Well of the Damned (40 page)

The
other battlers accompanied them up the aisle and out into the
brilliant day. Adro shielded his eyes with one hand, squinting.

At
once, the gathered citizens began calling their greetings, waving and
cheering the queen. She turned in a slow circle, smiling at her many
admirers and then did something out of character — she curtsied
like a stage performer. He saw the surprise on Tennara’s face,
who exchanged glances with Lilalian. Adro found it amusing and joined
the crowd in its applause, and Anya raised her fist and gave a cry of
drunken satisfaction, but when Feanna extended one foot, lifted her
skirts and showed her ankle, he lost all remnants of self-control.

“Your
Majesty...” Tennara started.

He
swept the queen up in his arms and crushed her to him, plunging his
tongue deeply into her mouth. Her arms circled his neck, pulling his
lips harder against her own. Around them, the noise of the crowd
seemed to quiet, but for Anya’s raucous laughter and Mirrah
cheering them on. His lust and greed grew even stronger, if that was
possible. To hell with the crowd and the battlers screaming at him to
stop. To hell with the twice-damned king. Feanna was his now, and he
wouldn’t give her up. And he would have her here and now.

He
started to unlace his trousers with one hand, and moved the other to
Feanna’s arse. Hands grasped his arms tightly and yanked them
behind his back. When at last the hands managed to pull their bodies
apart, Feanna’s eyes were glowing with desire. Looking at him
through her lashes, she panted sensuously, bosom heaving. Blood
trickled down her chin from where his teeth had torn her lip. She
wiped it away with the back of her hand and then licked the blood
from her skin.

The
gathered citizens around them stood frozen in shock, their mouths
agape and eyes wide. Those in front who saw this gasped or whispered
to his neighbor.

“My Queen,” Lilalian
said. She had a hold of Feanna’s upper arms and turned her
towards the waiting coach. “Get inside. Quickly.”

“This
isn’t over,” Feanna said, splaying one hand across his
chest. She swept past him and climbed into the carriage.

Tennara
shoved him up against the side of the carriage. “What in the
hell were you thinking?” Her eyes burned with fury, and her
hand touched the hilt of her sword as if she were considering using
it.

Adro
gave her a lopsided grin. He probably shouldn’t have done that,
not in public, but Feanna had wanted it as much as he did. He knew
it. Tonight, he would finish what he started.

Chapter 46

While
Feanna was inside doing her religious thing, Gavin moved through the
crowd, passing both Calinor and Brawna at least twice. They spotted
him and seemed not to know him at first, but on the second pass,
Calinor looked at him uncertainly, while Brawna’s eyes
glittered knowingly at him and then looked away. Only his height
would have given him away, and it didn’t seem anyone, including
his wife, suspected him of being anyone other than a burly redheaded
battler.

People
cheered when she exited, and louder when she waved. Though he was
taller than nearly everyone in the crowd, except for the few small
children sitting on the shoulders of their fathers, from his vantage
point, Gavin could only see Feanna from the waist up. He clapped and
whistled with the rest of them while he scanned the faces of those
around him. If Cirang was here, he would find her, though he still
hadn’t seen her haze.

Suddenly
the crowd went quiet. Alarmed, he turned to look at Feanna. His first
thought was that Cirang had attacked, but that wasn’t what he
saw. His eyes were deceiving him.

Daia
took him by the arm and spun him around. “Don’t look.”

“What
the hell?” He turned back around, resisting her attempts to
keep his eyes averted. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing —
his wife in the arms of the man he trusted to protect her, while
Tennara and Lilalian worked to pull them apart. He started to push
his way through the crowd, intending to rip Adro’s head from
his shoulders.

“No,”
Daia said, grabbing his arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong.
“Don’t. You can address the matter privately. This isn’t
the time.”

His
eyes burned as he looked down at his champion. His thoughts tumbled,
and his fists clenched and unclenched.

His
eyes hadn’t deceived him. His wife had.

Cirang
trembled with excitement as she watched the queen and her guards
leave the temple, walking so fast she thought their arses had caught
fire. She wished she could follow them, to watch what happened next,
but that would have been far too obvious. It was a fairly large
building, but the crowd outside was loud enough to hear. They cheered
and clapped — and went suddenly silent. Had the queen simply
left, their racket would have faded down the road, but they just
stopped, as if a giant jar had been placed over them, trapping them
with their own noise. Cirang’s curiosity burned within her.

The
remaining worshipers looked up, and one man even got up to see what
was happening. If only Cirang could go without giving herself away.
The man returned without a word and retook his place on the bench to
continue his prayer. The noise outside never returned.

People
came and went through the afternoon and into the evening, their
numbers growing once the queen had departed and the men-at-arms no
longer restricted access. No one questioned her. No one suspected she
was anyone but a proper acolyte performing her duties. A cleric came
to take her place at the sacramental font so she could have supper.

She
descended into her little cellar room to get a few coins from her
purse and to grab her empty waterskin. The smell from the dead body
was growing stronger, and soon it would become noticeable in the rest
of the temple. Tonight, after the twelfth hour had rung, she would
drag the body outside and dump it in an alley. As she was climbing
the ladder, she found the High Cleric waiting at the top for her.

