Pleasure's Offering (14 page)

She stopped and looked up, regarding Zoa with one beautiful eye in light and one in flashing shadow. “I’d thought that you would be the one who could finally balance him,” Dezira said, her voice frustrated. “I should have known better. All that man cares for is power. It was a mistake to think he could desire anything else. He wanted you more than any other from the moment he saw you, just as I knew he would, and still, all he wanted was to command you, to make you beg.”

The goddess made a disgusted sound, and then, like a cloud blown in a high wind, the fury fell from her face. “No more of him,” she said, her voice now soft as moonlight. “I have done you great wrong, my beautiful, beloved Zoa, but I promise I will make it up to you. I will give you twice what he could have been, but for now,” she raised her moonlit arm and held out a beautiful, white hand to Zoa. “Come to me, my Chosen. Come and take your power at last.”

Zoa looked at the hand and her body began to tremble. “What will happen?” she whispered.

“Only what was always meant to be,” the goddess answered. “I don’t even have to ask to know your desire. You were made to love and be loved, to inspire the love of others to ever greater heights.”

The goddess’s words were encouraging, but still, Zoa hesitated. Toric had said she would be like him and she could never do that. Never.

“You will not be like him,” Dezira said. “As he is a dark moon through and through, you are a white moon born.”

The fear must have still shone in Zoa’s eyes, because the goddess sighed softly. “I am not known for my kindness,” she said, her lovely voice sad and bitter. “But even I know this was an unkind Awakening. Now you’ll be tied to that man forever, but while I cannot break a bond already formed, I can promise you that, no matter what he says, that bond gives him no power over you. You are my Avatar, Zoa, and his equal. He will never have power over you unless you give it to him. Again, I am sorry, and again, I promise I will make it up to you, but for now, leave that man to his rage and his darkness. He deserves no better and he certainly doesn’t deserve you.” The goddess lifted her chin and the white half of her face broke into a beautiful smile. “You belong to me.”

The light in that smile washed away her fear and Zoa stepped forward, bringing her forehead up to brush the goddess’s outstretched hand. The moment they touched, white light filled the field as a white moon more brilliant than the orb that hung in the sky flashed to life on Zoa’s skin. Beautiful, warm radiance washed over Zoa’s body, burning everything away in painless fire until she was made again, shivering like an infant under the goddess’s gaze. The silver eye Zoa could see softened at the sight, and then the goddess’s hands, the white one and the hand covered in shadow, dropped to Zoa’s own, drawing them up as the goddess kissed her fingers.

The slight touch was enough to make Zoa’s knees go weak with desire, but the goddess held her up like a pillar, and she did not fall.

“You are my Own, Zoa,” Dezira whispered. “Marked as mine forever. Now go and be free. Live as you desire, and you shall do my work in the world.”

Zoa started to ask what work she was meant to do, but as her lips opened, the goddess vanished. So did the tree and the field and Zoa found herself lying on her back on the pallet with Toric sitting beside her, his head in his hands.

“Don’t speak,” he whispered.

“I have nothing to say,” Zoa said, standing up.

“Then why are you talking?” Toric snarled, spinning to glare at her.

Zoa gave him a glare of her own. “So you will know I do not keep my silence out of obedience to you.”

He scowled at her words, but his eyes were no longer locked on hers. Instead, he was staring at her forehead and his face fell into something very close to despair. “A white moon,” he said, his voice cold and dry as long dead ashes. “Of course. What else would it be?”

Zoa said nothing else. She simply turned, grabbed two coats from his own trunk and ran to her sister. Mina woke when Zoa touched her, blinking groggily. “Zoa?” she whispered. “What happened? What’s going on?”

“Never mind now,” Zoa said, helping Mina into the coat. “Come on, we have to get out of here.”

She dragged Mina up and they fled the tent together. Toric made no move to chase them. He never moved at all, just sat on the edge of his pallet like a statue, staring at Zoa as she pulled her sister into the night.

The full moon lit their way. It was well past midnight and the whole camp was drunk. They slipped out easily. Zoa stole a horse from the end of the picket line. She pulled herself up and then pulled Mina up as well, marveling at her own strength as she did. The moon was no longer shining on her forehead, but she could feel the goddess’s power flowing through her, washing away the aches and the tiredness as they rode quietly out into the plains.

Silas, head of the order of Dezira’s Chosen, found them the next day. He appeared as if from nowhere, riding straight at them across the hills with a full retinue of Temple acolytes. Zoa tried to run when she saw him, but Silas caught her after only a moment’s chase, and from that point on, he took care of everything.

