Spirits of Light and Shadow (The Gods of Talmor) (8 page)

“You kept it in the top compartment of the tallest wardrobe.” Korbin pointed to the cabinet on the far wall. “Where are you going?”

Graiphen followed the direction of his gesture. “Good lad.” Opening the wardrobe, he found what he’d been looking for. Korbin’s question hung for a moment while Graiphen took a set of clothes and packed them into the bag. “I’ve had visitors in the past weeks,” Graiphen explained.

“Have you?” Uneasiness settled over Korbin.

“I keep in touch with representatives of all eight temples, as is appropriate for my position.”

Why did he sound defensive? The close relationship between the temples and the senate was common knowledge. He waited for his father to continue. He’d thought Tarsten kept visitors away. Why would he not do so with temple priests? Surely it would be as dangerous for them to learn of Graiphen’s condition as anyone.

As though answering the unspoken questions, Graiphen said, “They tried to send them away, of course, but some were more persistent than others. I’ve developed close ties with a few higher priests. One might say friendly relationships.”

Korbin frowned, watching his father pack. He wasn’t aware Graiphen had ever had
friendly relationships
. “And these priests visited you recently?”

“It was they who first recognized the influence of Kilovian witchcraft. Tarsten thought I was overtired, overworked.” Graiphen snorted with derision. “I’ve never been overworked in my life, and I work twice the hours of most men.”

Korbin couldn’t disagree. His father had labored tirelessly as long as Korbin could remember.

“The priests searched the house themselves. I would have, but…” His voice trailed off.

“They presented the evidence of witchcraft to Tarsten?”

Graiphen packed a few remaining items into the bag and fastened its latch. “I… I’m not clear how everything happened.”

The admission that he didn’t know everything that occurred in his own house must have cost him dearly. Korbin had never seen him at a loss. “You don’t trust Tarsten?”

“No.” Graiphen glowered.

“But he was the one who reached out to Eliam, who then contacted me. I went to the conduit who unbound the curse. If Tarsten were working against you, surely he would have left the matter alone.”

Graiphen paused and seemed to weigh the thought. “Perhaps,” he conceded. “It pains me to admit I don’t have the clearest picture of the past weeks.”

“You seem much improved,” Korbin said. “I don’t understand why the door is locked.”

Rounding on him with a fierce look, Graiphen spat, “Exactly. Why indeed?” The outer chamber had windows, but Graiphen wasn’t the kind to escape his own house by climbing down a trellis.

The North Circle was always watched. There was a common expression in Vol, “It happened on the Circle,” which meant an occurrence was public knowledge, something no one could deny. Whatever his plans, Graiphen didn’t intend to go public with his suspicions of Tarsten’s treachery.

Korbin hoped Eliam wouldn’t get caught in the aftermath. “Where do you plan to go?” he repeated.

“To those who will help me in this dark hour.” Graiphen uttered the words softly, as though quoting a prayer or poem. After a pause he added, “The temple of Braetin.”

Korbin froze.
Braetin
? Why would he turn to the Spirit of Shadow whose realm was nightmares?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Graiphen said. “But only through her priests’ knowledge can my mind be made whole again. They brought clarity to my thoughts when I had forgotten myself. They understand the minds of men, as does the Spirit they serve.” He spoke the final words with hushed reverence reserved for believers.

Korbin shivered. “If you think it will help you, you should go. What of your duties to the senate? To Talmor?”

“With the help of the goddess, I may serve Talmor in a more significant way after today.”

Korbin didn’t know what his father meant, but he didn’t press. Graiphen’s mind seemed clear. He was more focused, impassioned, and intense than Korbin remembered seeing him. He considered if he should ask Octavia if this was normal, considering what he’d been through. Maybe she could help, and her assistance would be less costly. A conduit would accept gold. The priests of a Shadow Spirit, on the other hand, might demand something greater. Their aid always came at a price.

Korbin slipped his fingers into his pocket and took out the brass key. “Here,” he said, holding it out to his father.

Graiphen stared at the proffered object as though he didn’t understand its purpose. “No, no,” he said. “You must take me there. Tonight. After dark.”

