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Her hands bound before her, her sandals clicking over the marble tiles, Araine followed the female guard through turn after turn in the lavish blue and gold palace corridors. This was a section of the palace she’d never visited, and the unexpected twists in their path left her dizzied.
Behind her, at almost every turn, more guards stepped in to join her unwanted entourage, not a friendly face among them. Truly they were behaving as if she were some murderous felon. Infinite, what will happen?
Child of Dust, will you trust Me with your life?
Something in her Creator’s tone made Araine catch her breath. Why did she feel judged? Tested? “Yes,” she told Him, her intentions firm though her limbs weakened, almost making her stumble. “I trust You with my life.” Did He somehow expect her to fail? Would her life be demanded today?
On either side of Araine, the female guards cut looks at her, clearly suspicious. And one muttered low and terse, “Be silent!”
“Forgive me,” Araine said, not caring who heard, “but I was speaking to the Infinite.” “Praying?” asked the guard to Araine’s left, her broad face bland.
Araine mimicked the woman’s bland look. “Yes. If conversing with our Creator is considered praying.”
“Don’t mock me, Prophet. I was being serious.”
“As was I.” And if talking with one’s Creator was considered praying...well, she’d just given a credible witness reason to testify against her. Not that it mattered. Surely being condemned for doing something right was more honorable and courageous than being condemned by some witness who’d been coerced to lie in order to convict her. Didn’t that say something for her character?
Ahead of Araine the arresting guard strode toward a set of high, huge double-doors, intricately crafted and gilded mirrors of each other. Two stylized trees dominated the doors’ central panels, their carved roots grounding the scenes from the base of each door and spreading high formal branches to the upper panels like multi-tiered golden lampstands. An equally stylized dreki framed each door, its length, scales, and reptilian proportions exaggerated to legendary, impossible lengths, nothing like the short-crested dreki that had adorned her Siphran lyre.
The lead guard halted and called out, “Araine, slave and prophet to Belaal, attends the blessed court!”
Like living things the huge doors opened in silent unison, their unseen attendants hidden behind those golden carved panels. The guard led Araine through the doorway into a surprisingly large, high-roofed gathering room, heavily scented with... Araine sniffed, recognizing the tang of cinnamon mingled with sandalwood’s warmth. Aloes and pine-fragrant amber added their richness to the air, lifting in columns of smoke from the gold censors surrounding...her enemies.
General Siyrsun, solemn and scarred, stood just to the right of a gold-draped altar, which was crowned with a tall, smoldering brazier of incense guarded by Ro’ghez. The high priest faced her, his slim hands clasped before him. He glanced at her bound wrists and sighed visibly. Was he relieved? Saddened? Triumphant? Impossible to tell.
Flanked by Bel-Tygeon’s blue-robed priests, they watched her approach. As she neared him General Siyrsun asked softly, “Prophet, what do mortals do when they believe their gods have failed them?”
Ah. He’d been pondering their last conversation. Had her words gnawed at his conscience? She met his gaze and hoped her voice would hold steady. “They become disillusioned and abandon their faith, General. Often to their own detriment. Yet the Infinite has not failed me.”
“You are deluded, Prophet.”
Ro’ghez lifted his hands, the shimmering embroidered edges of his blue robes gaining her attention once more. As she looked at him, the high priest motioned her to a small cushion. “Kneel and wait.”
For what? Araine knelt cautiously, fighting a bit with her bonds as she balanced herself. As she knelt everyone else in the room did the same, including Ro’ghez and General Siyrsun. Silence settled over them like a pall upon a corpse.
The wait stretched on, unbroken by so much as a sniffle or a cough—remarkable given the costly quantities of incense burning in the nearby braziers. Infinite? What is about to happen?
A delicate trickle of sweat slid down between Araine’s shoulders, making her shiver. Siyrsun shot her a look and reached for his sword. His sword—as if he expected her to attack him!
As if she, alone, without her prophet’s branch, could subdue him. Infinite, bless me with patience. Defend me against these men who’ve plotted against me. Save me from—
One of the blue-clad priests tending the doorway called out, “Our Prized of the Heavens, our Lord and God Bel-Tygeon, nears!”
