In the hour and a half since I’d left the Brythanii temple, the furious bustle of priests hopelessly searching for their intruder had subsided. Daylight had gone from the valley, even from the mountaintops, and the Street of Gods was now illuminated by the sickly green glow of morgue-lamps and whatever godly luminescence the various temples were able to cajole, bribe, or wheedle out of their gods. The breeze had risen, bringing the salt smell of the Erastes Bay and the stink of the harbour into the streets as well as a damp chill that had me wrapping my mage’s cloak tighter around me. The sound of competitive evening praying echoed from the open doors of the temples.
Things were quieter and dimmer in the alleys and side streets that ran behind and beside the temples. Displays of sound, warmth, and light were paper thin façades to tempt passers-by in and to get one over on the other temples. You would find the same thing at every bar and brothel on Dockside. The small open space behind the Brythanii temple – not substantive enough to be called a plaza – was lit more practically for the priests and their servants, as was the temple courtyard overlooked by the priests’ accommodation.
The gate wasn’t yet closed or guarded for the night, but the illumination in the courtyard meant that I would be seen by anyone looking out. None of which mattered. I wanted to do this before Keffen’s thugs decided to report their failure, and I had run out of my weekly allowance of fucks to give. The sooner I got this done, the better.
So, which Keffen first?
The high priest was the most likely to have forged the entry. He had managed the whole process. He had access to all the statements throughout. But he had been found dead yesterday. A Most Cursed wasn’t a random citizen of the lower city. Even though the Brythanii weren’t much liked, the Watch would take his murder seriously. They would have swept through his room, scooping up everything that might be a clue. They might even have left a guard. There would be samples of his handwriting elsewhere in the temple but finding them would be difficult.
The younger Keffen, by contrast, occupied a single, anonymous, untouched room. It would be easy to search. I had wondered once if her uncle had worked without her knowledge. The moment she had sent those thugs after me, that idea was over. I suspected she was the force behind this whole thing. It was her life on the line, after all. Chances were, she had murdered her own uncle to keep him quiet. Perhaps she would have insisted on making the forgery herself to get it right.
Mind made up, I strode into the courtyard and to the door leading to the Curseds’ rooms. A few heads turned to watch, but I ignored them.
I hit the stairs at a run. I couldn’t help myself. Something was bubbling up inside me. Fury. This priest, this person, had tried to kill me. She had set my client up to die in her place. She had murdered her own fucking uncle after he’d helped her. And if I couldn’t prove it, she would get away with it all. Ethemattian would be viciously beaten to death, and she would become a Most Cursed, with all the privileges and wealth it gave her in Brythanii society. That was wrong. It offended me.
A priest stepped out onto the stairs, holding up a hand. I brushed past him and kept going.
Now, which was Cursed Keffen’s room?
It took me a moment to recall the right door, and I found it locked. That delayed me all of two seconds before I was through and locking it behind me again.
I had forgotten how bare this room was. There weren’t many places to hide things, but why would she hide her own writing?
The desk, then, and the shelf.
I pulled out all the papers and dropped them on the bed. No point trying to conceal what I was up to. She already knew I was onto her. What was she going to do? Send thugs to murder me?
Most of the papers were useless. Religious proclamations. Stern notes about leaving the kitchens clean. The bureaucracy of the priesthood. I tossed them aside.
Here! Her own notes. A half-finished letter to a merchant in the Middle City – she had been unhappy about the quality of her tea, apparently, and who could blame her if the letter was half true?
Focus.
A notebook, filled with her religious thoughts rather than the blackmail Ethemattian had filled his with.
I spread them out and examined the writing. She wrote in a controlled, precise way. A good skill if you want to copy another person’s hand.
The o’s and d’s. I peered closer.
Maybe. I could see the resemblance to the forged statement. The shape and formation of the letters was similar. But…
“It’s not proof,” I muttered. “It’s not enough.” I slammed a fist into the bed. It shook and shifted. Calm! If I took this to their head priest and presented it, it wouldn’t convince her, or anybody.
