed the truth: Returning to his master was death, and his death was forbidden.

So long as Zurach met the collar’s order to preserve his life, he couldn’t escape. Terin balled his hand in a fist and punched the cushion. All he could do was throw himself at the only orders he could follow: Cleaning.

He could do that much.

~*~

Terin awoke to a finger jabbed between his ribs. He lay still in the hopes that he wouldn’t wake at all. The pressure intensified until he cried out and wiggled to escape from the pain.

“Get up,” Emeric demanded.

At the command in the man’s voice, he jumped to his feet and swayed. He almost succumbed to sleep again, and he shook his head in the effort to wake himself up. Clenching his teeth to keep from yawning, he saluted before the memory of where he was and how he got there slammed him to full awareness.

Before either man could rebuke him, Terin bowed his head and focused on the floor, blinking to clear his blurred vision.

“Now, now, brother, at least acknowledge the boy did his job properly,” Zurach said before laughing. “I’m not so proud I can’t admit he’s done a better job than I could.”

“Of course he did a better job cleaning. You are a Citizen and he is a slave. It’s beneath you,” Emeric snapped.

“That may be so,” Zurach agreed. “What has he done wrong?”

“He didn’t bathe,” the Citizen grumbled.

“Brother, if he bathed to your standards, he’d die. Normal people require their skin to survive.”

Terin struggled against the need to yawn and stared down at the tiles. The marble gleamed in the glow of a orb of light that hovered in front of the two Citizens, and its radiance that of the sun, warm and comforting.

“No matter. I’ve work for you, boy,” Zurach said.

Without looking up, Terin bowed as deep as he could and shivered at the feel of the noble’s eyes on him. “What would you have me do, Citizen?” Terin asked, unable to speak any louder than a whisper.

“Hold this. Don’t let it out of your possession. If you must put it down, don’t lose sight of it. Only Emeric or I are permitted to take it from you. Don’t open it unless either one of us tells you to. Am I understood?”

Zurach thrust a box crafted of dark red wood into his hands.

A silver lock held the lid closed. Terin’s fingers closed over it and he bowed his head in a nod. “I understand.”

At a few inches wide and not much deeper, it didn’t weigh much despite being as long as his forearm. It made no sound when Terin stuffed it under his arm to pin it against his side. Zurach dangled a silver key in front of his face.

“If you are given this, you’re to open the box and take out what is inside,” Zurach ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Terin replied.

“I’m still not sure this is wise,” Emeric said.

Zurach chuckled. “It’ll be worth the risk. So long as he’s collared, I don’t believe we’ll have any problems with him.” The man paused and the key was tucked away in a pocket. “We can ask ‘what if’ all day long without ever knowing if we’ve made the right choice. If you’re right, his master doesn’t tolerate stupidity among Citizens, let alone among his slaves.”  

“He is who I say he is, and they’ll want him back,” Emeric warned. “Alive, too.”

Terin sucked in a breath and stiffened. If either man noticed his reaction, neither man spoke. If his master wanted him alive, he could escape.

He had to escape. He had to hurry back to where he belonged. The collar remained cool around his throat and he trembled.

“Nonsense. He’s an escaped slave now. The Emperor makes no exceptions when it comes to foreign-born slaves,” Zurach grumbled.

“He isn’t one to show mercy on Zorsan filth, that’s true,” Emeric said, his tone softening. “Interesting.”

Zurach huffed. “His ilk wasn’t lenient to Worsoran-born filth, either.”

“I’m aware,” Emeric snapped. “You don’t need to remind me.”

Terin shifted his weight from foot to foot, adjusted his grip on the box, and tried not to think of what lay within. With both men ignoring him, he struggled to commit their words to memory.

If Emeric spoke the truth and Terin’s master did want him back alive, the knowledge of what the two men talked about might save him from the worst of his master’s punishments. He glanced up at the men.

Emeric wore a yellow doublet with matching buttons decorated by twisting vines of black roses embroidered along the trim. The man next to him wasn’t Zurach, wasn’t the person regaled as the Hero of the Arena, for all his voice was the same. While still graceful, the man was taller and slimmer, a little less muscular, and as perfect as one of the Emperor’s prized statues.

Terin’s mouth dropped open. With a grin, the man stepped forward and stooped to look him in the eyes.

