The Eye of God (The Fall of Erelith) (25 page)

Chapter 11

Terin wore old, dusty-smelling clothes so big they hid the layers of bandages covering his arms, legs, and side, with room to spare. Exhaustion numbed him to most of the pain, but he couldn’t escape the soreness stiffening his muscles. Zurach shook his head in disapproval. The towel in the man’s hands was stained red with blood.

“Come,” Zurach said, tossing the cloth aside before walking down the hall from the bathing pool.

“Yes, sir.” Too tired and sore to even think about resisting the man’s command, Terin followed. He kept his head bowed. So long as he remained obedient, the collar wouldn’t punish him. Even if it did, there were so many layers of linen wrapped around his throat he wasn’t sure if it could burn through the material to hurt him.

The desire to flee remained, but until he could move his feet without dragging them across the floor and didn’t have to struggle to breathe, he would wait.

At least the collar didn’t care he refused tocall Zurach his master. The small hope that Terin’s true master wanted him back roused and he couldn’t suppress it. Zurach had spoken the truth that he was wanted alive. The hope for death was futile, not when both his master and Zurach forbade it. It wasn’t much, but it gave him a reason to stay on his feet and fight the urge to collapse and sleep, no matter what the punishment was.

His efforts to return to his master had been thwarted. Maybe Zurach was right, and his master didn’t want a failure like him. If that was the truth, he’d rather be discarded by his true master than held by the man who had pretended to be a convict to steal him from the arena.

“This way,” Zurach said. Terin glanced up. A spiral, iron-wrought staircase led to the floor above. The metal creaked beneath the man’s weight. Terin followed. His bandaged feet slipped on the smooth steps, and he fumbled for the railing. While he didn’t fall, he heard Zurach clucking his tongue in disapproval. Careful to avoid the sharper edge of each step, Terin made his way up to the next floor.

A long hall stretched from the top of the staircase. Light glowed from an open door at the end. Beyond, it vanished into darkness. Zurach waited for him halfway down the hall, foot tapping against the polished, wooden floor.

“I don’t have all night,” Emeric called out from within the room.

“Patience, brother. It took time to make certain he wouldn’t bleed all over your floor, just like you wanted.” Zurach gestured for him to hurry, and Terin obeyed.

“Patience is for those who don’t have to report to the Emperor in the morning when this doesn’t work.”

“You’d need to report to him in the morning anyway. Let’s not lose our chance because we’re reckless.” The ex-convict grinned and stepped through the door, once again gesturing for Terin to follow.

“That’s funny, coming from you. What you did in the arena was reckless.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

Terin ducked his head low and followed after Zurach. The man stood at ease, hands thrust in his pockets, stance relaxed.

“Let’s get this over with,” Emeric grumbled. A chair creaked. “What’s the plan?

“You brought the box with you?”

“Of course I did.”

Zurach chuckled. “Good. Where is it?”

“Cabinet,” Emeric replied.

“Go get it, boy.”

Terin lifted his head. Lounging chairs were positioned beneath a paned window taking up most of the ceiling. Water streaked over the window, and flashes of lightning lit the sky. A corner cabinet decorated the far side of the room. A pair of candelabras filled the room with a flickering light. Shadows stretched across the floors in the brief moments the lightning didn’t illuminate the clouds.

Emeric stretched out on a divan, feet dangling over the end of it. A rug of red, yellows, and oranges contrasted with the cool greens and blues of the furniture. Giving the Citizen a wide berth, Terin walked to the cabinet.

“Bottom drawer.”

The simple act of kneeling triggered sharp pains in his legs and back, but Terin didn’t dare to make a single sound. The drawer, carved to resemble waves crashing against each other, opened to reveal the box lying on a cushion.

He lifted out the box, set it on the floor, and closed the drawer.

“Come here,” Emeric ordered. Terin glanced over his shoulder at Zurach. At the man’s nod, he picked up the box, shoved it under his arm, and rose to his feet. He clung to the cabinet for support, hissing at the stiffness in his muscles and joints. Swallowing and taking a deep breath, he stepped forward to stand in front of Emeric.

“Sit there and open it,” Emeric said, pointing at the divan across the room. Zurach crossed to a nearby chair and dropped down on it. Terin obeyed, dropping down on the divan, setting the box across his legs.

