Dark Gods Rising (10 page)

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“I’ll have scented rose petals in my bath,” Ludwig promised. “Servants will flock to my service, and his Lordship will speak my name with respect when he passes Meliandra into my care. Gertunda will weep and wail, cursing her cold and heartless ways with every breath because her fortunes fell so low while mine rose high.”

“Does he ever shut up?” Trel complained from up ahead.

“Not that I ever noticed,” Charle answered. “Ludwig, what the hell are you so happy about. Look around. We’re trapped deep in the mountains. We have no food, and there are a few dozen people who want to kill us on our back trail.”

“Think what it will be like when we get back home,” Ludwig protested. “The caravan has been destroyed, but we managed to save the most precious of His Lordship’s goods. Lord Wencheck is sure to be pleased with us. I’m positive His Lordship will give his permission for me to court Meliandra.”

“You were always slow,” the amulet said, her voice too thin to carry further than his own ears.

“You better talk to the boy,” Jorge called back to Harlo.

“If I were you,” Harlo said, “I wouldn’t plan on seeing Meliandra anytime soon.”

Stopping his animals, Ludwig turned to look toward his friend. “Why not? His Lordship is bound to reward us. We saved his most precious goods. A rogue mage is dead. The leader of the brigands is dead.” He shook his head, remembering his astonishment at the sight of Garland‘s slack face.

“Garland,” Harlo said firmly, “was not the brigand leader.”

“He must have been,” Ludwig insisted, running the possible candidates through his mind. None of the others had the character or will needed to lead the brigands. “Who else could the leader be?”

“Me,” Harlo answered.

“But that means,” Ludwig whispered with sudden realization. Visions of Meliandra and robes and servants trickled out of his head. “Curse you, Harlo! Curse you! May Athos afflict you with boils. May your bowels flow backwards, and may you suffer an unending pain in your ass.”

Harlo smiled fondly. “Athos has already given me the last,” he said, “though, of late, I’ve seen some signs of improvement.”

Chapter 5
—
Secrets

Simta smoothed her hands over imaginary wrinkles on her black and red silk dress. Gazing at herself in the hall mirror, she checked to make sure all was as it should be. Thankfully, nothing was out of place. A year had passed since she last saw the priest, but not because of disinterest. To the contrary, their last few meetings had gone well, mostly because she held her temper on a short leash. Then Larson had died. After his funeral, she and Calto lost touch while Simta did her twelve months service for Trelsar. Larson’s promise had proved good even after his death.

Much had changed about her appearance in the ensuing year. Her dark red hair was swept into a matronly bun, her curls controlled. Only the lightest of kohl was applied around her forest-green eyes. She even forwent her favorite lip coloring so nothing she wore would remind the overly righteous priest of her past profession. Her complexion was a scrubbed pink. She was a proper lady today. Even so Simta still feared his critical eye. Long ago, back before her time serving Trelsar, when she was in Calto Morlon’s presence, she had the distinct impression he found her repulsive— like she had just rolled in a pile of dung. During their last meetings before her self exile his attitude seemed to have changed for the better, as if his opinion of her was improving, through Larson’s influence, she suspected.

The knob to her right clicked. A white-robed, temple priest opened Calto’s door. Simta stood, staggering into the small table beneath the mirror. A nervous giggle escaped before she regained her composer.
Sweet goddess, he’s going to think I’m drunk
.

Her stomach did a flip-flop followed by a tight somersault, and then with great aplomb, it fell flat. If she ate anything at all during this meeting it would come right back up.

The priest gave her a tight smile which she was sure hid a grimace. A motion of his hand beckoned her forward into Calto’s very private office. Rumor said only a select few had ever been invited within, not all of whom were glad to be there. Stories claimed strange things went on in there sometimes, private, dark things. The priest was known for always getting to the truth— any way he could.

A shudder came unbidden to her as a memory from her first disastrous encounter with Calto reared its rather ugly and unpleasant head. Simta lurched forward. Never again—
never again.
She would walk the straight and narrow even if doing so led her off a cliff.

Trying to stand taller but only succeeding in swaying unsteadily, Simta tottered through the doorway. She would be lucky if she didn’t fall face first in front of the Queen’s Advisor.

Calto stood behind a large oak desk big enough to sleep on. “Lady Morthanhi, I am glad you came.” He came around the desk to stand before her, his hand extended.

Simta took his hand lightly and bent to kiss his ring, a symbol of his status as Anothosia’s high priest. She eyed the diamond appreciatively for a moment, wondering at the rare ring’s value. It was a thick band of gold decorated with a diamond almost as big as her eye’s iris. Held in place with a golden sword and staff crossed over the top like an ‘X’, the diamond represented the sun or light, the staff truth, and the sword justice. These were the symbols of Anothosia and her faithful. Only descendants of Calto’s family had worn it. The thing could set a thief up for life, but she suspected its theft would come with a heavy price since gods probably didn’t favor those who stole sacred objects.

