Chapter 24
Rollie and Topp stood on the same steps they had days ago. This time Topp didn’t smell like dead bodies, and they were both freshly washed and clothed courtesy of the Doorman’s sharply tender care.
Rollie was fidgeting next to him, his fingers vibrating.
Topp ignored him, resonating with his urge to move.
Rollie was just like an easily stressed-out cat.
He wanted to be inside, working on his projects, and now one of his projects had taken him out into the world, and it was all a bit much for the senses.
Running into the Doorman had thrown him.
Conniving, law-breaking icon of Relaclave—she was a dangerous nuisance.
The steady stream of favors between them over the years had grown out of control.
Numerous times they’d refused to see each other, knowing it was never social nor an easy request. He’d consider calling her a friend if it wasn’t for the fact that he was certain she’d beat him to death with his own crown if it ever came down to it.
Never mind that he’d helped her smuggle her brother back to family in Aruza when his magic had grown uncontainable.
And now she had Beatriz whispering in her ear.
Beatriz, who had always hated him for the freedom he’d been granted as a man that she’d had to steal through scandal after scandal.
Maybe saving Beatriz’s life would finally put him on the Doorman’s good side for more than five minutes. She owed him for that, and he wouldn’t forget.
Rollickus sat down on the sandstone steps, face scrunched in concentration. He tapped the step, skin already turning pink from the midday sun. “Porous. Just like I thought.”
Topp held in his sigh. “Great, next time we’ll bring masks. Is the traveler going to be here soon?” He wanted to get away from this temple before the Doorman or her goddess changed their minds and turned them into matching palm fronds.
The fact that the goddess had been willing to hear them out had been a feat. She hadn’t agreed to do anything, but he considered it a success that they’d gotten her to pay attention at all.
Rollie stood up, brushing at the wrinkles on his lightweight trousers. “She’ll be here, stop fussing.”
“I’m not fussing.”
“You sound fussy.”
Rollie pointed at Lucinda, who was climbing up the steps now. “See.” Much like last time, she only had eyes for Rollie and didn’t seem to even notice the prince.
“Good morning, Lucy.” Topp greeted her, attempting to be cordial, but she ignored him, her fingers skating over Rollie’s wrist as she asked how things had gone.
“Holding grudges then,” he muttered to himself since no one was going to answer him.
Rollie conferred with Lucy before nodding with vigor and telling Topp to hold on to his pants point two seconds before they were all yanked through space and spat out at the mouth of a new temple.
The temple of pleasure had been warm and dusty. Almost unassuming in its sandy earthiness until you realized your inhibitions had fled and your desires had begun to slink in time with the temple’s tempestuous heart.
This temple gleamed.
It gleamed like fresh golden coins and the tears of the poor it didn’t care about.
White shiny walls with malachite spikes jutting out from the border of the temple ensured no one rested or took shelter in its shadow.
Matching green tiles created a footpath to its entrance, and on either side of the path were golden statues planted into white sand that glinted in the sun.
Topp took one look at the statues and groaned. He fucking hated this place.
“Really? Did we have to go here next?” There was no point coming here at all, and if Rollie had thought to actually take anyone’s opinion other than his own into account for once, then he would have told him that.
“Seemed most logical.” Rollie waved to Lucy, who blew him a kiss, but his attention was already fixed on the intensely immaculate temple.
Lucinda disappeared and Topp had half a mind to ask her to take him with her.
“What’s your issue with the god of the undead gods?”
Topp grimaced as some of the acolytes came into view. Their silk robes shimmered, gathered and tied off strategically with precious stones. “Have you ever met someone who worships this god?”
Rollie threw serious side-eye his way. “No. I never left Kava until this.” The obviously was implied.
Topp scowled at the acolytes, ensuring they kept their distance.
“They’re insufferable. They worship wealth and spend their days blustering on about how useless the other gods and temples are when the only reason they have so much money is because they demand it in exchange for petitions.”
“So, what you’re saying is that we can buy our way into an audience.” With that, Rollie set off down the sparkling green-tiled path, heading straight for the acolytes. Topp grabbed Rollie’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“I’m telling you it’s a bad idea. Call Lucy back,” he growled.
