The Eye of God (The Fall of Erelith) (27 page)

“Put it away,” Zurach ordered. Terin wanted to move, but his fingers were frozen in place, clutched around the Hand of God, and all that separated him from holding the scaled, furred limb was a thin layer of ancient linen. The talons curled as if to hold his hand, and he wasn’t sure if he was terrified or comforted by it.

He should’ve been afraid. Tranquil lethargy kept him still and quiet, and he couldn’t force himself to care if the two men struck out at him for his inability to act.

“Let’s not be hasty,” Emeric said, and the man leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him. “So, nothing’s happening. We’ve no proof it even does anything.” Rising to his feet, the Citizen braced his hands against his waist and leaned forward, mouth set in a thin line. “Why stop now, Zurach? Without proof, this is a waste of our time. And a great deal of crystal. Do I really need to tell you exactly how much this endeavor has cost me?”

“That’s not how it works, Emeric. If he’s Obsessed, we need to know, and we need to know now.”

“What does that have to do with anything? We’ve got the Hand. We have everything we need to finish this—right here, right now.”

Zurach snorted. “Settle down, Emeric. Boy, put the Hand away.”

After curling up his lip and letting out a wordless grumble, Emeric obeyed. Terin winced at the collar burning through the bandages wrapped around his throat. Roused from his stupor, he secured the velvet around the Hand of God.

The two voices bickered in his head, but he couldn’t understand what they said. Instead of words, music thundered through him, and his bones throbbed with each note.

“Return the Hand to the box,” Zurach demanded.

~Kill them,~ the malevolent voice hissed to Terin, and the deep, dark tones of a dirge accompanied the words.

Terin wasn’t sure what made him so angry, but he snatched the box from the table separating him from Emeric and Zurach. The Hand shifted on his lap, and he grabbed it to keep it from falling.

The velvet shifted beneath his hand, and he brushed against one of the tufts of fur sticking out from the cloth. He couldn’t even gasp. Warmth washed up his hand. Terin’s every thought stopped, and his right hand hovered over the box.

~Perhaps we should teach them to respect Master,~ the other voice whispered, and while the tone was lighter, rage tainted the melodic words.

~Together?~ Surprise and pleasure dulled the edge of the more malevolent voice.

~Yes.~

Terin meant to pick up the box. The slap of his palm on the table startled him, and both Zurach and Emeric jumped at the sound.

Terin didn’t remember standing.

Someone shouted something. A low hum buzzed in Terin’s ears, and a triumphant cry echoed in his head. He couldn’t tell who rejoiced, or why, but the emotion bolstered him and kept him from trembling. It crushed the flash of fear sweeping through him, until Terin wasn’t sure what he felt—if he felt anything at all.

A dark fog coiled around his fingers before consuming his hand and crawling its way up his arm. His face flushed, but beneath the miasma, his skin was cool and tingled. The table creaked beneath the pressure of his hand.

It exploded in a shower of black ash.

The fog crept to his shoulder.

~Yes,~ the malevolent voice whispered, and the tone chilled Terin so much he trembled at the cold seeping into his muscles and bones. ~Let’s devour them. They’re in our way.~

The crack of a hand against his face silenced the voices in Terin’s head. Lights danced in front of his eyes. Before he could fall, a hand grabbed him by the throat and held him up.

“You dare to defy me in my house, again? Again? In my house?” Emeric’s scream was high-pitched, and Terin’s ears ached. He struggled to draw a breath, but the fingers dug deep and the air wheezed through his lips.

“Emeric, stop! You’ve seen it used. Consider yourself lucky he didn’t use it on us. Let him go.” Zurach reached out and grabbed Emeric’s arm. The hold on Terin’s throat loosened, and he drew a shaky breath. “Tomorrow, I need you to pretend nothing has happened, that you know nothing of the Hand, that you know nothing of me, nothing of my slave. I need to know where the Emperor will be. You’ll find out when he’ll be with then senate. Most importantly, you’ll learn when he’ll be with his family. Together, we’ll pick the best time and place for our strike. We’ll erase his entire line in one blow and reduce this Empire to rubble. If we act now, we accomplish nothing. Nothing! We must wait. We must plan. If we’re lucky, we’ll find the Eye of God ourselves. If we have both, taking the Heart will be trivial.”

