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Araine heard the king’s furious voice clearly before the sturdy female guards unlocked the final metal gate, opening into a tiny receiving area, then a gold and blue marble antechamber. “You frauds! You’re stalling for time because you know I’m serious! Answer or I will order you all slaughtered, and I’ll destroy all traces of your names!”
Killing indeed. Hearing his rage, the violent timbre of his voice, Araine’s heartbeat fluttered like a frightened bird’s. Couldn’t she flee through this gate and somehow escape? Oh, why must the king remind her of Corban amid his killing fury? “Infinite, my Creator, help me!”
Be still.
The words settled her soul a mite and eased her skittering heartbeat. The eunuchs all but dumped Araine from the gold chair, and the female guards shoved her through the elaborate gate then swiftly shut it behind her, allowing no escape. Araine drew in a deep breath.
“Calmness can set great offenses to rest.” She spoke the words aloud as they came to her mind. Forward.
Hugging her new mantle close and clutching the shimmering staff, Araine entered the golden antechamber. The polished blue marble floor chilled her bare feet and sent shivers along her flesh. If only she’d taken an instant to don slippers...
Bel-Tygeon glowered at her and motioned to the seven men kneeling before him. “Prophet, behold the wisest men in my kingdom, all stammering and faltering like fools!”
The thinnest, grayest of the wise lifted his hands, imploring, “Sire, you are Wisdom itself! We realize you are testing us, but we are not gods and have no hope of...” His protest faded and died beneath the god-king’s formidable glare.
Having subdued the aged man, Bel-Tygeon shot Araine a cruel, sharp look. “Now my prophet of the Infinite, it’s your turn. What did I dream last night?”
What? She blinked at the king. This man-god to Belaal, this paragon of mortal perfection, wanted her to speak his dreams?
She swallowed and winced at her own squeamishness. Surely she looked more foolish than any of these wise men. “Um...will I be shocked, Sire?”
For an instant, his expression seized, as if he’d bitten back his temper. Then he widened his dark eyes. “Answer me, or join these fools and die!”
Araine tried again. “But...what if I haven’t the words to explain, O king?”
Bel-Tygeon’s fine upper lip curled in contempt. “Then you will be the first woman ever in my palace to fail at speaking. Tell me my dream then explain it!”
“May I pray?”
Exhaling a gusty sigh of rapidly failing patience, he pointed her to the nearest corner.
She offered him an uncertain glance then crossed to the corner, knelt, and closed her eyes, pressing her cheek against the prophet’s staff. “Infinite? As the verses declare, You give wisdom to the wise and reveal deep and hidden things. Nothing is beyond You! You know what waits in the darkness. Grant me Your light and give me understanding.”
She became lost in prayer and praises, forgetting everything else—until a different realm opened before her, alive with the Infinite’s Spirit, revealing a monument, a blue marble temple so vast that its foundations reached into other nations. Gold crowned the vast temple, but the base of each marble pillar was painted clay, chipped and mingled with rubble. The temple’s foundations were wood, all windswept, then rotting, and finally shattered and uprooted by a storm. This, then, was the king’s dream?
Araine straightened, bracing herself. “Infinite, thank You!”
Still offering silent praises she stood and approached the god-king and his cowering wise men. Slivers of heat and light emanated from the prophet’s staff, sending currents of chills along her arms and into her scalp. As Bel-Tygeon studied the prophet’s staff, then her, she knelt near the wise men and begged, “Sire, if your dream is properly explained, will you spare these men? They are as I am, merely mortal. Only the Infinite can divulge what you saw, for He sent you the dream.”
His eyes gleaming, his black hair wild, Bel-Tygeon growled, “Explain it! Now!”
Araine swallowed. “You saw a monument, much like your temple, but so vast that its foundations reached into other nations like the roots of a giant tree. Its crest was purest gold, but its pillars were based on shams of painted clay mingled with rubble. The temple’s base, for all its size, was rotting and easily uprooted by a storm, which then filled your sight and every mortal realm. This was your dream. A dream of the distant future and of the kingdoms to follow yours.”
While she described the future kingdoms, all leading to the Infinite’s kingdom, Bel-Tygeon’s rage faded, and he finally knelt before her, staring her in the eyes until she said, “That is what the Infinite showed you. It is the truth and can be trusted.”
In silence, the king bowed his head then rubbed his hands over his lean, aristocratic face. When he looked at her again, he nodded, weariness betraying itself in his posture and slowing movements. “Obviously your Infinite is the revealer of mysteries that confound us all. Yes, that is what I saw.”
He cut a look at his wise men. “This blushing, untouched girl has saved your lives. Get out of my sight, all of you!”