Squeezing her eyes closed for a moment, Simta forcibly shoved such wicked thoughts from her mind and allowed Calto to take his hand back. It was almost painful to see the fortune slip away from her, but that was not who she was any longer. This was the new, reformed, no longer a thief, a drunk, or a whore Simta, the Simta Calto had once started to approve of.

“Please, sit down.” Calto took her gently by the elbow and led her to a light-blue, velvet settee by the window. He had a wonderful view of the garden. Soft, early morning light, colored the spring flowers in soft pastels, and a breeze brought their gentle scents to Simta. Drawing a deep breath, she felt her nerves unwind a bit. Calto had not issued an insult— yet. Maybe this meeting wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe his previous warming still existed.

The High Priest brought a silver tray of sweet meats and biscuits from his desk and sat it on the table between them. Tea had been set out already.

“Would you care for tea, Lady Morthanhi?” He smiled warmly. Simta nodded, hopeful but wary. She could not believe he was being so polite. Maybe after more than a year of dutiful repentance he truly had forgiven her past follies.

After pouring the tea, Calto gave her another warm smile. “Something to eat? I know it is rather early, Simta, and I do appreciate you coming here so please help yourself. I may address you by your first name, yes? Are we still on friendly terms?”

Simta blushed and nodded. “Thank you, Lord Morlon. I appreciate your kindness, and yes, we are still friendly.”

“No, no— formalities aside cousin. You may use my first name as well.” Giving her a wink, he sat down in the settee’s matching chair, leaned back, and crossed his long, muscled legs. His booted foot casually swung back and forth as he silently studied her. Never shy, Simta looked back, and she admired the view, starting at his calves and moving up. Cream colored tights hugged his legs all the way up to a waist she found both trim and sexy. When her eyes found his broad chest, covered by a tight silk shirt and an open vest, she fought back a sigh. The silk hid none of his well-defined muscles. She thought it truly a shame he covered it with the shirt and vest, although they did leave little to the imagination. She could almost picture what he would look like naked.

Clasping her hands nervously in front of her, Simta tried to steer her thoughts in other directions. Her time of repentance had obviously been very long if she fell into heat this easily, but by the gods, Calto was a vision. She would have bet her family’s fortune he was paradise in bed, especially since none of the fortune belonged to her.

“How have you been?” Calto’s soft tone only added to her distress. Half-lidded eyes, blue as the morning sky when the first hint of the sun touches the horizon, regarded her almost— well— if she didn’t know better, almost as if his thoughts ran in the same direction as hers. Which was just plain silly. In no way did he want her as much as she wanted him. After all, she doubted he had spent the last year in forced celibacy. To her certain knowledge few unmarried priests paid much attention to those particular vows. Had Calto? Some priests must honor their commitments to Anothosia. Calto might be one of them.

“I have been fine, thank you,” she finally said. “Yourself, Lord Calto?”

“I have been all right. Losing Larson was a terrible tragedy, but I found solace in my goddess’s graces. Anothosia has helped me with her strength, wisdom, and truth.”

Simta nodded. Larson’s funeral in Grace had been well attended. Calto had been thin, gaunt, his complexion almost transparent, and his hair shorn as a symbol of his grief. Many had thought he looked too ill to complete the three days of prayer and solitude required of a high priest when family passed.

“I see you’ve grown your hair back,” Simta noted, although it was still short by Calto’s previous standards. “I wondered if you would.” A sudden imagined vision of Calto’s previously long hair spilling over his shoulders as he swayed naked above her caused Simta’s breath to hitch in her chest. How would it feel to tangle her fingers in all that white blond hair? Like silk perhaps? She would like to find out, but for now it was too short. Hopefully it would reach its previous lengths in another year or two.

Calto fingered the short hair brushing against his ear, and his already warm smile softened. “Yes. I liked having it long. It will get there again. Larson always teased me about having prettier hair than most women. I suppose that is why I cut it off and laid it in his sarcophagus as something to take with him into the veil.” Releasing a short laugh, he shook his head. “Silly really, but we often do odd things when we are awash in sorrow and pain.”

Simta felt badly for Calto. Honestly, unless he took a wife he would die the last of his branch’s direct line. To be even more honest, she had liked Larson— owed him a debt she could never repay. The knight had been courageous and devout to the end even as the devil and his demons covered his body and ripped it apart. According to his partner of that night, Larson had sacrificed himself in order to protect her from the clutches of Hell.

“How is Sulya, by-the-way? Is she still without a partner?”

Calto’s breath caught for a moment. His eyes narrowed. Had he just flinched? Maybe not, but if so, why?

