25. The Worship Day Incident
The Worship Day Incident
M ila braced for the aftermath of the demonstration at Central. She expected to be poked and prodded over the course of the next few days, both by genuine customers and those who were simply morbidly curious. Culis, to his credit, surprised her by protecting her from all of that. Whilst there was certainly a distinct increase in the flurry of envoys and visitors who arrived at the manor, Mila found herself, gratefully, left alone.
It was a peaceful week. The servants of the manor still stared at her when they thought she wasn’t looking, and swiftly avoided her gaze if she caught them at it, but the cook was kind enough and fed her as much as he did every other member of the household, so she never went hungry. She was given very few and infrequent chores and no one seemed to know if or how she was to be tasked, as Culis hadn’t given any direction on the matter. As a result, Mila was largely left alone. She relished the freedom, particularly after spending so long under Jezebel’s thumb. She knew her body and mind needed it, and she luxuriated in the long periods of calm and silence she was able to claim for herself, noticing with quiet pleasure that, with proper nutrition, her hair was starting to grow in thick again, and her nails were slowly becoming less brittle and breakable.
She tried to focus her efforts and mental energy on establishing a daily routine that consisted of all the small pleasures she’d once enjoyed in the Highlands. She found herself taking an early breakfast daily to avoid most of the servants, followed by a walk around the bounds of the large, forested property in the new air of the still morning.
She would walk as far from the manor as she comfortably could under the yoke of the vasium necklace, which was, unfortunately, quite effective in restricting her movements any further than about a mile from the main building where Culis slept. She’d tried to test the metal’s potency by pushing through that initial sense of discomfort but hadn’t managed more than a few steps before the weight became abruptly and utterly debilitating, driving her to her knees.
So, most days, she didn’t push. She had nowhere to escape to anyway. She reminded herself that, even if she returned to the Highlands, she might find some peace initially, but all it would take was a single interaction with the wrong person, and the gossip would start.
In that small community, gossip could be as devastating and quick as a wildfire. Unless she intended to live a life of complete isolation, eventually word would spread about her return, and it’d only be a matter of time before the Church came for her again.
The Church.
She had plenty of time to ponder the mystery of Abbott’s persecution of the ikarei. Was Jahan right when he’d said it all had to do with politics? Keeping relative peace in the nation by identifying a common enemy? It made sense in a sick way, and Mila was grateful then for these dissidents that existed in Traders Bay and supposedly wanted to challenge Abbott. Maybe one day they’d gain enough power and things would be different for ikarei. Maybe Culis wasn’t just peddling snake oil to her and this venture of theirs could actually help challenge Abbott’s doctrinal interpretations.
A pity Culis wasn’t more trustworthy.
Her relationship with him fluctuated over the following days, and Mila could never quite tell where they stood with one another.
On some occasions, he asked her to join him in his office and use her power to help him. In these instances, she would observe his business negotiations and, afterwards, provide insights into whether the other trader had seemed amenable to his offer, or whether he could have pushed the bargain harder? In private, Culis treated her as a valued adviser, and Mila was happy to use her powers to assist him in this way. Sometimes she even found herself looking forward to those days.
Other times, especially when they were in public or certain members of the household were around, Culis treated her the same way he treated his most expensive horse – with a greeting, the occasional treat and a stern correction if she put a foot wrong. She didn’t like it, or him, but all things considered, it was worlds better than the situation she’d endured under Jezebel, so she kept her mouth shut and her head down.
Worship Day sermons were unfortunately still part of the weekly routine however Mila was relieved to discover that, unlike the rest of the household, Culis had decreed that she was not required to attend.
“It would be wilful stupidity for me to pretend that you’re devoutly worshipping the God-King once a week,” he’d said. “Far better use to have you here, helping to maintain the manor in the absence of everyone else. ”
And it was true. The manor was largely empty on Worship Days, and Mila did end up with more chores in everyone’s absence. Mostly ensuring the animals were fed and watered. She didn’t mind in the slightest.
It was unusual for an entire wealthy household to make such a journey into the city once a week. She knew from her time with Jezabel that most of the nobility built private chapels on their own grounds to demonstrate their piety – if not their wealth. Culis had loudly declared that concept to be a waste of space and money, especially when they lived within a few short hours by carriage ride of the Grand Cathedral. So, instead, he allowed his staff to make a day of the trip and take the afternoons after the sermons for themselves to see their families. As a result, Worship Day was looked forward to with fervour by the staff, and the night before always carried a decidedly jolly air. Except for Culis, who always looked somewhat dour, and by that alone, Mila surmised that Worship Day must be the day he was obligated to spend with Jezebel.
It was on a Worship Day that the incident happened.
Culis was away as usual, evidently leaving the vasium sister-rock behind, hidden somewhere in the manor. Initially, Mila had considered trying to find it, but ultimately decided against it. Earning Culis’s trust would pay off in the long term, and she had no doubt he was the kind of man who would certainly know if someone had been rifling through his study – even if she was meticulous about placing things back where she found them.