Mina didn’t remember anything after the first lust spell, and Zoa, after much agonizing, finally decided not to tell her what had happened. What good would the truth do, anyway? Silas assured her privately that he had purified Mina, cleansing her of disease and any chance of pregnancy from the soldiers. There would be no fallout unless Zoa made it, so Zoa held her silence, and when Silas brought them home at last, Zoa kissed her father and sister farewell with wide, fake smiles and left her village with great honors to take her place in the temple as a Chosen of Dezira.

The whole time she had been his prisoner, the dark moon Chosen had never told her his name. It was Silas who told her it was Toric Vallus, and the moment he spoke it, that name became the label for all of the angry, guilty, painfully confusing knots those six days had left inside her. Thankfully, as a member of the Imperial family, Toric did not come to the temple or obey its edicts, and Zoa was happy to put him out of her mind.

Then, a few months after her Awakening, a courier arrived at the Temple of Dezira with a sandalwood box. The gift had no name, no markings of any kind, but the courier was dressed in the purple of House Vallus and would give the box to no one except Zoa herself, which was sign enough of the giver. Zoa let it sit in the corner of her room for almost a week before she worked up the courage to open it. When she did, what was inside took her breath away.

It was a dress, cut from the most beautiful sheer silk she’d ever seen in a breathtaking shade of deep purple. Its stitching was so tiny it was nearly invisible, and the edges were lined with beetle-shell beads that clacked softly with every movement. The cloth was so fine it slipped between her fingers like water, and when her hands stopped shaking long enough for her to slide the dress on, Zoa found it had been made perfectly to her measurements.

She’d looked at herself in the polished silver mirror for a long time after that. A dress like this must have cost a fortune. The cost of the dye alone was likely more than her father made in ten years. Even so, she almost threw it away. In the end, though, it was the dress’s beauty, not its cost, that stayed her hand. It looked so lovely on her, so perfectly fitted, the deep purple turning her pale skin to alabaster, that even knowing who it was from, Zoa couldn’t bear to throw it away. But she couldn’t bear to wear it out of her room either. Finally, after days of going back and forth, Zoa put it back and tucked the sandalwood box deep at the bottom of her trunk.

For years, she would wonder what the gift meant. The care taken in its making as well as the precise fit spoke of Toric’s personal involvement, and he wasn’t a man who wasted his time. But was it an apology or a final barb? After much consideration, Zoa decided it was a little of both, and though she hated it sometimes, she never threw the dress away. And when it came time for her to bring an Avatar into power herself, she’d known it was the only garment suited for the task. She’d thought maybe by wearing it for a proper Awakening, performed with love and reverent care as it should be, she could wash away the stain of her own.

A good sentiment, too bad it hadn’t worked.

* * * * *

“Don’t you see?” Zoa said as her story finished. “After all he did to me, all he did to my sister, I enjoyed it. I never begged him like he wanted, I kept that much, but I wanted him every second I was in his presence. Even at the end, when his head was in his hands, I almost wanted to comfort him.”

Saying it aloud made it seem even crazier. The story had taken a long time to tell, but neither Jeric or Izar had said a single word the whole time. Zoa had never told the story that fully before, not even to Silas. She’d never admitted that it had been she who’d slid herself onto Toric’s cock, never whispered how much she’d wanted him. Even thinking about it made Zoa feel dirty and twisted, but here, with Toric’s power roaring through the bond even Dezira couldn’t break, she’d had no choice. She’d told the whole, ugly, naked truth of her shame, and now she couldn’t even look at her lovers, if lovers they were anymore now that they knew what she was.

It was Jeric who broke the silence at last, and what he said caught her by surprise. “Of course you wanted to comfort him.”

Her head snapped up. Jeric must have been waiting for it, for he caught her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “You wanted to comfort him because you are a kind, good person, Zoa. That was why Dezira sent you to him. Didn’t you listen to our Lady? You were made to love and be loved. Everything Toric did was a perversion of that and you were powerless to stop him, but you still won in the end. You took your power and you escaped. He was the one left with nothing.”

Zoa began to shake against his touch, but Jeric didn’t let her go. Izar’s arms slipped around her waist as well and the two men held her tight as Jeric told her another truth, his own.

“I know better than any how impossible it is to resist a Chosen as an unawakened Avatar,” he said. “From the second I saw you, Zoa, I wanted you more than I have ever wanted anything in my life. You could have crushed me under your foot and I would have thanked you for it. It was the call of the Moon, and I could no more fight it than you could when Toric used it to try to break you. But even with that behind him, he failed.”

“He didn’t,” Zoa protested. “I wanted him. Had my sister not been there, I would have fallen, I know it.”

