Chapter Sixteen #2
He rubbed his arm, shrugging his shoulders up. “Yeah… I’m fine. Do you always train this early?”
She huffed, pushing away hair that sweat had plastered to her face. It smeared a streak of dirt across her forehead. “No. Just when I can’t sleep.”
He opened his mouth, but remembering what he was actually there for stopped the question on his tongue. He had more important matters. He lowered his voice. “Do you know the palace guard Sabatus?”
She cocked her head. “Yes. I know all the palace guards.”
“Can you get him and bring him here? And—don’t tell anyone you’re bringing him to me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why? What’s going on?”
“I…” Ethyr bit his lips and closed his eyes. “Please just get him here.”
Poyut blew a long exhale, examining him for an uncomfortable moment. Ethyr forced himself to meet her gaze, though it tightened his throat. The new, stark awareness of her strength and skill made her a lot more intimidating all of a sudden.
“If something’s wrong, Ethyr, you can tell me.”
“I don’t want to tell you,” he said, a bit too loudly, as though volume could make up for his insecurity. “I gave you an order.”
Poyut’s eyebrows rose. She smoothed her expression quickly and dipped her head. “As you wish, Your Divinity.” She grabbed the real scabbard that was leaning against the wall and buckled it around her waist as she left.
Ethyr deflated with a heavy sigh, pressing a hand over his brow.
Giving Poyut such a direct order had his heart racing with nervous guilt, but he didn’t know what else to do.
He still couldn’t be sure how much she was truly on his side.
The woman Yorith had been talking to the night before could have been her; it was difficult to identify a voice muffled through a thick door.
But even if she had good intentions, they often translated to resistance rather than support.
It took a lot longer than he was comfortable with.
He paced the length of the arena a dozen times before she returned with another guard in tow.
He had no distinguishable features, he was the average height of most of the guards, had the same shaved face, the same lithe build with the same tunic and sword. He was almost calculatingly generic.
He stopped before Ethyr and gave him a deep bow. “Your Divinity.”
“Sabatus?” he confirmed.
“Yes, Your Divinity?”
He sucked in a deep breath and stepped closer, glancing around. The only visible person was Poyut, but he had no idea who else could be in earshot around doorways or down the aisles.
“Tell Lyrian he’s in danger,” he murmured into the guard’s ear, having to stand on his toes to do so. “Yorith is planning to have him murdered.”
“How do you know?” he asked.
“I overheard Yorith talking about it with someone.” Ethyr dropped back to his heels. Sabatus didn’t look at all surprised or disturbed, only pensive. “Will you get the message to him immediately?”
“Of course, Your Divinity.” He gave another deep bow. “Is there anything else you need me for?”
“No. Thank you.”
Sabatus straightened, gave a nod to Poyut, and walked out.
“Did I hear that right?” Poyut asked after watching him leave. “Did you say Yorith is going to—”
“Don’t!” Ethyr hissed. “We’ll never speak of this again, understand?”
Poyut blinked sadly at him. “Ethyr, I don’t believe the High Priest would do something like that.”
“You know he would!” he snapped. “He threatened to burn down my entire village!”
Poyut opened her mouth but Ethyr cut her off.
“I said we won’t speak anymore about this,” he said sternly. He didn’t know why she was still standing up for that old priest anyway. “If you tell anyone…”
“I won’t,” she said quietly. “I just hope you’re sure of what you’re doing.”
“I wouldn’t be doing it if I wasn’t,” Ethyr told her impatiently. What did she expect him to do? Sit back and let Yorith kill off his only ally? “Let’s go. I have to get back to the palace before anyone gets suspicious.”
The tailor and her assistants stood to the side as Ethyr surveyed the mock-outfits they had assembled.
“The under fabric will be silk?” he asked, lifting a hem of the rough, undyed cotton.
“Yes, Your Divinity,” Edora replied. “Red silk.”
“Make it cream.”
“That will make it harder to see the embroidery—”
“It is not a matter of discussion.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
“And line the inside with linen.”
“Yes, Your Divinity.”
Ethyr brushed the hem back down and stepped back. “I like this one.”
“Of course, Your Divinity. We will get to work on it immediately.”
He left them to it.
Gionan was waiting at his bedroom door. Ethyr turned on his heel but the man spotted him escaping around the corner and rushed to catch up.
“Your Divinity!”
He sighed and stopped.
“I spoke to the High Priest and he has denied your request to station guards directly outside your bedroom.”