“Altais,”
he said quietly, “I need a word with you.” He was a short
man, lean and strong, with a warm but commanding presence, the kind
of man Tyr would have enjoyed corrupting.

She
bowed her head. “Yes, High Cleric?” The clerics, nuns and
acolytes often assumed names of heavenly bodies like stars and
constellations when they took their vows, but she realized she didn’t
know his, and she hadn’t asked Marita before she’d died.

His hesitation was enough to tell
her he was annoyed by the way she’d addressed him. “Seer
Mirfak. No matter who is taking sacrament, you don’t look at
their faces. Do you understand?”

“Did
the queen tell you I looked at her? How would she know?”

“She
didn’t have to,” Mirfak replied. “I saw you from
the guidance chamber.”

She
snapped her head up to look into his eyes. Her blood quickened and
warmed. “Spying on me?”

“Calm
yourself, acolyte. Pride disrupts the spirit’s poise.”
Seer Mirfak put a warm hand on her shoulder. Cirang wanted to push it
off, but she restrained herself. “When the Queen of Thendylath
comes to our temple, it’s my responsibility to ensure her
communion with Asti-nayas is pleasant, uninterrupted by gawkers, and
unspoiled by poorly executed ritual. I wanted to assign Seer Nembus
to the task, but you assured me yesterday you would carry it out
perfectly.” He looked down at her body with hands spread open.
“I see something has changed in you, which explains your
lapse.”

Shit.
He knew. She was ready to grab him by the robe, push him into the
cellar opening and run, but a moment’s hesitation saved her.

“I’m
sorry for your loss, Altais,” he said gently. “Know your
baby is safe in the arms of Asti-nayas now. Are you in pain? Do you
need tea?”

For
a moment, Cirang’s mind froze, unable to understand what the
hell he was talking about. Then she remembered Marita had been with
child. She bowed her head to feign grief and put one hand over her
belly the way she often saw pregnant women do. “No, I’ll
be all right.”

The
High Cleric touched her head and both shoulders while saying
something in a language she didn’t understand. “Be at
peace. I’ll have Seer Nembus tend the sacrament for the rest of
the evening so you can rest and mourn your loss. This evening, we
shall bury the remains.”

She
nodded, but her mind was racing. She would have to cut the baby out
of Marita’s body if she wanted to continue her charade.
Although she’d completed her objective, she had no idea when
Kinshield would leave Ambryce. She had to stay here until he and his
puppets were gone. Earlier, she’d glimpsed Brawna on the street
between the inn and the temple, evidence they were still actively
searching for her.

“I
won’t keep you from your supper. Rest easy, Altais. The Savior
is with you.”

She
left through the temple’s rear door, not looking back until she
was around the corner, and then she slowed her pace. A smile spread
over her face. She’d fooled even someone who knew the dead
girl. She could probably walk right past Gavin Kinshield without him
noticing her in this robe and veil.

A
fight broke out in the street between two women over a hat. They were
snarling and pulling hair and trying to kick and bite and scratch
each other, seemingly unmindful of the rain, while bystanders stood,
aghast, watching. Two men dressed in fitted trousers and brocaded
jackets, presumably their husbands, cheered them on, even tossing
coins onto the ground and betting on the outcome.

Cirang
twisted her mouth in thought. She must have given the sacrament to
more than a hundred people that day. Though she’d kept her head
properly bowed for most of them, she’d seen the trousers of the
men and the skirts of the women. She knew without a doubt she’d
served these people. She looked around her at the citizens still
dressed in their finest clothes, their temple-attending clothes, who
walked around with snarls on their faces or leering grins or haughty
smirks. The dull quality of their eyes reflected a kindred spirit —
a soul like her own that loathed weakness and hungered for riches.
The water. It must have changed them. The Well of the Enlightened.

A
thought startled her. Was this what it meant to become enlightened?
To recognize that the true nature of the world was chaos and seek to
free it from the bonds of order?

She
saw the way others looked at them with disgust or fear on their
faces. Those wretched plebs didn’t understand. The enlightened
were liberated from the constraints of morality, free to pursue their
goals unhindered by fear of reprisal. She had to make them see, for
if people thought the enlightened ones mad or violent, they wouldn’t
pay money to drink the wellspring water. She’d have to continue
to feed them the water secretly through the sacrament. True, it
wasn’t likely to make her rich, but she was leaving Thendylath
for good anyway. She smirked. It was a hell of a parting gift.

This
is retribution for going back on our bargain, ’ranter king. How
does it taste?

The
taller woman in the brawl swung a powerful uppercut that lifted her
opponent off her feet and landed her on her back. The victor snatched
the crumpled hat from the unconscious woman’s hand and brushed
the mud off amid the cheers of her companion.

Cirang
backed away, grinning, and then started up the street with a warm
satisfaction. She’d had no idea that this — the way she’d
been since Tyr had first killed the gem smith — this was
enlightenment. No wonder Crigoth Sevae wanted to distribute water
from the wellspring. He understood. He’d already achieved
enlightenment.

Her
stomach rumbled, reminding her of the hours that had passed since her
last meal, and she made her way up the street to a tavern, watching
for battlers or armsmen who might look twice at her. In the past, she
had to put up with the jeering men who were still unused to seeing
armed women wearing men’s clothing, but now she was dressed as
an acolyte.