“But you didn’t,” Izar said, his voice a deep, confident rumble in her ear. “And that’s why we love you.”

Zoa blinked. Izar had said he loved her many times during their mad lovemaking, but never like that. Never so calmly, with such conviction. And he wasn’t alone. In front of her, Jeric leaned in until his lips feathered against her own. “We love you because you are the sort of woman who refused to become something you hated. Toric sought to make you a tool, but you became something so much greater.”

“You are not his,” Izar said. “You’re Dezira’s, and you are ours. Now and forever, and he can never touch you again.”

Zoa closed her eyes. She hadn’t realized how much of her life was still trapped under Toric, how much power she still gave him by never speaking his name until Izar dismissed it. But even though Toric’s power was hammering on her mind, with Jeric’s warm lips hovering over her own and Izar’s strong chest like a wall behind her, even Toric no longer felt overwhelming.

And with that, Zoa leaned forward, closing the final distance between Jeric’s lips and her own. He returned the kiss with a passion that took her breath away while Izar’s grip tightened on her waist, his mouth moving over the smooth skin of her neck like he would never tire of tasting her.

The pall of Toric’s memory was still over her, but it no longer mattered. Here in the bed on the gently rocking boat, her lovers had made a barrier of kisses and touches, a warm, loving shell that protected her from everything. They kissed her all night long, the soft, constant intensity of their care and love bringing tears to her eyes. And as their soft mouths drove away the darkness, the goddess’s words came back to her.

I promise I will make it up to you, my beautiful, beloved Zoa. I will give you twice what he could have been.

And then she did start crying, because as always, her goddess had told the truth. She had given Zoa two beautiful lovers, and no memory of Toric, no darkness, no shame could take that gift away. With that, Zoa thrust the bond away and kissed her lovers back with everything she had.

Chapter Four

Five days later, their barge pulled into the river docks in the Imperial Capital. The river had been swollen with the winter rains and they’d made good time. Normally, that would have pleased Izar, but today his glare was bitter as he watched the large, marble buildings slide by. In less than an hour, the magic of their journey would be ending.

Once the barge landed, his beautiful Chosen would go to their temple and he would have to go and face the cold, hard truth of what he was doing. It would be steel cold this time, Izar had a feeling. After all, he was here to tell Emperor Vallus that the Northern Front was a lost cause, a waste of the Empire’s resources that were badly needed elsewhere. Captain he might be, but Izar was common born with no noble ties to call on for leniency. He’d made light of it to Zoa and Jeric to keep them from worrying, but in his own mind, Izar knew the truth plain and cold. He had come here as the bearer of bad news, something Emperor Vallus didn’t suffer well on a good day, and days hadn’t been good in the Empire for a long, long time.

As though sensing his worry, Zoa slid her slender arm around his waist. Izar smiled at the contact and the beginning of lust such a simple touch stirred in him. The woman made him feel like a teenager again, she and Jeric both. He had only to be near them and he was ready to throw them both onto the nearest flat surface and make them scream his name. Gods, how he would miss them. He smiled sadly at the thought and leaned down, dropping a gentle kiss to the wide scarf Zoa wore over her hair to keep out the chill. And then, just because he could, he leaned down and kissed her properly, his arms sliding around her hips to hold her tight.

Zoa moaned in frustration when he finally let her go, and Jeric, who was watching from her other side, began to laugh. Izar grinned wickedly and leaned over to kiss him too, pecking his cheeks and lips in rapid succession.

“I think your fame has preceded you,” Jeric said when Izar broke away, eyes sliding toward the shore.

Izar followed his gaze, and the feeling of dread grew exponentially. They were nearly to their dock now, and waiting for them in full panoply was a ten-squad of Imperial Guards standing at attention on the street in front of a large crowd of gawking citizens.

His breath caught before he could stop it and Zoa, ever attentive, gave him a worried look. “Izar,” she whispered, kissing his shoulder. “Be careful. The temple is a refuge to all, don’t hesitate to come if you need us.”

“I always come with you,” Izar said, but his heart wasn’t in the joke. He gave her a final half smile and went back into their cabin to put on his armor for the first time since they’d boarded the ship. When he came out again, armored and armed, both Zoa and Jeric looked so unremittingly bleak he might have laughed if he hadn’t felt the same way.

“Now, none of that,” he said, wagging his finger. “I’m sending the men to escort you to the temple. Stay put there, I’ll find you there when this was done.”

He would have his body sent there, if it came to that, but there was no point in telling them so. Izar had never run from a fight in his life, but in their time together, his lovers had become dearer to him than he liked to admit. He wouldn’t have the strength to step off this barge if they asked him not to, so he put on a smile. Better it ended like this, he told himself. A happy, calm goodbye. Even so, he couldn’t keep himself from kissing them one last time, holding them both tight against his chest.

