Chapter 24 #2
I scoffed. Septimus cocked one eyebrow in a way that said, What?
“I just doubt that’s true,” I said.
“What makes you say that?”
“Monsters recognize monsters. Whores recognize whores.”
A smirk now tugged at the corner of his lips. “Hmm. Is that so, lyri?”
Lyri. The pet name sent a strange shock up my spine. He was toying with me, and this brought me an unwanted but undeniable thrill. He had been, from the very beginning, an entertaining playmate.
{Careful, Kyrene,} Zefiah warned, sensing that little, shameful delight.
I ignored her. We rounded a corner in the path. A temple, garishly painted with cerulean blue and decorated at every peak with swirls of gold, loomed ahead of us, now visible between the mountains. It wasn’t even one of Kajmar’s main cities, just an outpost, and yet it reeked of him.
A pleasure house. A temple, yes, but when it came to the god of beauty and art and—to be frank—mortal indulgence, that meant it was also some combination of an inn, a pub, a theater, and a bordello.
It was a little embarrassing, actually, just how much my body reacted to the sight of it. Like a starving man before a feast.
Maybe Zefiah was right. I hadn’t had a drink in weeks now, and I was missing it.
{And you claim you are not a drunkard,} Zefiah said.
Oh, shut up.
Septimus motioned to the temple.
“How convenient,” he said. “We’ll stop there for the evening.”
I let out a short laugh, which earned another pointed glance.
“What is so funny about that?”
“Oh, gods. You’re serious.”
“I never joke about a bath and a bed, Vindica Ultis. Do I look like a man who enjoys sleeping on the ground?”
No, he did not. He’d managed to find us places to stay for most of our journey, and when we were at last forced to camp, Septimus laid out a neatly folded sheet without hiding his disgust.
“No one is forcing you to dress exclusively in white,” I said.
“We all need standards, Kyrene. And don’t come at me with your hypocrisy. Just because you hide to fuss with your appearance every day doesn’t mean I don’t see it.”
I blinked. I really didn’t think he had been paying that kind of attention. But he was right—I did sneak off whenever I woke up to comb my hair, fix my face, reapply the kohl around my eyes. Just because the world had shitty standards for itself didn’t mean that I had to, too.
“I like mortal pleasures just as much as the next woman,” I said, “but in case you’ve already forgotten, we were just talking about the need for stealth, and you are a vampire.”
“I don’t see how those two statements relate to each other.”
“A vampire is likely not welcome in a temple of the White Pantheon.”
“Only if they know.”
I gave him a deadpan stare, and he chuckled.
“It really seems that unreasonable?”
“Have you ever looked at yourself, Septimus? And if so, did you ever think, ‘Now, that right there is a completely unassuming human man’?”
“Half the people there will be so high that Nyaxia herself could stroll right in and they’d be none the wiser.
Have you met followers of Kajmar? They’re hardly even living on this mortal plane.
And everything in there will be drenched in illusionism anyway.
” He winked at me. “If you’re worried, maybe we’ll put you in a priestess’s habit.
Seeing as you’re so attuned to the life of the pleasure-seeking acolyte. ”
I scowled at him, unamused by the joke. But I had to admit, he was right on every point. And I did desperately want a drink.
{You cannot possibly be considering this.}
I was indeed considering it.
{It is a foolish risk,} Zefiah went on. {If he is discovered, you will have the entire temple after you and gods know how many more hunters on your trail. And all for a drink and your pride.}
Oh, hush.
“Fine,” I said. “No smiles, though.”
The corner of his lips curled as he pressed his hand to his chest. “Charming smirks only. My promise.”
{Of course,} Zefiah sneered. {What a sacrifice for him.}
My logical brain told me right up until we walked into the temple that this was a mistake, but it was a little embarrassing just how easy it was to shut that voice up.
Here’s the thing about Kajmar’s territories: They’re just so gods-damned pleasant in a world in which almost nothing was pleasant anymore.
And yes, it was an unsettling sort of pleasantness—the air just a little too hot and a little too wet, the alcohol just a little too strong and a little too sweet, the decorations a bit too garish, dust-coated fake flowers hanging from the ceiling that I was old enough to know looked nothing like the real blossoms they imitated.
The air thick with smoke from any number of pipes stuffed with any number of drugs, and yet, one inhale and I could feel the tension leaving my body.
The people here believed in the lie they told themselves. But I didn’t have to believe it to enjoy it for a little while, and I’d forgotten how good a little denial could taste.
The place was more crowded than I expected way out here. Perhaps it was a draw for people from the surrounding cities, looking for a little escape. There wasn’t much pleasure left in the world. I could understand why some devoted their entire lives to chasing it.
The first floor was set up to be a gaudy mimicry of a garden, albeit a very poor one, low tables and worn pillows on the floor scattered amongst dying trees in cracked pots and “flowers” of faded silk that looked to have not been dusted in years.
The scent of food—sickly sweet, no doubt slop disguised by pleasurable illusion spells—wafted through the air, mingling with the stench of smoke and strong alcohol.
Warm light from a single roaring flame at the center of the room danced over bodies indulging in all manner of pleasures—the food, the drink, the drugs, the patrons.
Septimus gave it all a satisfied once-over when we walked in and said, simply, “Good enough,” before getting us some rooms and promptly disappearing into his. And if I had any lingering worries that the risk was not worth the reward, they dissolved into the steaming bathwater.
“I never should’ve doubted him,” I muttered with a borderline indecent moan as I sank back into the tub. “This was the best idea that man has ever had.”
{That is still to be seen. You have only just arrived. Plenty of time for trouble.}
I eyed Zefiah, who leaned against the wall with my discarded travel clothes.
I regret not leaving you in the other room.
{If that is your biggest regret by the end of the night, then I have done my job. Sadly, I do not have that kind of faith in you.}
You do know how to make a woman feel admired, Zef.
I got out of the tub and wrapped myself in a towel. It was threadbare, and stained in a way I didn’t want to think too much about, but it felt good to be clean. The bed loomed before me, neat and inviting. The room was comfortable enough. And I was tired.
But every time I slept, I dreamed of corpses in a temple.
Every time I was left in a room this quiet, my thoughts clawed at the walls of my mind.
I realized all at once that I actually hadn’t been in a room alone for quite some time.
I found myself remembering standing at the edge of the balcony of the Salt Keep, staring into the churning, rocky sea.
I jumped as a knock rang out at the door. I opened it to see a pimple-faced teenaged boy holding a large, flat box.
“Your companion told me to give this to you,” he said, then passed the box to me and waited expectantly.
I gave him a few copper pieces that he clearly was disappointed with and closed the door behind him, then laid the box on the bed and opened it.
I stared down at its contents and laughed softly to myself.
That fucking bastard.
{What cursed gift did the fallen one give you?} Zefiah asked from the other room, curious.
I lifted the fabric from the box. It was a dress, made of red silk that probably once had been fine, though was now a little worse for wear.
It was an outfit traditionally worn by followers of Kajmar, brightly colored, with three pieces—a long skirt, a blouse, and a cape adorned with gaudy mirrored beads that were partly falling off.
A priestess habit.
He was taunting me.
{Fallen ones,} Zefiah sniffed. {How they lack subtlety.}
But despite myself, I was smiling. A distraction had presented itself to me. A game, triggered by one roll of the dice from my playmate.
{Kyrene . . . } Zefiah warned.
What’s life without a few regrets? I said, and she let out a weary sigh.