The smile slipped back upon his face, easy once more. His features smoothed. “Physically, Sulya is fine. Mentally?” He shook his head. “Not so well. I’ve made her my partner so I can keep a close eye on her until she becomes better. I am hoping to prevent another unfortunate incident.” He sighed, leaned forward, and placed his elbows on his knees. “Speaking of unfortunate events.”

The view she received of Calto’s rather impressive package when he took his pose nearly made her lean forward for a better look.

“Simta, I have a favor to ask of you, one which could possibly release you from your marriage to Charmaine.”

Package forgotten, Simta nearly dropped her cup. This sounded promising. “A favor which would release me from that— I mean from my betrothed?” Simta trembled. Only sheer luck and her time serving Trelsar had kept her from being married already to the despicable piece of jumped-up gutter trash.

“Yes, Simta. Would you like that?” Standing, Calto walked over to the window. The sight of his flexing buttocks beneath his thin tights stirred her interest once more. Sunlight breaking through the window cast golden rays about his body, creating a white nimbus. Simta smiled in appreciation. Always stunning, at the moment Calto could have stood in portrait to represent Trelsar, who also happened to be the patron god of the arts. Calto looked that much like a golden god. Lost in his beauty, Simta nearly missed what he said next, but when her brain caught up to his words, she was jerked out of the moment.

“Larson left behind a wife and child.” Calto turned his gaze back to her. “They are in danger. What I need from you is to befriend them— be my spy but
do not
, under any circumstances, let them know I exist. For that matter, do not insinuate Larson was anything but a common knight. I want none of their perceptions of him altered.”

Simta frowned. She would be happy to do this if it meant escaping Charmaine’s lunatic ravings, but— “Why must I conceal Larson’s identity and origins, and how did she miss his obvious importance at his funeral?”

Calto eyes burned holes in her with their intensity. After long moments of scrutiny, he walked over and knelt before her. “I can’t tell you why the concealment. If I did, it could get you killed. As for her not knowing, Larson had two funerals. The second was attended only by his wife and daughter. Not even his knights were there. For that matter, neither was Larson. The casket was weighted and closed so she never knew.”

Simta’s eyes grew large. What exactly was he involving her in? “Please tell me this doesn’t involve devils?”

Calto’s face grew stern. “I would not knowingly put a woman in harm’s way. I simply ask you to tell me what she does from day to day, whom she sees, where she goes. Discreetly slip her a few bits of silver to help out. To do this you need to play a role, something you are uniquely qualified to do.”

Simta frowned. Spying was one of the vices she had given up. She wasn’t sure she wanted to take it up again, but by the gods, Calto kneeled before her. If he was offering what his kneeling implied, she would lick the man’s boots if he asked it of her. The best part would be her father’s blessing of their union, especially if it meant tying the two houses closer together. Lady Simta Alisa Morlon. She liked the sound. Even so, caution, an old friend, insisted she learn more.

“I don’t know. Again— why? Can’t they just come and stay with you?”

Calto’s face fell. He looked pained. “There was a reason for two funerals. I cannot allow anyone other than us to know about Anithia and Missa. It would not be good for either of them. Besides, I have problems I do not wish them to be caught up in.” He touched the side of her face. His fingers were calloused and strong, but his touch soft and seductive. Simta shivered.

“Do you not find my proposal attractive?” Calto whispered. “This favor would not go unrewarded.”

Something low and warm clenched in Simta’s belly. Her body tingled with a desire that had long gone unanswered. Booze and thieving were not the only things she had foresworn.

Calto’s fingers trailed down her jaw. His thumb gently brushed across her lips. Her nipples hardened, poking through her gown’s thin fabric. Heat rushed over her body even though she knew he played her like she was a game. A year previous their relationship might have been warming, but it had still edged closer to cold than hot. “Calto, I—”

Calto’s mouth took her reply away. His tongue teased the corners of her mouth. Simta nearly slid off the settee. Yeah, it had been too fucking long.

“Please,” he whispered. “I could arrange a permanent place for you within my household. Would you not love attending court with me in Grace?”

Desire shivered through her when he lowered his cupid bow mouth to her collarbone. Moaning for effect, she slid her arms around his hard shoulders and pulled him closer. “Yes, oh yes,” she whispered, knowing she would do anything, even play this game, if she didn’t have to marry her half-crazy fiancée of a priest, Charmaine. And to think— when this was over, if Calto kept his implied word, she would be a lady of the court.

Calto’s hand slid down her leg then up underneath her skirts. His probing hand slid between her legs, thus answering her silent question as to him following his priestly vows. Simta opened for him, allowing him access as Calto pushed her skirts up about her waist and knelt to kiss her inner thigh.

A knocking at the door brought Calto abruptly out from between her legs. Cursing, he drew Simta’s skirt back into place, lunged upward and back, moving quickly into his chair, and placed a pillow over his crotch.