Depths, maybe Cursed Keffen hadn’t forged it. Maybe her uncle had done it. I swore.
Someone knocked on the door. “Cursed Keffen? Are you in there?”
Bannaur’s bloodied balls! I didn’t need this. I wasn’t ready to be interrupted again so soon. All I had was a statement supposedly from Ethemattian where the handwriting was just a bit off and some script from Keffen where the o’s and d’s might or might not match the forged statement. My word that Keffen had sent thugs to kill me. Even if I could find them again, who would believe the word of Dockside murderers?
It still wasn’t enough. Ethemattian was still going to die. I swore, again, under my breath. Time to search the Most Cursed’s rooms after all. I grabbed a couple of pages of Cursed Keffen’s notes and shoved them into my shirt then stood abruptly.
The bed clunked behind me, as though it had fallen slightly. I pushed it, and it rocked, thumping gently on the floorboards. It had been steady when I’d sat down, I was sure, and no one would choose to sleep on a bed like that without attempting to level it.
“Cursed Keffen?” the voice came again. “I can hear you. You’re due in temple.”
I ignored the voice and lowered myself to the floor. I conjured a light to see under the bed.
One of the legs was shorter than the others. Something had been shoved under it to prop it up, and when I’d stood or when I had thumped the mattress, it had come free. I reached under, through the dust, and pulled the item out.
It was a sheet of paper, folded repeatedly and jammed under the bed leg. I opened it and flattened it on the bed.
I couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of my mouth. “I’ve got you! I’ve fucking got you!”
Keffen had used this paper for practice. She had written the same sentences over and over again. The first ones were poor efforts, her own handwriting clearly recognisable, but as it went on, it became more and more like Ethemattian’s handwriting until it was almost indistinguishable.
Except the o’s and d’s. Except the o’s and d’s.
This was the proof I needed. There was no arguing with it. Keffen had forged Ethemattian’s statement, and along with her uncle, she had ensured that he would be entered and chosen as ritual sacrifice instead of her. Whether it was dislike and rivalry that had driven it or whether he was just a convenient scapegoat, she had selected him to die.
Just like I had once been framed for a Master Servant’s murder.
Leaving the page on her desk, I opened the door and stepped right out into the waiting priest who was just about to knock again.
“Take me to the Cursed of God,” I told him.
He puffed up. “Who in the Depths are you? What are you doing in Cursed Keffen’s room?’
I didn’t have time for this shit. “What’s your name?”
He blinked.
“Your name.”
“Cursed Luethan What are—?”
I held up a hand then pulled out Ethemattian’s little book of blackmail. “Luethan, Luethan. Let’s see. Ah, yes.” I met his eyes. “A prostitute in Dockside, is it? Jina. I think I might have met her.”
I’d never thought Brythanii skin could whiten any more, but this priest’s did. I was going to hazard a guess that the Brythanii temple didn’t think much of their priests visiting prostitutes.
“The Cursed of God?” I prompted.
All argument had gone out of him. I locked the door behind me with my strongest lock spell. It would take a decent mage to get through that. Then I followed the priest into the temple.
I drew a few curious looks as I followed the priest through the temple’s corridors, but if anyone associated me with the robed and veiled intruder who had escaped hours earlier, they said nothing. After all, why would an intruder be strolling through the temple accompanied by a priest, rather than in chains with the City Watch? The mage’s cloak didn’t do any harm, either.
When did you start relying on the cloak?
I had always hated the deference afforded to mages in this city. And yet I wore this almost constantly now to bully or intimidate my way through awkward situations.
If you didn’t, you couldn’t do your job.
I wondered how many other mages told themselves that as they slipped through the world in their privilege.
You’re a hypocrite.
Focus! Ethemattian’s life was on the line. I did what I needed to save it. Anything else would be self-indulgent.
Eventually, we came to a solid, carved cedar door at the end of a marble-floored, fresco-decorated hallway, and the priest knocked, shooting me a bitter glance.
“Come!” a voice called.
The priest opened the door, and I followed him in, ready in case he was about to do something stupid like leading me into a guard room.