The silver key bounced as it was tossed onto the cushion next to him.

“Well, let’s find out if you’re right about this,” Emeric said.

“I know I’m right,” Zurach replied. The man stretched out his legs, and Terin shivered at the man’s grin. “You’re of so little faith, brother. Don’t keep us waiting, boy. Open the box.”

The key was cold in Terin’s hand. With his other hand, he touched the top of the box. Like the key, the box numbed his fingers. It took him several tries to get the key into the lock. Both men stared at him, and the intensity of their gazes roused a flutter in Terin’s stomach. Swallowing back his unease, he jerked his hand. The key turned and the lock clicked open. The top of the box thumped against his hand. Cold air hissed out of the box.

The rain tapered off, and the lightning ceased illuminating the room with brilliant flashes of red and blue.

Terin’s heartbeat drummed in his ears. His mouth dried out, and swallowing didn’t help.

“Open it,” Zurach ordered in a low voice.

The trembling in his hands intensified. Without knowing why it frightened him, Terin closed his eyes, took hold of the lid with his sweating hand, and opened the box.

~*~

Blaise cursed the wind and the rain. While it didn’t erase the presence of the divine completely, it scattered the scent trail and led him in circles. He prowled along the promenade, tearing out chunks of stone and kicking them as hard as he could.

Most didn’t survive his irritation. A few remained intact long enough to clatter off the edge of the plateau. Drawing several deep breaths, he flexed his talons, stilled, and closed his eyes.

The scent hung in the air all around him. Too much of it remained for it to be cast by the wind alone. It was too weak to be close, but not old. He clacked his beak and gnashed his teeth together. So close, but so far. A divine had been where he stood, and he hadn’t escaped the cathedral fast enough to catch the trail.

Blaise slapped his tail against the cobbles and whistled. The remnants of the divine’s presence was too old for him to tell if the scent belonged to Lucin or Mikael.

Not that he’d ever been able to really distinguish between the twin’s scents. He stilled at the memory of the two at their pranks. They’d used their similarities to their advantage. Then, it had amused him, serving as a respite from the steady, slow march of time. It had been a game he’d come to savor as much as the twins had.

He breathed deep, and almost wished his mouth was better suited for smiling. The air was sweet like honey, as potent as any rose, yet also a little sour. His crippled, human nose hadn’t been able to smell anything quite like it.

Best of all, he didn’t sneeze.

Mikael or Lucin had been there, and Blaise took comfort in that. Likely Lucin, but Blaise couldn’t cast aside the thought that Mikael might’ve somehow found his way to Upper Erelith City. No matter which way Blaise turned, the wind pummeled him with the scent, as if afraid he would somehow miss it.

Lifting his head high and rearing back on his hind legs, he stretched out his wings and keened at the thundering clouds above. The wind knocked him back several paces, and he dug his talons through the stone to keep from being thrown farther back. His hooves slipped over the wet cobbles. Dropping down to all fours, he launched forward, reared again, and let out another keen.

The winds stilled, and without it battering at him, Blaise stumbled and dropped down with a clatter of hoof and talon. The rain ceased and the thunder quieted to the faintest rumble. Darkness consumed the sky. Before his eyes could adjust to the lack of light, a thin, red light stretched from the ground to the clouds.

It spread, until a curtaining red and blue glow blinded him with its brilliance. Hissing he ducked his head, closed his eyes, and pawed at his muzzle. Bubbles of white, red, and blue danced on his closed eyelids.

Desperation partnered with rage slammed through him. Emotion tightened his chest and it threatened to tear him apart from the inside. Before he could gather his wits to try to repel the intruder, the sensation fled, sucking out his breath in a rush. Blaise swayed, panting through his open mouth.

No mortal possessed such strength, not even Aurora before her mortal spirit rose to the Garden and was granted immortal life as the Daughter. The touch lingered, and it quickened Blaise’s heartbeat.

While the force he’d been struck with was strong, it startled him more than hurt. Nightmare warped into a reality he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Lucin’s presence was the sharp edge of a sword, cutting deep and leaving behind the threat of undoing and destruction. It echoed of the need to hunt, and without fail, roused Blaise’s hunger.