“To the temple?” He’d been to the central temple complex many times throughout his life, but he’d only been in the Shadow goddess’ house twice. Neither visit had been particularly pleasant. Just remembering the heavy smell of incense made him shudder. “Why not go now?”

“What is the hour?” Graiphen asked. “We should wait until dark. Fewer people to see where I’m going. Tarsten has come every day before the dinner hour. We’ll talk to him tonight, then eat. We’ll slip out after the servants retire.”

“We?” Korbin asked. “Surely you don’t need me. You seem perfectly capable.”

“I am,” Graiphen snapped. His expression softened before turning into a frustrated scowl. “I still get clouded. It’s difficult to admit I need help.” He met Korbin’s eyes. “I need your assistance. I’ve never asked you for anything before. Only this.”

Despite Graiphen’s cold and relentless stare, Korbin found his plea compelling. If he’d been weeping or babbling, Korbin might have helped him out of guilt, but not wanted to. Not that he wanted to now. No, everything told him to run, but this might be his last opportunity with his father. If he turned his back now, there may be no returning home till the end of his days.

He sighed. “Okay. I’ll let the kitchen know there will be two for dinner. Or shall I say three? Will Tarsten stay?”

“That snake? I wouldn’t eat with him if it was my final meal.”

“Father, I believe he has tried to help. When I spoke with him and Eliam, they appeared genuinely concerned.”

Graiphen shook his head pityingly. “He wouldn’t be much of a politician if he couldn’t make his concern seem genuine, would he?”

“No,” Korbin said, mostly to avoid an argument. “You’re right.” Suddenly he felt sixteen and back in the same helpless position he’d been in all his life, conceding to his father’s demands.

Just this one final thing
, he told himself.
Then I’m off for Iszle and never looking back.
The words sounded hollow, even in his own mind, but there was little he could do. Walking away was no longer an option.
Just this one thing.

Chapter 6

Korbin’s day had been difficult and long, his father’s company no easier to bear now than two years before. The servants brought what Graiphen considered a simple meal, but what was, in fact, far richer food than Korbin was used to. They’d eaten in uncomfortable silence, every bite punctuating the difference between the past and present, widening the gulf between the two men.

As planned, Graiphen faked a raging temper at the end of the meal, throwing a half-full decorative platter against the door. Korbin frowned at that. His mother had bought the piece in Domen when he was a small boy.

Servants rushed in to clean up the mess, and Korbin pretended to restrain Graiphen in the adjacent sleeping chamber. Acting as though he was upset and dismayed wasn’t difficult. The servants understood when he asked to be left alone. They kept away from the family section of the house, creeping through the corridors, keeping out of sight. When the time came for Korbin and Graiphen to make their way to Graiphen’s study, they didn’t have any difficulty so long as Korbin moved ahead and signaled when the coast was clear.

A couple hours after nightfall, he led his father out the back door and into the side streets. Graiphen wore simple clothing, but Korbin had to remind him to slouch. The man’s back was straight and his neck stiff, the bearing of a soldier and someone who expected others to get out of his way.

As they moved through the streets, Graiphen’s condition began to rear its head. He snapped and muttered, stumbling on occasion. When Korbin slowed, Graiphen hissed, “keep going” from beneath his hood.

Korbin encouraged his father to lean on him, as though drunk. The ruse wasn’t comfortable for either man, but it looked more natural and would explain anything an onlooker might find odd.

Over the last half of the journey toward the temple district, Korbin realized he didn’t know this man at all. He felt less kindly disposed to him than he would a stranger. Their blood was the only thing that bound them.

Korbin’s thoughts turned to Octavia. She would probably say blood was the only thing that
could
bind two people. He winced when he recalled the “root blood” she had taken from him to break the curse. Of course Graiphen hadn’t said so much as a simple “thank you” for the sacrifice.

The temple district was dark and quiet at that late hour. Some temples would conduct nighttime rituals on occasion, but fortunately, none were being held that night. It was as though fate had intervened to make one aspect of this unbearable situation somewhat easier. For that, Korbin was grateful.

“We’re here,” he whispered to Graiphen, who leaned on Korbin in earnest.

“Are we?” Graiphen looked at the tall, blackened structure honoring the Spirit of Shadow. Moonlight reflected on his glazed eyes.