The priests opened the doors and then dropped down, their faces against the bare, polished gold marble. Araine bowed as well, but glanced from the corner of her eye toward the great doors. A procession of white-clad slaves entered, bearing censers that cast about more clouds of incense redolent of the king’s own fragrance. Rich, dark-sweet agarwood notes and sharper spices mingled with the scent of resins, surrounded Araine in an overwhelming cloud as one of the slaves swung his censer toward her, its golden chain and miniature brazier shimmering within the smoke. Eyes watering, she watched as porters carried the gold-crowned Bel-Tygeon into the big room and lowered his golden chair, placing it so precisely that he stepped from it directly to his altar, his gold robes exactly matching the altar’s gold draperies.
He turned and surveyed the room, dazzling and perfect as a gilded, lifelike statue. For one brief instant he glanced at Araine. His eyes widened, betraying a flash of surprise. But within a breath he composed himself and spoke to all. “You have requested my presence. I am here to receive your petitions.” He eyed the still-bowing high priest. “Ro’ghez, what do you and my priests require?”
“Wisdom, we require the life of an enemy who defies your own decrees.”
Bel-Tygeon didn’t look at Araine. “Name this enemy.”
Ro’ghez lifted a hand toward one of his priests, who stood, bowed, and proclaimed like a town crier, “Araine, Prophet of the Infinite, is accused of praying to Him in defiance of royal and divine decree that all should pray only to Bel-Tygeon of Belaal!”
Bel-Tygeon looked at Araine, his expression remote. “Araine, Prophet of the Infinite, is this true?”
She paused, remembering the Infinite’s words. Child of Dust, will you trust Me with your life? “Yes. I worship the Infinite and pray to Him alone.”
For one long breath of time, the king scanned the room, as if looking for someone. Then he said, “The petition is received and I will consider its merits.” The priests glanced at each other like actors offended when the lead has strayed from sacred scripted lines. Bel-Tygeon continued. “Let Araine, Prophet of the Infinite, be brought to my audience chamber within the hour.”
He returned to his golden chair and sat down, neither moving nor blinking as his porters turned and carried him from the grand chamber, leaving clouds of heady incense in their wake.
The instant his entourage vanished from sight, a murmurous hum of priests’ voices filled the room. “Will he not agree? How can he allow her to live? She must not be placed above his own laws!”
Ro’ghez approached Araine but spoke to her guards. “Remove her before my priests and the king’s own followers kill her here and now. We cannot permit her execution in our place of worship.”
Araine’s guards dug their fingers into her arms, hauled her to her feet, and then hustled her through the chamber and into the maze of corridors beyond.
She allowed herself to be led, praying as she stumbled through the shimmering blue corridors and gazed blankly at approaching turns. Of course this entire charade of a month’s worship of Bel-Tygeon had been the priests’ way of legally ensuring her death, so graciously indicated by the black dreki’s claw.
Infinite, I know You are with me, but I’d welcome a dash of courage right now.
Perhaps then she could die with a few tatters of dignity.
***
WEARING HIS ORDINARY linen and gold robes, Bel-Tygeon entered his glittering audience chamber and furiously waved Araine’s guards to a remote corner. “Move!”
She knelt before him and waited. He dashed a hand through his thick, now-wild hair then sat down heavily, facing her, glaring. “Araine, why didn’t you sensibly hide yourself for one month? You knew about the edict and its penalty.”
The king’s abrupt gestures and the low fury of his words hit her forcibly enough that she leaned back. Obviously in his own selfish way, Bel-Tygeon cared for her. Despite everything that had happened, he wanted her to live and remain a part of his life. Araine swallowed. “Sire, I knew, but what if this whole month of worship was a trap to ensure I’d die?”
“That is what I’m trying to determine. Where were you praying? Who is your accuser?”
“I was in the garden.”
He leaned forward, hands clenched as if he fought the longing to shake her. “You prayed in the Women’s Palace garden where anyone could see you?”