Instead, his desire crumbled to dust in the wake of the divine’s touch. Lethargy took hold of him, and he shook his head, spread his wings out, and waited until the desire to lie down and sleep faded. When he could lift his head once more, he stretched his neck toward the thundering sky and keened.

He wished for the rain and wind to scour away the dread choking off his breath. He fell silent.

The Eye of God was near, and within it, Mikael despaired.

~*~

When nothing happened, Terin cracked open an eye and peered through his lashes. A velvet bag lay within the box, and bits of tattered linen fell out of the unbound opening. Dust tickled his nose, and each breath rasped in his throat, as if all of the moisture had been sucked out of the air.

A boot tapped on the floor. “What are you waiting for?” Emeric asked, and the man’s voice was so low and cold Terin flinched.

His mouth fell open, but no sound emerged. The air dried out his tongue and grated at his throat. He swallowed, but it didn’t ease the ache spreading down to his chest.

“Hurry up already. Take it out,” Emeric ordered.

“Enough, brother. In due time,” Zurach said, and like Emeric, the man’s voice was cold and neutral.

“Are you going to just let that—”

“I said enough, Emeric.” Zurach’s voice deepened, and Terin shivered at the promise of violence in the man’s tone.

Emeric remained silent.

~Hurry.~ The voice in Terin’s head made his ears buzz. The word was heavy with urgency. 

Terin’s fingers brushed against the velvet. Something hard and curved lay beneath, and unable to resist the desire to know what it was, he touched it again.

~Hurry,~ the voice repeated, and this time, Terin tensed at the malevolent glee in the command.

He lifted his hand from the cloth, and the edge caught against his roughened skin. Recognition drove the breath out of his lungs, as though he’d been punched in the stomach. While velvet, it wasn’t a bag. The cloth belonged in the Imperial Palace. A purple, circular crest marked one corner. It belonged in a cage of iron and glass, not in a box.

Not on his lap.

Terin trembled. The curved shape of outstretched fingers poked against the velvet. The taloned, mummified hand belonged elsewhere—anywhere but with him, and in the possession of the escaped convict and his brother.

~No.~

The denial didn’t come from him, but it echoed the terror growing within him. It resonated with him until Terin couldn’t tell where he ended and the other began. Unlike the first silent voice, there was no malevolence to the tone. The cold neutrality left Terin breathless.

Then, anger welled up within him, growing from within his gut and rising to his chest. He didn’t know who—or what—his rage focused on, but it burned away his fear of what lay within the box. His hand curled around the stiff, dead fingers beneath the velvet.

~No,~ the cold voice repeated.

~Yes,~ the other replied.

In silence, the two presences battled within Terin’s head, sweeping him up in their dispute. He couldn’t tell what they fought over, but after their acknowledgment of each other, they ignored Terin completely.

“Boy, take it out,” Zurach said.

~No!~

At Terin’s hesitation, the collar burned him through the linens wrapped around his throat.

~Yes,~ the malevolent voice whispered.

Terin’s grip tightened on the velvet-wrapped hand. Sweat dripped down from his brow, along the edge of his nose, and over his lips before falling from his chin.

So long as it didn’t touch Terin’s skin, he’d be safe. It couldn’t hurt him. He’d seen it done. There were those who handled the Hand of God, and they had lived. Even knowing that, he couldn’t swallow back the lump in his throat or quell the anxiety and fear growing within him.

The insane laughter of those taken by the Hand echoed in Terin’s ears, and the memory of their eyes, glowing red and blue, seared through him. Within, the malevolent voice whispered. Terin shook his head, but it didn’t erase the memories, or the two bickering presences.

All of those cursed by the Hand had gone for Terin first, and his master had always blamed it on the green color of his eyes.

Drawing a long, slow breath, he stared down at the box. The Hand of God could be handled. He’d seen it done. But, with even one mistake, he’d die.

Or worse.

If he became like the others who’d touched the Emperor’s prize, who would he chase after? What would he do? Would he attack the two men in front of him? He shivered.

Biting his lip, Terin lifted the Hand of God out of the box, trapping the frayed linens and mummified flesh in a cocoon of velvet.