The seven men bowed, each flinging Araine grateful or perplexed looks before they scuttled away, their robes whispering of the escape denied her. Alone with Bel-Tygeon, she squirmed, aware of her disheveled state and her need to find a privy. He grinned ruefully, as if comprehending her discomfort. “Prophet, you’ll be greatly rewarded. But I warn you: don’t upset Zaria again.”
Araine frowned. What did Zaria have to do with the decaying temple? “I told her the truth, very kindly, Sire.”
“How is it kind if you upset her? She was so distraught last night, about not bearing a child, that I had to send her away. And then I suffered this nightmare that taunted me with my own despair!” He gripped Araine’s arms and leaned so close that she felt his breath against her cheek as he threatened sweetly, “The next time I suffer a nightmare for something you’ve done, my prophet, I’ll send for you no matter what the time, and you won’t be happy. Do you hear me?”
He was too near. Too much like Corban.
Unsteadying fear sent tremors through her limbs and threatened her with panic as flashes of ToronSea presented themselves. Hadn’t she yet recovered? When would she stop panicking at memories of Corban? And grief for dear Grumps. And Iris... Bel-Tygeon shook her again. “Do you hear me?”
“Yes...Sire.” She swallowed and threw him her most pathetic look. “Please may I be excused?” Before she broke into a thousand pieces like the doomed temple in his dream.
The king smiled again, attractive as Corban had ever been. If he persisted—
He released her abruptly and stood. “Yes. Go rest. Send word to the Lady Dasarai that I’m well, but I’m taking a nap. She shouldn’t worry.” A clatter of keys at the elaborate gate outside halted his words. Araine, still kneeling, turned to see who had interrupted Bel-Tygeon.
Ebatenai paraded through the open doorway, followed by a gaunt, bald man swathed in formal blue and gold robes disturbingly similar to her own. Both men bowed then the bald man approached, knelt near Araine, and bowed again. Araine swallowed against her rising nausea, remembering the dazed, dying priest who’d attacked Nikaros.
His voice controlled and concise, the gaunt man spoke the words Araine dreaded. “Prized of the Heavens, by your order and good will, you have allowed your priests unrivaled freedom to enter this palace and your presence—a gift we accept with humility and gratitude. Now your servants entreat you to hear their plea. One of your own priests was murdered, and we beg you to avenge his death. He—”
Bel-Tygeon lifted one hand, coldly dismissive. “Should I allow retaliation on behalf of a rebel-priest intent upon shedding blood in my palace without my knowledge or permission? He would have destroyed my own property!”
“Sire,” the man implored, still composed, “forgive us. Your own priests are zealous for your glorious name. The murdered one believed your sacred spirit is threatened by new forces in the palace. He—”
“He sought to control my own will!” Bel-Tygeon made a grand, sweeping motion toward Araine. “Here is one of the new forces! See how she kneels and trembles in my presence as my servant? She is one of my slaves. If she fails me or rebels and threatens me, she will die. As will the slave your priest attacked. Let my priests tend to their duties and allow me to tend mine for the sake of my people.”
“Forgive us, O King.” The priest eyed Araine. “We believed—”
“You believed wrongly! This young woman and the slave who was attacked have been tested and proven as my servants; therefore my priests must not interfere with their work. If you believe you can fulfill their tasks, then take the prophet’s staff from this woman’s hands and begin now. Tell me what I dreamed last night.”
The priest hesitated. Bel-Tygeon snapped, “Take the staff! Araine, hold it out to him!”
Muting a protest against the order, Araine held out the staff, which glowed molten white. The priest squinted at it then at Araine before snatching for the staff.
Sparks snapped toward the man, making him gasp, and his fingers passed through the glowing vinewood as through a lamp’s flame. Araine shrieked, “Infinite!” Then she turned to the man. “Oh, Sir, are you hurt?”
Silent the priest scowled at her. Araine looked up at the king, to ask permission to retrieve some cooling balm from the Women’s Palace. But Bel-Tygeon’s smirk, his meaningful expression... He’d known the priest would be seared and unable to snatch the vinewood from her grasp. “Sire, how did you know?”
“Be content that I do know.” Bel-Tygeon’s smirk broadened into a scoundrel’s charming grin. “The prophet’s branch cannot be taken from you except by your Infinite’s will.”
Araine stared at the vinewood in her hands. This branch...a sprig from that majestic divinely grown tree...couldn’t be stolen from her? She eyed the priest.
He was regarding Bel-Tygeon warily, clearly pondering his king’s unpredictable divine nature. Araine cleared her throat. “Sir, how is your hand?”