“No, Sire. Forgive me. I was in my private garden.” A hiccough threatened. Exasperated with her weakness, Araine drew in a squelching breath and then lifted her chin. “Apparently I was spied upon from one of the walls. By whom, I don’t know.”
Bel-Tygeon frowned. “Which wall? The one adjoining the Lady Dasarai’s garden or the wall enclosing Zaria’s garden?”
“I was seated beneath a tree at the back of my garden where the walls meet. Someone could have climbed the wall from either garden.”
“Stay there.” He pointed at her as if she were a puppy. “Don’t leave that spot. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Sire.” She swallowed a sigh of a hiccough.
Bel-Tygeon lifted one dark eyebrow, shook his head, then hurried off to a far door and yelled, “Ebatenai! I know you’re in there. Come here! Now.”
The big eunuch sidled into the audience chamber, bowed, listened humbly, and then hastened away. Bel-Tygeon stalked through a different door, slamming it shut behind him.
The guards, one still holding the Books of the Infinite, stared at Araine from their corner.
She returned their looks, silently daring them to blink, or to damage her beloved scrolls.
At last in the distance she heard bells jangling in a musical discord that didn’t cease until a slave scurried into the audience room, knelt, and rapped on the door. At once Bel-Tygeon opened the door and shoved several parchment rolls into the slave’s hand. The slave bowed and fled. Bel-Tygeon approached, his face majestically displeased.
Infinite, what now? “Sire, if I’ve angered you and broken your laws, then I—”
“I cannot allow you to die.” He sat opposite her, brooding. “Belaal needs its prophet, and my priests refuse to understand that you serve me honorably despite your pagan ways.”
Though the words unnerved her, she asked gently, “What if the Infinite has planned otherwise? What if I’m meant to be condemned?”
Bel-Tygeon scowled. “Unacceptable! Since when does the Infinite...”
He paused as a high, metallic clatter rang from beyond the entry at the gold-barred doorway leading to the Women’s Palace. All the guards bowed as the Lady Dasarai entered the golden audience chamber. Araine also bowed but slid a glance toward Zaria, who followed Belaal’s princess. Swathed in glittering blue veils, Zaria glanced from Araine to Bel-Tygeon, and her expression darkened with a frown.
The king stood, clasped Dasarai’s hands, and kissed her cheek. “Welcome. I won’t detain you for long.”
Dasarai smiled, her lustrous eyes shining. “Time in your presence, my lord, is more to me than all the world. Tell me...” She eyed Araine with concern. “How may I help?”
“A spy within the Women’s Palace has accused the prophet of blasphemy against me. I wish to know who hired the spy.”
At once Dasarai raised both eyebrows and cast an accusing look at Zaria, who sucked in a sharp, visible breath. “Why are you looking at me? I wouldn’t—”
Bel-Tygeon snapped, “Don’t be evasive! You will never convince me that you did not send that spy!”
Zaria opened her mouth, clearly about to protest, but then she swallowed and tears brimmed, glistening in her dark eyes. “Sire, whatever I do, it is for your sake. I love you!”
“If you truly loved me, you wouldn’t threaten what I treasure—my prophet! The very breath of prophecy lives within her, and while I’m bound by mortal flesh, her gift is vital to me and my realm!”
Bound by mortal flesh... His words cut through Araine, blade-sharp. He still considered himself a god in mortal form. Her spirit sank all the more. Oh, Infinite! What will happen?
An image approached within her thoughts, cloaked in such darkness that Araine cringed as she stared up at the furious king. How can it be so?
Bel-Tygeon grabbed Zaria’s arm, glaring down at her. “You care for nothing but becoming my queen, and thus far you’ve failed me and Belaal! And now you shame me and endanger us all. Did you consider anyone but yourself?”
Zaria lifted a bejeweled edge of her veil to cover her face, then sobbed, her shoulders shaking, her voice so raw with hurt that Araine pitied her. “I s-sold myself to serve you!”