On this Worship Day, she rose in the morning as usual, and commenced her walk around the boundary of the property, watching the household procession head towards Jeralusah. Festive energy hovered around the group like a fog, and today, for some reason, she found herself particularly lonely and envious of the easy chatter and evident camaraderie among the manor staff. They seemed happy with their lives and enjoyed their service in Culis’s employ. Perhaps she would one day be accepted among them?
For a moment, she found herself missing Jahan, the one person in Jezebel’s household she’d shared any kind of bond with. Then she shook her head to clear the unhelpful thought. It would only lead to disappointment if she expected another open-minded soul like Jahan to exist in every household.
It was late morning when she finished her chores with the animals, and she was changing into fresh attire when the door of her tiny room unceremoniously burst open.
She jumped in shock at the unexpected intrusion and then instinctively tried to cover her naked torso in horror.
“Christopher!” the older man at her door exclaimed loudly, yelling over his shoulder as his eyes surveyed her. He looked utterly delighted that he’d caught her in this state of undress. “You didn’t say anything about her being a succubus!” Then, with raised eyebrows and a predatory smirk, he added, “No wonder he’s all but tethered you to the house.”
Mila had been clutching at herself to hide from him, but at his words, and as the shock of his intrusion lifted, she made the decision to drop her arms and stand forthrightly naked before this man. She refused to be embarrassed by him and his crude entry, whoever he was. This was her room. He was in her space.
It didn’t take Mila long – or any great skills of observation – to deduce his identity. Culis Senior looked very much like his son.
Long curls, blond – albeit slightly silvering – hung down to his cheekbones and were swept back lazily, giving him a casual, roguish sort of appearance. He and Christopher shared the same bright green eyes, but the father’s jawline was slightly softer, with a more pointed chin. He stood tall, with broad shoulders. Looking at him was like being gifted a glimpse of the future and finding out how Christopher Culis would age in thirty-odd years. By all accounts, he would age like a fine wine.
Culis Senior was also dressed very well, but with a practicality that implied he was still a man of action, rather than one who had hung up his boots in later years for an easier life. He wore dark pants, knee-length brown leather boots, and a long-sleeved, white, flowing shirt tucked in neatly both front and back. Simple enough, but there was no disguising the rich, red dye of his cloak, that would have cost most farmers a few years’ worth of wages. The fact he still wore it, despite being indoors, indicated that he had no qualms about anyone knowing he was obscenely rich.
She tried to reach out and sense him, to gauge why he was here and what he might want from her, but, like his son, his energy was frustratingly muffled – it must be a family trait.
The man’s eyes caught the slight movement of her horns rising gently from beneath her hair, and his lips pursed with barely restrained glee.
“God, you’re magnificent,” he breathed.
Despite herself, Mila felt the intensity of his gaze force a slight blush to creep up onto her neck. She saw his eyes note that, too, with pleasure, and then her attention abruptly snapped to his son, whose shadow had finally caught up to that of his father and stood in the doorway beside him.
“You’re completely right, Christopher. This is an untapped market. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself sooner. It’s genius. The sooner we can put our prejudices aside, the sooner a lot of money is to be made here. Especially if they’re all as easy on the eye as this one.” He half turned back to Mila and gave her a small wink .
“Why have you come, Frank?” Culis asked softly. His shoulders were taut and his back straight. He didn’t look at Mila, didn’t acknowledge her defiantly naked torso.
“To congratulate you, of course, my son!” He slapped Culis on the back. The movement caused his cloak to slide back slightly, revealing a long, coiled whip holstered to his leather belt.
What an odd thing to carry, Mila registered but continued to say nothing.
“For your brilliant idea, and for the fact that you have the princess’s support. It really is quite good that you offed Martin before his proposed fleece trade commenced. That could have really tied up our resources, but now we’re fully able to bring the company around and support this endeavour.”
Mila shot Culis a horrified look. He’d killed his brother?
Culis stiffened at these words, but his father ploughed on, either not seeing, or not caring, about his son’s reaction.
“A monopoly on the demon trade? Ha! Although, you know the Guild of Merchants will come after you hard. They’ll try to tax the shit out of the company fleet for this.”
“You know I did nothing of the sort to Martin,” was all Culis said, holding himself otherwise tightly in check.
“Have you bedded her yet?” the man changed tack abruptly.
Mila narrowed her eyes at him and placed her hands on her hips. “Excu – ”
The backhanded slap came before she could finish the sentence, with a ferocity that knocked her to the floor.
“You’d best make sure they’re trained better than that before you farm them out to nobility,” the brute remarked coolly, surveying her. “Nobody wants a mouthy slave, demon powers or not. ”
“Father.” Culis said the word from between gritted teeth. “Outside.”
“Alright, alright. I’ve overstepped.” His tone returned to congeniality. “But bed her sooner rather than later. You’ll get all this tension out of the way, she’ll know her place, and you’ll be a better businessman for it. Trust me.”
“Out,” Culis snapped. He pushed his father out the door, closing it firmly behind them.
Slowly, Mila lifted her hand to her sore face, staring incredulously at the space just vacated by the men. She felt her anger rise.
That man – that vile creature – had raised Christopher Culis.
It explained…a lot.
