Dark Gods Rising (14 page)

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Sulya watched from the mouth of a dark alley as her fellow knights murdered her pets. Silent, angry tears slid down her face. Those hounds had been gifts from Zorce. She had earned them with her hate. Inside her, Zorce’s poison roiled like an angry beast, wanting to rise up from the depths and destroy Anothosia’s knights. It wanted to send its fire burning through their bodies and watch them die in agony. Sulya agreed with the poison, but she did not have enough strength to handle its aftermath, not when she hadn’t slept in two days. Angered by her refusal, the poison nibbled at the edge of Sulya’s soul and worried at her organs.

It hurt. Always, it hurt. Waves of dull pain shivered through her body. Sulya knew she would have to soon give the poison back to Zorce. No one but a dark god or his genetic minion could hold such true evil in their bodies for long. Not even similians, creatures bred and born of magic, could contain such fell energies. Only if Sulya allowed a powerful devil of Hell to partially transform her into a created hellborn could she continue to control the poison.

She found the thought of having scales upon her body and having her beauty defiled disgusting. Her allure over humans was one of her greatest weapons. She would not throw that weapon away. No, she had lived three hundred years in this body, two hundred of those spent battling her way up Hell’s hierarchy, lying, stealing, betraying, and killing to gain Zorce’s attention. She would not betray her body for a doubtful promise. More often than not Hell’s gifts were a double-edged sword, cutting a person on both sides, cleaving the unwary in half if they could.

When the door to the temple fully closed, Sulya growled. Somehow, she would have to find a way into the temple to retrieve the cat. Gods only knew what the thief had seen or who it might tell if it had gained Radno’s gift of speech.

Maybe they were safe. After all, not all of Radno’s transformations could talk. Hell, most didn’t live more than a couple days. Few people could withstand or complete the change. Those were gruesomely fascinating transformations to watch. Too bad Radno would die tonight, but if the cat talked it might lead Calto’s knights to him. Radno knew too much to be allowed to live. Maybe his gift ran in his family?

Pondering the notion for a moment, Sulya decided it would be best to get this information from Radno before she killed him— or maybe Zorce would like to play with the shapechanger first? It was something else to ponder while she murdered the two knights who had destroyed her pets. Yes. Tonight would be busy for Sulya Ibarra. Lots of killing to do. Fortunately she liked killing, killing time, knights, and people and— well— just about everything. Tonight killing a certain cat would make her the happiest.

Yes, happy, very, very, happy.

Chapter 6
—
Queen’s Knight

Calto Morlon’s second in command watched as his superior paced back and forth in his office. The older priest scowled.

“Sir, I assure you your cousin is not trustworthy. She might be playing at redemption now, but before long she will betray you. Besides, it’s not right to take another to your bed.”

Stopping his pacing, Calto addressed his inferior. “Simta will not betray me, Dargot, not in this. She owes Larson’s memory a great debt and finds me a tempting treat despite our past differences.” Calto’s gaze hardened. “I dare say there are few others within the temple I can trust with this task, and none who would not be noticed by either our enemies or Anithia. Since Larson’s death, Ani has hated anyone affiliated with Anothosia. She will not accept our protection. Besides, how would I explain putting a royal guard on a commoner without jeopardizing everything we have worked for— everything my brother died for? Furthermore, there is nothing wrong with me courting my cousin. She is of a noble house and not closely related to me by blood

“It is not right to sully yourself with this charade,” Dargot said. “There must be another way.”

Calto threw his hands about him in exasperation. The strain of so many things going wrong were evident in his lack of control. When Dargot opened his mouth to protest, Calto signaled him to silence with a violent hand slash. He stared intently at the priest. “For the sake of Anothosia and my brother, I will do whatever it takes to protect them, even if it means whoring my way through half the population of Yylse.”

Calto meant exactly what he said. He had too much riding on his brother’s lowborn family. Several mornings past he had deliberately allowed Simta to see him disrobed, wearing only his leggings, shirt, and vest. He wanted the harlot to have the most tempting eyeful of him possible without him having to strip down to bare skin. Knowing Simta’s blood ran hot and how she hated Charmaine, he had thrown in a long, sensuous kiss. A bag of gold rugdles and a flagon of wine would not have gotten a better response from the woman. After his disgusting display, he did not doubt she would do anything he asked of her.

Dargot grimaced. “Lord Sir, I meant no offense. I would certainly make the same sacrifice— for our goddess, of course.”

Calto snorted and resumed pacing. Of course Dargot would be willing to make that sacrifice. He was a terrible womanizer. If it were not for Dargot’s high position within Calto’s personal retinue, the under-priest’s wife would have asked for a divorce long ago. For his part, despite the reputation he had gained with Sulya, Calto did not find the idea of bedding Simta such an attractive option. He was Anothosia’s High Priest. As such, he regarded allowing the similian into his bed as a period of weakness to his vows, barely acceptable only because she was not human. Their personal relationship had ended after Larson’s ghostly visit. Because of that visit Calto suspected there was more to Sulya’s story of Larson’s death than what she had related. He was not entirely sure it was not her fault Larson died. He could not prove it, and so he kept her by his side to maintain a close eye on her.