“Finally noticed, did you?” the man asked in Zurach’s voice. A gloved hand reached out and took hold of Terin’s chin and pulled him closer. He shuddered at the warm breath blown in his ear. “You could tell them, if you tried to escape me, but no one will believe you. Your master will torture the words out of you, you know, then he’ll kill you for lying to him. With me, you’ll be safe. I won’t send you to the arena. I won’t betray you, so long as you do as you’re told,” Zurach whispered to him.

“If you’re going to seduce him, could you at least wait until I’m out of the room? He’s a little young for my tastes.”

Terin flinched. The grip on his chin tightened. He wanted to run or pull away, but his muscles froze and he couldn’t even force his fingers to twitch.

“You’ll behave, won’t you?” Zurach asked.

His entire body shook, but Terin managed to jerk his head in a nod.

“Emeric, don’t act so shy. Anyway, I prefer women. I want him to remain untouched for now,” Zurach said. Terin held his breath.

“Don’t lie, Zurach. It’s unbecoming. We’re very similar, you and me. That said, he’s your slave. I’ve enough of my own, I assure you.”

Both men laughed and Zurach clapped Terin’s shoulder hard enough that he staggered forward. He took the chance to step out of the reach of both Citizens.

“I’ll be expected at the palace tomorrow in the early afternoon. Stay here for tonight, and I’ll guide you to the manor proper in the morning. Don’t take any chances,” Emeric said.

“No chances,” Zurach promised.

“I’ll send a slave down tonight with food and drink. You know what you need to do. Have fun with her first if you’d like. I need to get back in case I’m called on.”

“Don’t bother with the slave. I think we’ll survive for the night,” Zurach replied, laughter in his voice. “I’d rather have her when I have the time and privacy to deal with her properly.”

“Your loss,” Emeric said. “I’ll send one of the servants, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Terin fidgeted under the scrutiny of the two brothers, and he stared down at a crack crossing one of the marble tiles. The thud of feet faded away.

Zurach let out a low, gusty sigh. “Well, he hasn’t changed a bit. Time for you to get bathed and in proper clothes, boy. Move it!”

Before Zurach’s outstretched hand could touch him, Terin hurried to the bath, clutching at the box to keep from dropping it.

The man laughed.

~*~

Zurach’s snores thundered, and curling up with his hands clapped over his ears didn’t let Terin sleep. The darkness smothered him, so deep that he couldn’t make out the outline of the cushion he rested on. He stretched and his hand thumped against the divan’s armrest. Mumbling curses, he sat up and rubbed at his eyes. He whispered the Speech to summon light and a rosy aura enveloped his hand to illuminate the sitting room.

Zurach sprawled on the divan across the room, and one of the man’s arms dangled off the side, his fingers limp against the marble floor. The rest of him was curled in a tight ball, face hidden in the shadows.

Another snore burst out of the man, so loud Terin flinched and stuck his fingers in his ears in the futile effort of drowning out the noise. The box gleamed in the red light from his hand. Zurach snorted and the snores settled to a softer rumble. Terin lowered his hands from his ears and reached for the box, setting it across his lap. Trailing his glowing fingers across the smooth surface, he considered what it could contain to make the two brothers so strict about its handling.

He pressed his finger to the lock. With Speech, he could have it open in moments, without any need for the silver key in Zurach’s possession. He braced for the collar’s punishment, but it didn’t come. Letting out a snort matching Zurach’s snores, Terin tossed the box on the cushion next to him. He stood and slid his feet across the floor toward the door.

Terin wasn’t certain if he trembled or if the man’s snores were so strong they shook the floor. By the time he sneaked to the threshold, he struggled to keep his breathing quiet and slow.

If he crossed to the other room, he’d disobey Zurach. He already disobeyed, leaving the box behind on the divan instead of taking it with him. If he continued, escape would be in his grasp.

He winced and waited for his punishment, but the collar remained cool and inert.

With one final, deep breath, he stepped forward.

Nothing happened.

Zurach still snorted, and the man’s thunder masked the whisper of Terin’s clothes and his steps. He rubbed at his arms and hurried to the wall hiding the door to the sewer. A silver candelabrum, twin to the one Zurach had destroyed, stood in the corner. The light from his hand stained it red.