A priest was sitting behind a desk, working on papers. He looked up as we entered. He was a young man, not fully Brythanii from the light brown hair.
“We need to see the Cursed of God,” my blackmailed priest said.
“It’s urgent,” I added.
The new priest – a secretary, perhaps – examined me with a look of distaste. “She’s busy.”
“We’re all busy.” I took a step forwards. “She’ll want to see me.” I wondered if I was going to have to resort to blackmail again, but he stood with a sigh and turned to the double doors behind him, cracking them open.
“Cursed Luethan and a Mithalii to see you, Cursed of God. They say it’s urgent.”
I didn’t wait for a reply. I shouldered my way past and through the doors. The two priests followed behind me, making ineffectual and half-hearted grabs at my cloak.
The Cursed of God was an older Brythanii woman, with long hair tied up on top of her head. Despite her age, she looked fit and muscular, more like soldier than a priest. Maybe she needed to give her junior priests a good kicking from time to time. They probably deserved it.
“You fucked up,” I announced.
Her eyebrows rose, but other than that, she didn’t react. You didn’t get to be head priest of a whole religion by being easily shaken. Religion could be vicious, and she had risen right to the top.
“Have I?” Her voice was calm and commanding, hinting at derision. But I had grown up with my mother, the blessed Countess. This woman was an amateur.
“Cursed Ethemattian didn’t volunteer for your Choosing, but you selected him for death anyway.”
With a sigh, she pushed the book she had been reading away. “The Cursed has already made this claim, but his statement was verified and sworn to by Most Cursed Coyd Keffen. Cursed Ethemattian is not the first to make such a claim after they were Chosen. No one wants to die. The remorse they feel for volunteering manifests itself in denial.”
Someone else had to be involved in the Keffens’ plan. The most likely candidate was the woman in front of me, even if she and Keffen had been bitter rivals. How she reacted to my evidence would tell me for sure.
And if she is, what then? I would have to take the proof to the other Most Curseds and hope to convince enough of them.
“Coyd Keffen is dead. Conveniently. And the statement is a forgery.”
Her head tilted. “You’re the one who broke in, aren’t you?”
I shrugged. “So call the Watch. And while you’re at it, you can explain to them how you’re planning to murder someone who never volunteered. We’ll see who ends up in the cells first.”
That would probably be me, because the Watch hated my guts – not without reason – and they would be looking for any excuse. But she didn’t need to know that.
“If what you’re saying is true, who is responsible?”
“Keffen’s niece, Menatha Keffen, of course. She and Ethemattian detest each other. She volunteered for the Choosing, too. What better way of protecting herself than to get her uncle to set up a rival? When she discovered I was poking around, she sent thugs to kill me.” I leant with my fists on the desk. “That was a very bad idea.”
The Cursed of God remained unperturbed. “That is not proof. Those are just words. Cursed Ethemattian could have paid you to say this. Many of the Chosen become desperate as their time approaches.”
“Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t beat them to death, none of this would happen. But if you want proof, I can give you proof. We’re going to need the statements from the candidates, and we’re going to need to go to Cursed Keffen’s room.”
Then we would see.
“Very well.” She nodded to the priests still hovering behind me. “Accompany us.”
This was it. If she saw the evidence and she was involved, she would have to make a move. If she thought the two wet sails bobbing hopelessly at my shoulders would be any help, she would be in for a big surprise. I gathered raw magic and held it ready as we made our way through the temple.
It wasn’t just glances we drew this time, but an ever-growing wake of curious priests. The Cursed of God didn’t send them on their way. Back-ups? Maybe they didn’t realise I could knock the lot of them flying.
We collected the statements – and a few more priests – in the archive with its now smashed door then followed the stairs and hallways to the Curseds’ residential wing behind the temple.
By the time we reached Cursed Keffen’s room, we had gained a mini crowd of chattering priests as well as a few servants, and the commotion caused several doors to open as we passed, only adding to the crowd.
If they were expecting a show, this was going to be a disappointment.