“You gambled and lost. I will never endure a woman who makes my court her game-board and disgraces me in the process.” Bel-Tygeon released her arm and stepped back as if she were something putrid. “Get out of my sight!”
The young woman fled toward the gilded entry, her veils sliding from her shorn head as she ran. Bel-Tygeon turned away, his handsome face twisted with contempt until Dasarai touched his hand. The king’s fury eased, fading all the more as Dasarai spoke tenderly. “Ty, all my thoughts are with you. However I must be sure Zaria doesn’t do something desperate in her misery.”
A slight sneer lifted one side Bel-Tygeon’s fine mouth. “She’s only miserable at being caught and for failing her cause.”
“Nevertheless my lord...” Dasarai lifted on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Please excuse me.”
He smiled, indulgent. “Do as you think best.”
Dasarai nodded then turned to Araine. “Prophet, I’d heard you were arrested and was most distressed. May your Infinite save you from your enemies.”
“Thank you, Lady.” Araine’s throat tightened. “However I won’t be saved. If I never see you again, know that I’ve been grateful for your kindness. I pray for you and the king.”
The great lady hesitated then sighed. “I would rather stay, but I fear Zaria will swallow her earrings. And Araine, I cannot bear to watch you suffer.” She bowed to the king and hurried away, her garments whispering and leaving traces of rose-oil fragrance in her wake.
Araine inhaled the sweet scent and prayed, “Infinite, what must I do?”
A monster’s gaze met hers, reflecting flat, soulless light in liquid darkness, leading a veritable swarm. Trapped within the vision Araine’s skin crawled, terror rattling her breath. “Infinite, I can’t—"
“Prophet!” Bel-Tygeon knelt directly in front of Araine, replacing the monster, startling her into the present. “I’ve been talking to you, but you’ve not heard me in the least. What have you seen?”
She could barely form the words. “A...swarm of drekar. Circling me.”
The king stood. “This will not happen! I forbid it!”
Araine drew in a calming breath and forced herself to speak the truth. “The Infinite wills it. I must submit to your law. Not even you can save me.”
Singular, clear self-doubt betrayed itself in Bel-Tygeon’s open-mouthed stare and amid the hurt bafflement of his gaze. He suddenly resembled a little boy faced with the obliteration of his favorite possession. A god realizing he was not omnipotent. “Araine...if you die, what hope will there be for me? Your Infinite will strike me down!”
Her heart gave a pained squeeze, aching for the little boy she’d just glimpsed, the child so beloved to her Creator. “Sire, I’m not a talisman against your crimes. He loves you beyond death! If only you could comprehend His limitless love! Yet He must allow you to suffer the effects of your choices because you rejected His counsel.”
Bel-Tygeon stood. “No! I will not suffer this. We will not.” He offered her his hand, a commanding gesture. “We’ll hide you.”
“I will be found,” Araine argued. “My enemies are that determined.”
“I will condemn them!”
“They will reject you, their own god, and your kingdom will ultimately be torn from your hands and broken into pieces, which is not the Infinite’s will. Sire...” She worked her fingers from his hand, then bowed before him. “You must face this. And so must I.”
***
NOT LONG BEFORE SUNSET the high priest, Ro’ghez, and General Siyrsun were admitted to the royal audience chamber. Wearied by the hours of argument, Araine prayed Bel-Tygeon would concede defeat or at least accept what must happen. Yet in between his quarrelsome questions, all aimed at somehow saving her, Bel-Tygeon had busied himself, scrawling notes and sending Ebatenai here and there on hushed errands. To no avail, Araine knew. He must give up.
She couldn’t discern the least emotion in the king now as he watched his high priest and general bow before him and voice their request. All earnest smoothness Ro’ghez implored, “Prized of the Heavens, hear us. You know the instant you speak your word is our unchangeable law. We vow to honor your command and seek its perfect fulfillment. We—”
Bel-Tygeon lifted one hand and halted him. Then he turned his head toward Araine, not looking at her. “Let my law be fulfilled. May your Infinite, whom you ever serve, rescue you from death.”