“What?” Ethyr scoffed. “He’s the one who had them there for weeks!”
“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Gionan reassured.
“I’m sure he does,” Ethyr muttered. There was nothing to say Yorith wasn’t the one sending someone to spy on Ethyr or rifle through his belongings while he slept.
In fact, he was inclined to believe that was exactly what the High Priest was doing, and this certainly wasn’t disproving it.
He eyed Gionan. “Is that all you came to tell me?”
“Tomorrow you’ll be with the gods. Given that you’ll have no lessons then, perhaps you’ll consider meeting Dessin today?”
“No.” He started walking again. Gionan cut in front of him.
“The High Priest is eager to see your progress. It would be quite embarrassing for you and your tutor if none has been made.”
“Who’s to say none has?”
“Dessin has indicated that improvement has slowed.”
Ethyr bit his lip and narrowed his eyes. It took him a few seconds of thought to parry. “Perhaps my tutor is no longer suited to the level of my education.” He was, after all, a teacher of children.
Gionan’s incredulity betrayed his doubt of this claim, but he wouldn’t outright call Ethyr uneducated. “If you truly feel that way,” the man replied slowly, “I am sure a tutor trained for a more advanced level can be spared.”
“That wouldn’t be fair to all the priests struggling so hard to better themselves,” Ethyr said with feigned pity. “I see no reason their education should suffer when mine is clearly sufficient for the gods.”
Neutral expression failed Gionan so he instead kept his face tensely flat.
“They have years to continue developing skills, but you have years yet to keep the gods pleased, and it is best to be as prepared as possible. I am certain you mean no disrespect to suggest the gods are not deserving of your highest efforts?”
Ethyr grit his teeth and managed to refrain from scrunching his face. When he had no reply, Gionan relaxed into a pleased smile.
“I am glad we are in agreement, Your Divinity. I will ask the High Priest to arrange more advanced education.” He swept into a bow before leaving.
Ethyr turned sharply to finish the path to his room and threw himself onto the bed.
He should have known arguing with Gionan would result in a worsened situation.
Ethyr woke to the back of a hand stroking his cheek. Varuut smiled with delight when he opened his eyes and looked at her.
“I wanted to call you back sooner but they wouldn’t agree.
” She shot a look at the gods around the table, some of whom rolled their eyes and gave minute shakes of their heads.
Ethyr's gaze inevitably met Kiaro’s from across the room.
This time he didn’t look away, trying to read into the god’s eyes, as though a confession would be written there. But instead of guilt, he saw… sorrow?
Varuut turned a smile back to Ethyr and drew him to his feet before adhering to him, her voluptuous figure replaced with the lithe body of a man.
She pressed into his side, one arm squeezing his shoulder while her other hand grazed through his hair, down his jaw and neck, across his collarbone.
He couldn’t help his shiver. “Now that Ainder has introduced him, he’s free for us, right? ”
Catocus stepped up to Ethyr’s front, twirling a lock of hair off his forehead. “If that’s the case, you have to share.” The god gazed down at him with a soft hunger that stopped Ethyr’s heart in his throat. He tried not to swallow too conspicuously.
“Can you be gentle with him please?” Gnaeus sighed. “He’s still so tender.”
Varuut’s smile took on a devious note as her hand trailed downward. “I would hope so.”
“What do you think, Varuut?” Catocus asked with a smirk, though his eyes remained locked on Ethyr. “On his back or on his knees?”
Ethyr stiffened with the tremor up his spine, breath hitching. Did they understand the limits of a human body? Would they allow him to adjust, as Ainder had, or would they ravage him mercilessly?
Kiaro pushed smoothly from his seat, his approach taking Varuut and Catocus’s attentions off Ethyr. Catocus scowled at him, but it didn’t stop Kiaro yanking Ethyr from their grasps. He stumbled forward, colliding with Kiaro’s torso, but the impact didn’t nudge the god at all.
“Jealousy is all it takes to make you direct?” Catocus sneered.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Kiaro replied impassively over Ethyr’s head.
He slid his hand down Ethyr’s arm. For anyone else the action might have been absent, reflexive, but he felt the tense deliberation that marked every fraction of Kiaro’s movements.
His fingers wrapped around Ethyr’s wrist with a gentle but inescapable grip.
“You’re the worst!” Varuut complained as Kiaro led Ethyr away. “And you all say I’m selfish,” she muttered as she sullenly took a seat at the table.