Keffen’s door was still locked – thankfully – and I released the spell then gestured to the Cursed of God. She looked back and seemed to notice the gawping crowd for the first time.
“Back to your duties.” She turned her gaze on Cursed Luethan and her secretary. “You two wait out here.”
Looked like it was just me and her. Did that mean she was going to try and cover this up? She had the wrong mage-for-hire if that was the case.
“Here,” I said, showing her the paper on the desk. “You can quite clearly see where Keffen practiced copying Ethemattian’s handwriting. Compare it to her statement and the forged statement attributed to Ethemattian.”
The Cursed of God leant over the paper, studying it.
“And compare it to Ethemattian’s actual writing.” I laid the little book of blackmail on the desk beside the papers, careful to open it to the page detailing the Cursed of God’s own shortcomings. She raised her eyebrows at me again, but she didn’t comment. In truth, her listed sins were minor. A few lies, a couple of hangovers during ceremonies. Nothing that would work as blackmail material. I reached past her to point out the difference between the writing in the statement and in the book.
She stared at the papers for a long time, until I was starting to wonder if she’d fallen asleep where she stood. Then she straightened. “You are right. We have made a terrible error. Please gather the papers and follow me.”
Now would be the most dangerous time. She had seen the evidence and seen that it was enough. If she was part of the conspiracy, would she try to destroy the papers, have me arrested, or stick a knife in my back? If she tried to take me down to a murder cellar, we were going to have issues.
“You two.” She addressed the priests waiting outside. “Summon all the Most Curseds – all of them, no exceptions – and bring them to the Sanctum, then fetch Cursed Keffen and Cursed Ethemattian.” She pursed her lips. “Bring a couple of temple guards with you when you fetch Cursed Keffen. She may try to run.” She gestured to me. “Come. This will take a vote of the Most Curseds. It is unprecedented.”
There was no dark cellar, no knife in the back, no Watch to arrest me. We waited in the Sanctum as the senior priests arrived in ones and twos. My presence beside the Cursed of God generated a few glances but no comments as the Most Curseds settled themselves.
Both Ethemattian and Keffen looked bewildered as they were escorted in, although Ethemattian’s expression turned to one of relief when he saw me waiting, and Keffen frowned.
I counted nearly thirty senior priests, along with Ethemattian and Keffen, and a couple of temple guards who positioned themselves surreptitiously at the door.
Now we would see whether the Cursed of God planned to condemn me or tell the truth. I held magic ready, feeling every bruise and scrape amplified by the pressure.
“Most Curseds,” the Cursed of God said, quieting the room with her voice. “It has come to my attention that our most profound ritual, the Choosing, has been interfered with.”
A babble of voices rose in response. I watched Ethemattian and Keffen. Ethemattian’s face stayed still, but Keffen’s frown deepened. The Cursed of God waited until the noise subsided.
“You were all here when I drew Cursed Ethemattian’s name as sacrifice. You will remember that Cursed Ethemattian protested vigorously and claimed that he had never entered himself into the Choosing. Like me, you will have dismissed his claims as the fears of a condemned priest, and you will have heard such claims before. However, it seems that he was telling the truth. His name was falsely entered, his statement forged, and our late brother, Most Cursed Coyd Keffen, lied when he vouched for the entry.”
This time the noise was louder. Shouts, curses, disbelief, and condemnation. The Cursed of God waited again. Keffen was shaking her head, but no one was paying attention.
“It is my belief that the Most Cursed did this to protect his niece from being Chosen. It might have been the actions of a loving uncle who then decided to take his own life out of guilt. But we have discovered evidence that Cursed Menatha Keffen was the one who forged the statement, that she was behind the scheme to send her brother Cursed to the sacrifice in her place, and I believe she murdered her own uncle to cover up this plan.”
Again, shouting, outrage, and above it all, Keffen’s shout of “No!” I watched her shake her head violently. Then her eyes found mine, and I saw the fury in them.
Yeah, that’s right. I’ve got you. Perhaps if she hadn’t sent those thugs after me, I would never have been sure she was behind it.