“However, Lord Sir,” Dargot continued, “if you are so worried about your only heir, maybe sending the woman and her daughter to your Grace estate would be best.”

Calto shook his head. “No, I have told you Anithia would not fit into my lifestyle there. She is lowborn, not fit to associate with the gentry.” Not to mention with Larson gone and the king increasingly becoming religiously strange, Calto was forced to spend most of his time in Yylse, leaving his queen to fend for herself.

This did not set well with Calto. As High Priest, part of his duties was to be Queen Elise’s confessor and personal knight. It was impossible for him to fulfill those roles from Yylse, but because Hell’s strongest known infection was here, he had no choice but to remain in this city as much as possible, far away from a king who seemed to be more and more comfortable with the idea of hellkind walking on mortal soil. Of late, his visits to Grace were becoming infrequent.

“I understand, Lord Sir, but if she is so unacceptable, why did Larson marry outside his station? Did the woman mislead him? Did she claim false pregnancy?”

Calto’s jaw tightened. The reason had to do with none of those things. The two brothers had been directed by their goddess, Anothosia, to find Anithia and impregnate her. It was an unseemly task easily accomplished, but Larson had fallen in love with the wench the moment she opened her mouth. Larson instantly decided he would make the strumpet his wife even though the goddess hadn’t said shit about marrying the woman. Oh no, that folly had been Larson’s own stupidity. Fortunately, Calto had been able to talk his brother into agreeing the marriage should be kept quiet so his lowborn wife would not enter the public eye. Obtaining Larson’s agreement had been a major battle.

A swift pang of anger ran through his body at the memory of Larson standing up to him. Calto hated being challenged, especially by an idiot brother who should have known enough to get the job done and walk away.

Still pacing, he controlled his features. In life as well as at dinner, presentation was everything. “Larson fell in love with her. He married the tramp for love, or so he told me. I could have stricken him from the family ancestry for such an act, but he is— was— my only sibling.”

Calto stopped pacing and faced Dargot once again. He needed to change the subject before Dargot asked more questions about Anithia and his niece. Too much scrutiny was not what Anithia and Missa needed. It was not what he needed. Calto had kept the secret of Missa’s birth for eight long years. He intended to keep it even unto death.

“Discover what dress size Simta wears and send her something appropriate. Also, give her this as well.” Walking to his desk, Calto opened a side drawer and withdrew a flat, square box, five inches by five, holding a velvet choker with a heart shaped emerald centerpiece, proof of Calto’s assumed intentions. “Make sure your lips do not utter a word of this to anyone.” Calto thrust the box into Dargot’s hand. “I do not need another scandal regarding my private actions. The queen is already somewhat displeased with me. I see no reason to make her more unhappy.” Actually, Elise would be within her rights to request his dismissal if yet one more scandal scarred his name.

“Yes, Lord Sir.” Dargot bowed and walked to the door. “Just one last question, Lord Morlon.”

Calto frowned. “Yes?”

“What of Charmaine and his courtship of Lady Morthanhi. They already have a date set for the wedding.”

Calto’s left eye twitched. That particular charlatan was a pain in his ass, driving people from Anothosia’s temple in an effort to
save them
for the one true god, Trelsar. What a pile of crap. The fool was nothing but a crazy cultist who denied the existence of the other gods. If Calto were not so focused on the war between the Seven and Two, he would have long ago thrashed Charmaine publicly for his blasphemy. Unfortunately, in the current political climate, if Charmaine was to be dealt with it would have to be quietly, a subtle disappearance. With a bit of effort Calto could arrange it, but he wasn’t sure it was worth his while. Given time, Charmaine was sure to self-destruct.

“Why should I worry about his half-baked claims to the woman?” he demanded of Dargot. “I do believe he is, far, far beneath the house of Morlon. Not even noble, a fact he is trying to change.”

Dargot winced, apparently realizing his misstep. Bowing reverently to Calto, he left without another word.

Once the door closed, Calto paced again. His mind whirled in a flurry of chaos. His early morning meeting with Simta had gone well. He had her cooperation, but the price she thought him willing to pay for her assistance made him tense, stressed. If she did exactly as he had asked, honored her end of their agreement, she would expect him to keep his unspoken word, expect him to make Simta an honest woman. That meant a ring upon Simta’s finger and a place in his home. An appalling thought.

Calto stopped pacing and contemplated the woman being mistress of his household. Would she remain honorable if he actually did this or would she lapse into her old ways and embarrass the house of Morlon?