The man flexed his seared fingers as if preparing to fend off a monster—her. Araine sighed and gave up. “I’m glad your injury is so slight. Assure your brethren, Sir, that despite your scorching, you needn’t fear me. Whatever you ask I will tell the truth. As the Infinite’s prophet to Belaal, if I misrepresent my Creator or disobey Him, I must die.”
The words and fresh realization sent a shiver through Araine, and she stared down at the iridescent vinewood branch. Was she truly prepared to face such disaster a second time?
Bel-Tygeon sent the priest away, and then studied Araine. “I suspect that ever since my temple was sifted away last summer by Parne’s prophet, my priests have considered me as weakened. Yesterday’s events support my theory. When will the Infinite restore my temple and strengthen my status over my people?”
She knew the answer...sensed it. How could she tell this proud god-king?
But before she could muster a single word, Bel-Tygeon scowled and stalked off, dismissing her with an arrogant, backhanded wave.
His hateful gesture stung and diminished her, even as she rebelled against his contempt. And from a lifetime ago, Iris scolded, “Your mood’s written all over your face!”
Iris. Araine blinked hard. If only Iris were here now, the love. Ever-fussy big sister...
When the eunuchs finally dumped her outside her chamber, she informed her guard of the king’s message to the Lady Dasarai and then closed herself inside her room and wept.
Pulling his plain dark mantle closer to fully obscure his pale tunic, Nikaros peered down the drab servants’ corridor. Empty. Good. Infinite, shield us, I beg You! Let Ebatenai be distracted until midday-meal.
Beside him Josias muttered, “I say we go. Before Ebatenai realizes you’re gone.”
Nik answered beneath his breath, “My thoughts exactly. But we’ll walk, as if we’ve all the time of free men.”
They sauntered down the corridor then outside, into a stark, sun-bleached courtyard. No doubt the palace prison cells were placed adjacent to the slave quarters to intimidate potential wrong-doers.
Echoes of screams and weeping from convicted, tormented, imprisoned slaves would make anyone think twice about serving time here.
Nikaros had thought several hundred times about this escapade. Abandoning his duties meant time in prison, but it was maddening that Lije had been locked away for defending Nik, his friend; he had to be sure Lije was as well as circumstances allowed.
They crossed the courtyard and descended worn stone steps into a chilling pool of dank air and gloom.
Josias muttered, “The air alone in this place would kill a man.”
Perhaps. Nikaros eyed a dark, foul-looking puddle seeping from beneath a low, deep stone archway leading to a cell. Did the prisoners relieve themselves wherever they wished to protest their incarceration? He squinted, trying to see their way along the narrow, filthy passage. Archway after bleak befouled little archway lined both sides of the passage, which was remarkably quiet. Had the prisoners been removed to a different place?
Footsteps dispelled the hush. Two shadows flickered at the top of the stone steps, and two men’s low, grumbling voices echoed to the passageway below.
Same-minded Nik snatched Josias’s mantle just as Josias snatched his, and they scuttled into the low, filthy archway. Nik winced against his sutures while crushing himself tight within the shadows. By the sounds of their voices and the clatter of their weaponry and chain mail, the men were now at the base of the stairs. “...furies’ll be unleashed then,” one of the men said. “As soon as we’re transferred from this snake pit, we act.”
“Are you sure?” the second asked, more warily than the first. Nikaros heard the scuffs of boots halting against stone as both men paused. “Has the women’s guard been sufficiently bribed?”
“She’s my cousin, remember?” the first growled. “She needs no bribe; she’s been as insulted by my demotion as I have. Not to mention outraged by prophets taking charge of matters as they please. He’s under a spell; she swears it! A true god is never bespelled; therefore he’s a pretender. For Belaal’s sake we must act! But yes, I sent her my last month’s wages to pay the others.”
The second exhaled. “At last. It’s been a year! An entire year guarding this pit for one night’s drinking...”
“Ironic,” the first mused. “Last year’s Dreki Festival first marked our humiliation. This year’s will begin Belaal’s liberation. C’mon.” The footsteps and words rasped nearer, making Nikaros hold his breath, while Josias twitched beside him. “Let’s go unchain those beasts from the mills and feed them their slop....”
When the footsteps and voices faded, Josias huffed, “Do we try to speak to Lije during meal-time or—”
Infinite, who will thwart this plot? Nikaros shut his eyes. A spiritual foreboding closed about him, answering his concern. “We warn Ebatenai and the king!”
They scrambled from the stinking archway just as another pair of guards descended the entry stairs in a clatter of weaponry...and drew their swords. One advanced, threatening, “Halt, felons, or you both die.”