Chapter 63
Tynan
Ifight to keep calm as I watch guards and klericks drag Rosomon away. Leaving a safe distance between us, I follow.
I’m desperate to come to her rescue. Not only must I keep her safe, if the others find out she was taken, I’ll be accused of abandoning her. That group is ready to accuse me of just about anything.
Was I meant to have run up those stairs after them? If there was a plan, no one shared it. And I don’t have access to Darkness. I don’t have any reason to be dragged before a tribunal.
And certainly, it’s best if one of us has his freedom.
Rosomon caught me by surprise when she followed the shifters up the stairs. When they forced her to her knees, I almost reached for my sword, but I was badly outnumbered and, again, it seems best if someone’s free to save her.
My Rose is brave. She’s strong and resilient, but hearing them threaten to make her a Wife of Othrix sent a chill down my spine. I well know what that means. She’ll suffer the same fate as Glorya.
I must find her. The others can fend for themselves. Serves those shifters right, for not filling me in on their plans.
While flying here from Achotia, Xendus shut me out of his mind—clearly still punishing me for crimes of betrayal I didn’t commit. If anyone else knew that Saxon was going to confess, no one told me. I fail to see how being imprisoned is going to help any one of them. Or help to discredit Othrix.
I follow Rosomon as far as I’m able, taking note of the door she’s dragged through, far around the side of the temple building.
Finding a shadowy corner, I change my clothing to don finery in keeping with my royal status. The others underestimate the power of my position, but I plan to use my title to every advantage. I am second in command in the Light.
Dressed, I test the door they took Rosomon through. It’s locked, and my dull thudding on its marble surface brings no one.
I walk the circumference of the temple building, hoping to learn its secrets and discover all its exits. Clearly Saxon’s plan to invalidate Othrix and dethrone my father has failed. Everything’s now up to me.
Hearing voices near the far side of the circular temple building, I stop. Ahead and below, two men are talking outside a door. In a small pit, barely big enough to accommodate them, the two men rest against a retaining wall and pass a flask between them.
The door opens, and another man’s head and shoulders appear. The first two men straighten off the wall, and the one holding the flask hides it behind his back.
“There you are, lazy bastards,” the man barks. “Get back to work. The big show is tomorrow.”
“Our team is finished,” says the taller of the two men.
“Did you double check every rope and pulley? Is every mirror polished? Are the smoke machines set?”
“It’s all done,” the taller workman replies. “Every trick in the klericks’ book is set to go.”
“Watch your tone,” says the boss through the door, “or you’ll find yourself on that stage tomorrow, dragged before Othrix yourself.”
“Yes, sir,” the man says. But the moment the door closes, both of them make rude gestures toward the door.
“Dragged before Othrix, my ass.” The man takes a long draft of whatever’s in his flask. “Why does he think he can scare us, when we’ve seen all the fakery?”
The thicker man takes the flask. “Thrixing idiot.” He lifts the flask to his lips, then frowns, tipping it upside down. “Hey.” He shoves the other man. “You drained the last drop.”
I see my opening. Quickly grabbing a full flask of wine from my saddle bag, I walk over to the railing above them. “Hey there,” I call out. “Fancy some company? I could use some help finishing this.” I shake the flask and their eyes light up.
“Shall I come down and join you?” I see my opportunity to get into the building without being arrested. “Or you could climb up here.” The one man, in particular, has far too much girth to pull himself up and over the railing.
The men exchange a look and then gesture for me to climb down.
Securing my saddle bags over my shoulders, I swing over the iron railing, slide my hands to the rails’ bottom, then drop the remaining ten or twelve handspans and land. The pit is cramped, but there’s more room than I first thought.
I take a small swig from my flask and then pass it to the man who spoke to the boss.
“Much obliged,” he says. He grabs the flask and takes a large swig, and his nose wrinkles as he hands it back to me. “What the holy thrix is that?”
“The finest fortified wine from Khotor, from the royal family’s own cellars. Don’t you like it?”
His sour expression changes when I tell him it’s from the King’s stash. And it’s obvious he’s now taken note of my clothing. “It’s good. Just…different.”
I hand the flask to the girthier man. He takes a tentative sip, then a longer one. This fortified wine is very strong and should help me shake some information from my new friends.
“I’m Ty,” I say, as I take the flask back. I pretend to take a drink and then hand it to the first man.
“Ovren,” he says, then takes a long drink.
“Ham,” says the other man. “Hamlin if you want to get fancy.”
“Speaking of fancy,” adds Ovren. “Did you steal them clothes from the man who owns this flask?”