Frightened and cowed, Mila stayed in her room the rest of the day. With no other servants in the manor, she imagined she’d attract the attention of Frank Culis wherever she went, and she had absolutely no desire for that to occur.
When the servants all returned that evening, Mila was surprised by a timid knock on her door. It was a red-headed woman named Tess, who Mila knew as one of the cook’s helpers.
“Are…are you alright?” Tess asked nervously.
“I…” Mila hesitated before giving her answer. Was she alright? She’d been struck, and humiliated, and threatened. “I’m fine. Thank you,” she said blandly.
“Mind if I pass that on to Master Culis?” she whispered. “He is quite concerned about you.”
“Tell him whatever you need to,” she said shortly before closing the door in the woman’s face.
She didn’t mean to be rude, but she was also not inclined to waste energy on trying to make Culis feel better about the actions of his father.
* * *
The following morning, Mila rose early to walk, but as she was leaving out the back door, she suddenly hesitated.
What if Frank was still here? She had no idea how long he would stay at the house, but she would do everything in her power to avoid another interaction with the man, especially being caught alone with him in the forest. So, she skipped her walk that morning and limited her movements to just the kitchens and the kitchen gardens for the day.
The cook quickly surmised the reason for her lingering presence but made no comment about it, and never implied that she was underfoot or being a nuisance. In fact, he briskly tasked her as though she were a kitchen hand, and Mila, gratefully, put herself to use.
Frank must have still been present in the manor, because she could sense an undercurrent of anxiety running through all the servants, which wasn’t normally present. The unexpected sense of solidarity filled her with warmth. Despite the fact that the manor staff were still unsure about her, at least with Frank Culis in the house, she was now far from the worst thing wandering their hallways.
It was late into the evening when another knock came on her door. Despite the fact she’d been half expecting him, she was still startled to see Christopher Culis standing in the dark, empty kitchen. He looked exhausted, and his face was tight with tension.
“Good evening,” he said softly. “He’s finally gone.”
“I see,” she replied coolly.
“I knew he was coming,” he said, wincing in discomfort. “I could have warned you what he was like.”
“You could have,” she agreed, then added, “I’m not sure I would have believed you. ”
“No,” Culis agreed solemnly. “Perhaps that’s why I didn’t mention it in the first place. Sometimes the anticipation of such a visit only makes it worse.” He spoke as though he were repeating a lesson he had long ago learned.
Despite herself and everything she knew about him, she felt pity for the tired man before her. He’d obviously endured far worse from his father, and for far longer, both as a child and an adult.
“How did he even know I was here?”
“Frank Culis is the head of the Artor Trading Company. I had to tell him about this demon venture. And, of course, he heard about what happened at Central. That’s why he came.”
“No, I mean this room. How did he know where exactly to find me?”
Culis sighed. “He has spies in my household, who report such details back to him.”
“He spies on you ? Your own father?”
Culis didn’t reply, but simply ran his hands through his hair. It had evidently been a long few days for him.
“Do…do you want me to help find out who they are?” Mila offered.
At that, he looked up sharply, his eyes gleaming. “I knew your powers were good for something besides telling me what an arse I am.”
Mila couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Well, I’ll do my best. Most of the staff don’t talk to me yet, but if I can get them talking, it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out who isn’t loyal.”
“They’ll come around. Give them a few weeks.”
“It’d help if you didn’t treat me like property in front of them,” Mila accused softly.
Culis nodded wearily in acknowledgement. “That mustn’t be pleasant, but it’s necessary for the benefit of the spies,” he explained. “I’m sure Featherstone has some of his own here too. As, too, probably does Jezebel. It wouldn’t do for them to report back to her that I’m kind to you or treating you with anything other than disdain. I assumed you could read my energy and know that none of it was ever meant with sincerity.”
Mila gulped, hoping she hadn’t inadvertently exposed the gap in her power. Fortunately, Culis did not seem to notice.
“If you can sense the spies and help me to oust them, it would go a long way towards making this manor a far more comfortable place to live for both of us.”
A house full of spies, Mila thought. A dead brother he may or may not have murdered, a horrible father … What a life.
As though he knew the direction of her thoughts, he met her eyes and shook his head firmly. “Don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t pity me. Pitying one with power over you will only weaken you against them. Save your pity for those who can’t hurt you.”
“What an odd thing to say.”
He shrugged. “It's true. And besides…I like your strength. The mental image of you facing down my father, bare-chested, without shame…it will give me years of enjoyment. Don’t dilute that strength for anyone – especially not me.”
With that odd compliment, and a wry smile, he bade her goodnight and left.
Mila went to her pallet, blew out her candle, and tried to sleep, but despite herself, the mental image that Culis had painted rose into her mind and it drew a wicked grin. She saw herself as Culis must have seen her – wild brown hair, defiant glare, naked torso facing down his father – and she liked it, liked the version of herself that she imagined he saw in his mind’s eye. It made her feel as though she’d clawed back some power somehow .
Or perhaps she had never truly relinquished it – even though her time with Jezebel had made her feel as though it’d been stripped away.
She let the image linger in her mind, relishing it.
As she lay quietly in the darkness, she resolved that, from tomorrow, she would not forget her own strength again.