He broke away only when the barge bumped against the dock. And then, with a final smile, Captain Izar turned away from his lovers and marched down the stairs. He felt their eyes on his back all the way to the street.

He’d taken none of his own men with him. His boys were loyal to the end, but there was no need for them to die as well. This meant he was alone as he led his horse across the dirty paving stones and came to a halt in front of the wall of the Imperial Guards, their gleaming armor shining in the noon sun.

“Captain Izar,” the leader said, saluting. “We are to escort you to the Legion Office.”

“I imagine you are,” Izar said, climbing into his saddle.

The guards said nothing as they rode through the crowded streets, though that was likely due more to the crowd than to any discretion on their part. The throngs in the city were thicker than Izar had ever seen. Refugees crowded the streets, their faces hungry as they scrambled to make way for the soldiers. Everywhere Izar looked, he saw squalor and misery. The white marble buildings of the Capital were crusted with grime, and though it was noon on a workday, no one seemed to be working. Instead, people stood in clumps, whispering and watching the soldiers with angry, suspicious looks.

Izar sucked in a breath. He’d suspected things would be bad in the Capital, but not this bad. The crowded city was straining at its edges, and if the hunger in people’s eyes was any indication, the breaking point wasn’t far away. Maybe a week, maybe days, maybe less. Suddenly, he was very glad he’d left his men with Jeric and Zoa. Avatars or not, he didn’t want them riding through this unprotected.

The Legion Office was only a short ride from the docks, and despite the crowded streets, it only took a half hour before they dismounted at the stairs. The Imperial Guard fell in around Izar as he dismounted, forming a tight circle as they led him up the wide, marble steps through the forest of columns into the ornate building. Once they were inside, away from the crowd, Izar fully expected the guards to seize him, but the men made no move to attack. Instead, they stayed close, forming a wall around him with their bodies all the way to a large room at the back of the building. The great bronze doors closed as soon as they were inside, and then the guards fell away, leaving Izar standing alone and confused before a long table.

“Izar?”

The voice came from behind him, and the captain spun to see old Gregorus Vallus, Commander of the Legions and head of the Imperial Guard come out of a side door. The moment the old man saw Izar, his face fell into a look of supreme relief. “It is you, thank the gods.”

Izar frowned. Considering he was disobeying orders by coming down here in the first place, this was not the reception he’d expected. “Commander,” he began. “I—”

“Never mind that,” the commander said, hurrying forward to grab Izar’s arm. “You’re here not a moment too soon. We have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Izar said.

The commander gave him a pointed look, and then dismissed the guards. The men seemed loath to leave, but they obeyed. When the room was empty, the commander sat Izar down and told him. He’d barely gotten two sentences into his story before Izar knew the old man was right. This was quite the problem indeed.

* * * * *

Jeric rode beside Zoa through the crowded streets, his hand on his sword despite the ring of veteran soldiers that surrounded them. The Imperial Capital always put him on edge, but now it felt worse than ever. It had taken them almost an hour to work their way through the crowd to the Temple District, and another twenty minutes to force their way through the throngs of worshipers that glutted the square between the five temples. By the time they reached the long stair leading up to the temple of Dezira, Jeric almost missed the north. It might have been cold and rugged and filled with barbarians, but at least there was space up there. After an hour and a half in the city, he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Zoa, however, seemed perfectly at ease among the tall buildings and crowds. This had been her home for five years, Jeric remembered, it was no wonder she didn’t seem frustrated by the slow pace. Her lovely face was worried when she looked at the hungry masses, though, and Jeric agreed. They were worth worrying about. He made a note to talk to the captain about it when Izar found them, but for now, his worries were more immediate, for they had reached the base of the stairs leading up to the temple.

They dismounted and Jeric left the men with orders to find quarters nearby and not budge until they heard from him or the captain. Though he was no longer their lieutenant, the men saluted him as he turned away and began to climb the long stair after Zoa.

The temple of Dezira was a sight to behold. It was enormous, a huge, soaring monument on top of one of the city’s tallest hills. Its face was made from interlocking blocks of white marble swirled with black, the colors mixing until they looked almost like interlocking crescent moons. The temple’s frontispiece was carved with a huge relief of Dezira herself, half in light, half in shadow below her apple tree, just as she had appeared to Jeric, and set so that the goddess seemed to loom over them as they climbed.