Jutting barbs covered the temple’s long, severe spires. The few windows were small, high, and shuttered from within. The building looked like a torture device, and Korbin wondered what kind of person would devote his life to serving this particular Spirit.

Korbin approached the imposing double doors. Before he could announce their presence, a flurry of red-robed priests emerged. Most wore the dark red of acolytes, but one was robed in the pure, bright red of a high priest. As he watched the younger men gather around Graiphen, he chanted, “Oh Lady of Shadows. Guide our brother home.”

The acolytes picked up the ritual words, as they gently moved Korbin out of the way and surrounded his father. The tortured scowl faded from Graiphen’s face, replaced by an expression Korbin had never seen on him: profound relaxation and gratitude.

They led Graiphen within, leaving Korbin stunned and bewildered. The high priest met his gaze before shutting the temple door, but Korbin couldn’t read his expression. After the door closed with a heavy, hollow thud, a lock ground into position.

Korbin felt cold, bereft, and empty. More than anything, he wanted to leave this place. As he walked away, he worried he’d delivered his father into the hands of madmen. But then, he’d done as asked. Still, had he done the correct thing? Graiphen wasn’t in his right mind, but on the other hand, the priests were unlikely to harm him. Korbin didn’t know much about Braetin’s temple, nor did he feel comfortable with the little he did know. He did, however, understand enough about the Spirits of Light and Shadow to realize comfort wasn’t always the goal. Perhaps they would provide what Graiphen needed.

∞

Peering into the dark streets, Sen Rhikar waved Octavia inside. “Come in. Quickly. Were you followed?”

“Followed?” His agitation surprised her. “What is it? What’s happened?”

He shuffled back into the depths of his house, the scant candlelight casting long shadows as the pair passed. As they approached his main reception room, he told her, “Lettoria is here.”

Octavia and the other conduits in Vol knew each other well. They worked under Rhikar’s supervision. It had been a few years since Octavia trained, though, and Lettoria was just finishing her advanced studies. The two women didn’t like one another, and Octavia chalked it up to professional jealousy. Lettoria was a passable conduit, but not capable of great magic. She resented Octavia’s abilities, but there was nothing Octavia could do to lessen the sting. She tried to be kind, but Lettoria made that difficult.

“Hello, Lettoria.” Octavia did her best to smile.

“Octavia,” the other woman replied.

Rhikar motioned to an empty chair. “We were just discussing the work of the new conduit.”

“Or an old one.” Lettoria glanced toward Octavia.

“Do you have a suspect?” Octavia crossed her arms.

Rhikar frowned. “Lettoria brought up the possibility this conduit is one we’re already aware of, but who is, shall we say, branching out.”

“Impossible.” Octavia shook her head.

“What makes you so certain?” Lettoria asked. “There are five talented conduits in the city. Have you considered each of them?”

Octavia gave Lettoria a level glance. “If you’d seen the materials, you would be certain, too. This was masterful work, far above the level of Sonna and Minny. And frankly, I can’t see Pendra as our mysterious rogue.” Pendra followed every rule and precept of their order, but she wasn’t much for the darker side of the One.

“No,” Lettoria conceded. “That leaves you and me.” She stared hard into Octavia’s eyes.

“Well, I know it wasn’t your work,” Octavia said. “The approach was far too imaginative.” Before Lettoria could interject, Octavia added, “And it wasn’t mine.”

She glanced at Rhikar, wondering if he agreed with her assessment. He was the senior-most conduit in the city, responsible for every member of the Sennestelle within the region. He kept his own identity almost invisible in Vol, masquerading as a foreign merchant under a different name. Talmorans believed the great Rhikar to be a mere legend. Even most Kilovians wouldn’t be certain. That was the way of conduits, though. The higher-positioned someone was, the less likely they were to be seen by the average person.

“As I was asking when you arrived,” Rhikar said, “why would Octavia bring the poppets to my attention if they were her own work?”

“Who can say?” Lettoria snapped. “Some people crave recognition.”

Octavia stared. She knew Lettoria resented her, but this accusation indicated the bitterness went deeper than she imagined.

“No, no,” Rhikar said. “I have trusted Octavia from the beginning. I won’t hear any more on it. Those poppets were not her work.”