I tip my head toward him. “You’re very clever, Ovren.”
“That I am.” He takes another swig of the strong wine.
“Forgive me,” I say, as Ham takes a drink. “I didn’t mean to listen in on your conversation, but I was walking past when I heard you two talking.”
Ham nods as he hands me the flask.
I lean back against the retaining wall, putting the sole of one boot up against it. I need to act as if this discussion is casual, fueled only by curiosity. “Did I hear you mention tricks? A show?”
Ham’s eyes fill with alarm. “We can’t tell you nothin’. If we do, we’ll be executed.”
I hand Ham the flask. “Anything said in this alcove, stays in this alcove.” Above my lips, I mimic turning a key.
Ham chuckles and hands the flask to Ovren, who takes another long drink. “Let’s just say the klericks at this place are right turds,” Ovren says. “They’ve got the masses fooled.”
Ham looks around as if someone else might have suddenly appeared in this small hole the three of us are practically filling, but Ovren takes another long swig of wine, then leans toward me.
“Can you keep a secret?” Ovren’s words come out slightly slurred. The wine is doing its job, along with whatever they consumed before I arrived.
I nod.
“The klericks are faking it.”
I widen my eyes. “Faking what?”
“All of it. When Othrix appears, it’s all fake.”
“Not all of it,” Ham mutters.
“Really?” I focus on Ovren. He’s confirmed what the dragons already believe. “And you gents are in on the secret?” I try to look impressed.
“Yes.” Ovren’s chest puffs. “We’re amongst the most trusted workers at the temple. Highest level of security. We work on the altar.” He says this with massive pride. “
“Can you show me?” I ask. “I’d love to see.”
“Can’t do that.” Ham takes another swig of wine. “Not if we wants to keep our heads attached to our bodies.” He grins wryly as if he just made the most clever joke.
I force a chuckle. “So, what’s going to happen tomorrow?” I ask.
“We don’t get all the details ahead of time,” Ovren says. “We just follow orders. Pull ropes, release smoke, tilt the reflective glass whenever we’re told.”
“There’s to be a royal marriage tomorrow,” Ham adds, clearly wanting to be part of the conversation.
“A marriage?” I ask, and my belly flips. It’s meant to be my thrixing marriage.
“Yeah.” Ovren frowns, as if he’s angry that Ham gave me this information—or maybe that Ham offered it first. “That’s what some say.”
I push my heel harder against the wall to keep my leg, my entire body, from vibrating. Father said I’d be married on the Feast of Othrix. Have I made a huge mistake coming here?
“Or it could just be one of them ceremonies to make new Wives of Othrix,” Ham says.
My chest tightens. This thought is even worse. It least at my wedding, I can say no.
Ovren turns toward Ham. “Hard to believe they found more ladies to ruin.”
My heart is beating so loudly I’m shocked they don’t hear it.
“Just afore we came out here,” Ham says conspiratorially. “I overheard the klericks talking.” He grins lasciviously. “Turns out, a princess showed up here. She’s been hiding, but they nabbed her.”
“Been a while since they’ve done a princess,” Ovren says. “Tomorrow should be a good show.” He winks. “Ham and I gets a great view from the wings.”
“What kind of view?” Fear traces through me, but the more I know, the more chance I’ll have to save Rosomon.
“They strip the brides naked,” Ovren says. “The klericks chant a bunch of shite, then take turns fucking the girls.”
“Sometimes they lash them, too,” Ham adds.
“Yeah,” says Ovren. “If this princess isn’t a maiden, she’ll be well-whipped afore she’s fucked.”
“And between rounds of fucking, too,” Ham adds.
They both shake their heads. “Don’t much like what these klericks do in the name of Othrix,” Ovren says. “And princesses get the worst of it.”
“Bastards,” Ham mutters even though not moments ago he was referring to this as a great sex show he’d get to witness.
“Do you know where these future Wives of Othrix are housed?” I ask.
I need to find Rosomon and ensure she doesn’t end up at this marriage ceremony tomorrow.
“We don’t got access to the wives’ den,” says Ovren. “Only klericks get in there.”
“But we know a place where you can sneak a peek,” Ham adds. “See them naked.”
Ovren kicks Ham and shoots him a disapproving look.
“Take me there.” I grin at them, as if my only interest is in catching a glimpse of female flesh.
The men take me into the building, then through a maze of increasingly narrow hallways—the last barely wide enough for Ham’s body. We stop at a wall with several holes bored through it.
“Look through one of them holes,” Ham says in hushed tones. “Sometimes they’re all naked!” His already ruddy cheeks have grown even redder.