When they finally reached the top of the stairs, tall, graceful figures clothed in white robes wrapped with black sashes came out to meet them. Zoa’s face broke into a grand smile as she greeted each of them by name, but Jeric hung back. Ever since they’d left the barge, the feeling of being an outsider had been building in his chest. Now, watching Zoa hug these people she obviously knew well, he felt more alone than ever. But just as the feeling was starting to grow overwhelming, Zoa grabbed his arm and pulled him forward.

The people she’d been talking to gasped when they saw him, and then, in unison, they fell into deep bows, their fingers pressed to their foreheads.

“Welcome to your temple, Chosen,” they said as one.

Jeric stiffened, staring at the bowing people in growing horror. He had no idea what to do, but even as he locked up, Zoa slipped her arms around him and pressed a loving kiss to his cheek.

“They’re acolytes of Dezira, beloved,” she whispered, her voice full of hidden laughter. “Sworn to serve our goddess and, by extension, us. But be warned, they can be a little zealous in their attempts to please you.”

“Zoa!” cried the oldest of the acolytes, a lovely, slender woman well grown into middle age with eyes full of wicked promise. “There’s enough rumors flying without you making us sound wanton to the new Chosen.” She rose from her bow with a warm smile. “Though, of course, we are happy to serve you, Chosen, in any way you require.”

Her voice left no question about her meaning and Zoa burst out laughing. “Rumors indeed,” she said. “They’re not rumors if they’re true, Zette. Now, if you’re done teasing Jeric, we need to see Silas right away.”

Zette’s face became immediately serious. “He said you would. He’s in the Crescent Temple, but take care when you enter. He’s been deep in the trance all day and he gets grumpy when you interrupt him.”

“Silas is always grumpy,” Zoa said, grabbing Jeric’s hand. “Thank you, Zette!”

The acolytes bowed, but Zoa was already off, pulling Jeric behind her through the enormous magnificence of Dezira’s temple. Jeric let himself be dragged, taking the opportunity to gawk. The temple was even more beautiful inside than out. The ceiling was nearly fifty feet overhead, supported by slender columns and pierced by a huge oculus that let in daylight currently, but from the many markings carved on the floor, he could see the opening was obviously meant to track the moon. Dezira’s form was everywhere, carved into the walls, looking down from enormous statues of jet and ivory. They passed three altars, each richer than the last, and then Zoa came to a stop before a small, white painted door marked with two overlaid crescents.

“Better let me do the talking,” she whispered, drawing Jeric close. “Silas can be kind of…intense. Just remember, even though he’s the head of the temples, all of Dezira’s Chosen are equal. You don’t have to do anything he says if you don’t want to. You should still listen, though. He’s our leader for a reason and his ideas are generally sound.”

“Don’t worry,” Jeric said. “I’m not Izar. I have the sense to hold my tongue.” He dipped down and kissed her. “Let’s get this finished.”

Zoa nodded and opened the door, leading him into a small temple. Actually, at nearly twenty feet tall and thirty feet wide with a ten-foot altar and an enormous, carved relief of Dezira at the end, it would have been a large temple anywhere else, but after the soaring grandeur of the previous halls, the room felt almost claustrophobic. It was also empty except for one man, kneeling before the altar at the very front.

His back was to them, but Jeric felt his authority at once. He was tall with a body built to match his height. Even kneeling, Jeric could see the man’s muscles beneath the soft, flowing robes. His hair was long, straight and ink-black, flowing freely down his back like a river. His skin, what Jeric could see of it, was nearly as dark as his own. The man did not turn when they came in, though Jeric was certain he knew he was no longer alone.

Zoa walked them to the rear of the temple and stopped, bowing her head. Jeric thought it was a reverence to the altar before them, but then he caught a flash of movement, and he realized the three of them weren’t the only ones in the room.

A figure floated in the air before the kneeling man. It was a woman, barely visible, her form like smoke. But though Jeric could see no more than her outline, he knew her at once. There was no way he could forget that perfect body draped half in light, half in shadow. Dezira’s shade reached down as he watched, stroking the kneeling man’s face with her dark hand, and then, fast as he had seen her, the goddess vanished.

“About time, Zoa.” The man’s voice filled the temple, cold and impatient, and he stood in a quick, efficient motion, turning to face them for the first time.

Jeric flinched before he could stop himself. The man didn’t actually look any older than himself, but his glare was ancient. Ancient and powerful and definitely not something you wanted pointed in your direction. His eyes were the color of honey, but any sweetness stopped there, leaving only cold power as the man swept his gaze over the two Chosen. But what really took Jeric’s breath away was the mark on the man’s forehead. It was the same large crescent as his and Zoa’s, but where theirs were white, this man’s was blacker than burnt mahogany.