Rollie shrugged him off, annoyed and already decided. “You’re a prince. This will be easy.”
Topp fought the urge to shake him. He was the one who had traveled and been to these temples before. This was supposed to be a partnership, but it was seeming more and more like a one-man show. He grasped for patience he didn’t have and tried to explain his point of view.
“Rollie, there is no god here. There’s no one to petition or call upon. You have to trust me,” he hissed after him, but it was too late. The acolytes had recognized him, their money-sniffing snoots twitching as they now watched him like sharks who had scented blood in the water.
“Prince Blatz, our god welcomes you. Were we aware of your visit?” The one speaking smelled like salty olives and alcohol twice baked in the sun. Fucking vile.
Topp’s favorite and most familiar mask clinked right back into place as if it had never left. Bored. Rash. Expectant.
The Crown Prince.
“I didn’t realize I had to send word to be received properly.” Pleasantries didn’t belong on a man like him. He gestured to his side. “This is my advisor, Rollickus.”
Rollie pushed up his glasses, looking down his nose at the acolytes, and Topp smirked as they shrunk back unconsciously. The man had absolutely no idea what a natural he was, but Rollie’s aloof countenance was perfection beside his rugged but quiet aggression.
Striding past them, he ignored their startled exclamations and cries for him to wait.
His boots cracked against the ceramic tiles as he entered the temple, spraying bits of sand and dirt all over the pristine floors.
He stood inside the foyer, not bothering to hide his irritation and distaste.
Nose wrinkled and lips curled, he realized they’d managed to make it even more repulsive since the last time he was here.
Golden fountains, golden statues, paintings of their god showered in wealth.
Idiots. Everyone knew the god of the dead and the goddess of pleasure were who to petition for wealth.
The god of all gods didn’t even exist. Not that’d he been convinced any of the gods existed until recently.
But it was a testament to the temple’s fearmongering that they managed to swindle the people of the White Sands for so much money when no other region even acknowledged the existence of the god of the undead gods.
Likely because it was a farce and this temple belonged to an old nature god no one paid attention to anymore.
The acolytes rushed in, the heavy gold-coated doors banging behind them.
Topp barked out orders, demanding rooms and food for two.
Breathless and red-faced, they stammered after him, assuring him they would find him suitable accommodations.
Topp reached over casually, his knife plucking off the pearl holding together the nearest acolyte’s robe.
Bending over, he picked up the pearl and examined it.
He smiled unpleasantly as he dropped it to the floor with a ping.
“We came for an audience with your god.”
The acolyte clutched his robes to keep them from falling as his eyes blinked in stacks of coins. “Yes, yes, I will pass that on to our high priest.”
Topp patted the man on the head, his voice rumbling. “Good. You do that.”
They’d only been in their shining, marbled rooms for minutes when a knock came.
Topp remained lounging in a white wicker chair near the balcony and nodded for Rollie to open the door.
In strode a man with blue eyes and light sandy brown hair cut tight.
A foreigner most likely then, given most of the people in the White Sands boasted perfect rich tans of medium to deep depths year-round along with dark hair and eyes.
The man scanned him boldly before offering a practiced smile.
“Our humble temple is honored to host you, Prince Blatz. The god of the undead gods welcomes you to his home.”
“I’m sure he does.” His words hung in the air awkwardly as the priest quickly ascertained how this meeting was going to go.
Readjusting, the priest got to the point. “You wish to gain an audience with our god? Does this mean you follow the true path? We would be glad for you to become a member.”
Topp’s mouth almost lifted. The true path.
Membership. Maybe he should be more cultured, more open.
He’d spent time in so many kingdoms. Visited all the temples.
Watched a goddess stalk naked and dripping wet past him only days ago.
But in his heart, he was a Kavian—the gods were dead, and if they weren’t then they must be real fucking assholes.
All he heard when this little man spoke was the ting of coins and the ramblings of delusion.
He casually rested one elbow on the arm of the wicker chair. “You can guarantee an audience?” Skepticism flattened his tone.