The thought of what Simta could do to the reputation of his House if he actually intended to honor her expectations brought on a shudder. Calto walked to his desk, pulled out a bottle of Evertrue Whiskey, and held it up so he could study the dark amber liquid. Fear of Simta somehow bringing disgrace to his household curled around his bowels like frozen ice. According to the archives, his family name had been pure for more than three-hundred years. Could he risk his family’s virtue and honor on a woman with the morals of an alley cat?

Calto uncorked the whiskey. Like a commoner, he stuck the bottle’s mouth between his lips, tilted it back, and let the liquor burn its way down his throat. Calto did not care if the time was barely eight bells. He needed something to ease his nerves.

Lowering the bottle, Calto wiped his lips with the back of a hand, corked the bottle, and replaced the whiskey in its drawer. He went to the window and looked out, seeing the morning sun lighting the garden in soft pastels. Gentle scents drifted on the breeze. Often, this view brought him peaceful comfort, but not today. Studying the panorama, Calto tried to focus his thoughts, calm his inner demons, but after several minutes of deep breathing, he gave up. He shook his head as its beauty failed to soothe him.

How had things gotten to such a state of desperation? Of the six years he had spent as High Priest battling Athos in the streets of Yylse, and now Zorce in Grace, none had been as despairing as this last year. Things had become so bad Calto carried Larson’s sword strapped to his waist at all times, even during blessings and ceremonies. After Larson’s death, Anithia and Missa had lost their house and moved into the Downs, one of the worst parts of the city. A disgrace for Larson’s daughter and Calto’s heir, but he could not allow them to live with him. The time was not right, and if the truth be told, he despised the woman Larson had married. She was beautiful enough, golden hair, large blue eyes, trim figure, but she was still a lowborn. Good enough to fuck on a chill night. She might make a nice mistress, but that was about it. What did it matter if she was God touched? Lowborn was lowborn. She did not belong in the Morlon family tree. But Missa— he would take her if he could and be done with Anithia. Missa carried Larson’s blood.

Feeling helpless, lost, Calto clenched his hands in frustration. By the Gods, he wanted what he wanted, what he deserved, and the fact circumstances denied him his due made him rage. He was High Priest, Lord Calto Morlon, eldest and last male heir to the Morlon family trust given to them by Anothosia herself. He hated it when matters did not go his way.

A soft knocking brought Calto out of his reverie. Turning, he straightened his vest and clasped his hands behind his back. “Enter.”

When the door opened, a woman hesitantly stepped into the room. As soon he saw her Calto stiffened, and his mood sunk even lower.

“Lady Gertunda, how unexpected.” Calto walked over to the noblewoman, his face wearing a blank, forced, expression of indifference. He hoped the gadfly was not here for yet one more request for a divorce from her prat of a husband, Ludwig. The matter was not Calto’s concern. It belonged to her family’s personal priest. Divorces were minor issues, far beneath his station, but her father’s indignation and need for a public spectacle brought her to his office time and time again no matter how often he told her she needed to return to Grace to have the issue properly resolved. For that matter, until this moment he thought she had returned to Grace over two months ago.

The woman, brown eyes tense and shining, took Calto’s hand with a jerk and smashed his ring to her lips. She released his hand so fast she almost threw it from her.

Calto scowled. “Your Ladyship.”

“Sorry–sorry. Please, High Lord, I have a request from her majesty. You are needed back in Grace immediately.”

Calto’s eyes widened, realizing Gertunda was here on an entirely different matter than he had suspected. Why was this woman bringing him news from the queen? Where were the queen’s personal messengers?

“Is she all right?” he instantly asked, knowing the question sounded inane, but news of the queen was always his top priority.

“Queen Elise bids me to tell you things have become worse within the city and the castle. Almost all of her personal attendants have been replaced by those loyal to Belsac and Helace. She has but one reliable attendant left, Wenda, but even she cannot escape the prying eyes of the king’s pair. Last month, when I attended the Summer’s Eve Ball, the queen asked me to come and get you.”

Calto’s breath caught in his throat. The king’s pair. Helace was the king’s mistress and Belsac his newest advisor. Despite the fact he had seldom seen them, or perhaps because of this, Calto trusted neither. Whenever he entered a room, both quickly left. To his mind their absence brought up the question of what they were hiding. He knew, like so many of the other sycophants within the court, they were trying to wrest power and influence from Elise, but that would never happen. Calto and Elise’s father, the emperor of the Altude Empire, would not allow it. She was Calto’s queen, queen of the realm. She would remain so no matter how often the king urged her to grant him a divorce due to her lack of living male children.

“Does she fear for her life?” Calto asked. His voice trembled at the thought. He might not be able to murder the king, but he could damn well arrange unfortunate accidents for the two usurpers. No one threatened his Elise.

Calto caught himself in his thinking. His Elise? The queen would never be his.