“This is an unprecedented situation. Cursed Ethemattian was Chosen, but he did not volunteer. I propose that the Most Curseds examine the evidence, then we will vote on replacing Cursed Ethemattian with Cursed Keffen.”
“No!” Keffen shouted again. “I didn’t. It’s not true.”
Oh, but it was. She had been clever. I still didn’t know how she had ensured Ethemattian’s name was chosen instead of hers. I was certain, though, that the Cursed of God wasn’t involved. If she had been, what would there be to stop Keffen condemning her here and now? It wasn’t like Keffen had anything to lose.
It took a long time for the Most Curseds to examine and discuss the evidence. There was far more arguing and jabbing of fingers at the papers and sometimes at each other than was really warranted by how clear the proof was. I saw Keffen slowly slide down the wall and settle, head in hands, not watching. Ethemattian stood unmoving. If I had been in his place, I would probably have collapsed like Keffen.
At last, the Most Curseds returned to their seats, and the Cursed of God called for a vote. One by one, the Most Curseds called out their decisions.
In the end, it was closer than I had expected. A full ten Most Curseds voted to leave Ethemattian as the Chosen sacrifice. Whether that was stubbornness, stupidity, malignancy, or an inability to change their minds in the face of evidence, I didn’t know. But they were outvoted.
The Cursed of God nodded. “It is decided. Cursed Ethemattian is no longer Chosen. Cursed Keffen will take his place. Cursed Keffen, prepare yourself. Open yourself to the betrayer god in the hope that it will come into you and in your death, hope that the god who failed us dies too.”
“You did not help us when we needed you,” the Most Curseds responded.
I let my shoulders slump. Fuck me.
“As a consequence of your deceit and untrustworthiness, Cursed Keffen, you will be confined to your room until the time of sacrifice, and your room will be guarded. There will be no escape for you.” She turned to me. “This has been a hard lesson for the temple, but we thank you for your part in helping us see the truth.”
I shrugged. “I did my job.”
As the Most Curseds drifted from the room in small groups, deep in shocked discussions, Ethemattian joined me. “Thank you. I was beginning to have my doubts. Forgive me for that.”
He hadn’t been the only one. I wouldn’t have been happy putting my life in the hands of a second-rate mage either. “I’m curious. What would you have done if I had failed?”
He glanced around. No one else was close. “Fled the city. I had already reserved a place on a Pentathian ship leaving Agatos tomorrow.”
Somehow, that made me feel better. Even if I had fucked up, he would have been all right.
“I guess they’re not making you a Most Cursed in compensation?”
“No. I am still a Cursed. I did not enter the Choosing, so I cannot ascend to Most Cursed. Perhaps I will enter the Choosing next year.”
I stared at him. “Are you serious? After all this? Are you insane?”
His lips turned up. “I can’t be unlucky two years in a row. Just as long as I book passage on a ship in case.”
Some people you just couldn’t help. “And what if the sacrifice works this time around? What if you trap and kill your god? Do you have a plan then?”
Ethemattian snorted. “No one believes that will happen. And if it does, the religion will continue on as it always has.”
I knew I should leave it. I knew I should take my money and go, be well rid of this whole absurd thing. Leaving well alone was not my strong point. “Then what the fuck is it all for?”
“It’s a game, Mr. Thorn. No one here cares about the god one way or another. It’s a gamble for power and influence, and the stakes are the lives of the losers. That is all religion ever is. The gods are an irrelevance.”
Hadn’t I always said that? But fuck it, it was one thing for me to say it and quite another for a priest to admit it so shamelessly. It left me feeling dirty. Was that all this had really been about? Not saving a man’s life but playing their Cepra-damned stupid political games. I wanted to punch someone. Anyone.
Let it go.
“How much do I owe you, Mr. Thorn?”
I had been going to say five gold crowns to cover my time, expenses, and effort, but fuck that. “Ten crowns.”
He nodded. “I will not argue the price of my life.” He reached into a pocket and counted out the money.
I took it, and I got out of there as quickly as I could.
I should have asked for twenty.