The Hand of God fell from Terin’s lap, and as if drawn to the box, it landed within it. Black velvet pooled over the relic. His breath hissed through his teeth.

Within his head the two presences hadn’t left him, but they remained silent. They listened and they waited, but for what, he wasn’t sure. Terin wanted to reach up, to grab Emeric’s hand, and free himself, but his arms and legs weighed too much for him to move, and weakness spread through him. The edges of his vision turned gray and brown.

“Let him go, Emeric.”

The hands strangling Terin let go and he fell, both knees cracking against the floor. Pain lanced up his legs, but the cry didn’t make it out of his aching and raw throat. Emeric’s face twisted in rage, and the Citizen swung at him. The man’s foot struck Terin’s chest and the air rushed out of his lungs. He fell against the divan, and the box clattered to the floor.

“Put it away,” Zurach said.

Terin’s hands shook, and he fumbled with the box. The Hand fell to the floor, and tendrils of black stretched between it and him, coiling up his arm. Unable to think of anything at all, he set the box down, took up the Hand of God, and placed it within the box.

Both of the Citizens stared with triumphant in their eyes. Terin kept his expression neutral. He didn’t close the box, instead rising to his feet to sit on the divan. With slow and deliberate care, he lifted the Hand of God out and wrapped it, careful not to allow a single strand of golden fur escape the dark folds.

Emeric and Zurach were grinning, and Terin’s thoughts were consumed by his desire to destroy them both.

The two within waited and watched, and if they could bide their time, so could he.

Chapter 12

The wind led Blaise to an estate perched on the plateau’s edge. Lightning illuminated the thick and ornate black iron fence separating it from the street. The lack of stone walls let him catch a glimpse of the two-storied structure.

If he didn’t know better—if he hadn’t watched the first Emperor build the real one centuries ago—he might’ve mistaken it from the Imperial Palace.

It even boasted a statue in the likeness of the Emperor on the veranda, and Blaise’s hatred boiled within him.

~Hunt,~ the wind screamed, and the thunder boomed its agreement.

Stretching out his rain-sodden wings, Blaise shook himself. While he shed off water in sheets, he doubted he’d be able to fly long enough to get over the fence before the weight of the rain grounded him. If he couldn’t go over it, he’d go through it. Blaise breathed deep and caught the faint hint of roses.

His beak split in a predatory grin. Mikael was near, and nothing as mundane as a fence would stop him from being reunited with the lost divine.

~Help?~ the wind whispered. Blaise hesitated. Manipulating nature had never come easily to him. If it had, he’d be over the fence, flying on the winds as they did his bidding, rather than crawling around on his belly like a worm. He snarled. His best hope was to be left alone—one mistake on his part, and he’d get tossed over the edge, and his effort would be wasted, and his hunt would fail.

But, he hadn’t asked for aid, and so far, he’d gotten what he needed, even if it wouldn’t have been his first choice on how to do things.

Blaise snorted and shook himself off again. If Mikael had fallen into someone’s grasp, Blaise would need his strength. Flying with nature’s help—even though he hadn’t asked for it—would save his power for something more important than blasting through a fence.

Another thought froze him in place. If it wasn’t nature’s worry for the imprisoned divine driving the wind, he wasn’t certain he wanted to antagonize his true benefactor.

Mother was the one who meddled; the idea that He would actively take part in Blaise’s effort to help Mikael and Lucin frightened him.

It frightened him enough he spread his wings in obedience to the wind’s will. A hundred questions raced through his head, but he had no answers, and his worry intensified.

What didn’t he know? What was he missing?

Why would He do anything at all?

The wind swept beneath Blaise with so much force it sucked the breath out of him and tossed him upward. He lashed out with his tail and neck to stay balanced, twisting his body so his wings would stay open and keep him aloft.

The mortal-made fence he’d crashed through earlier had cost him a few tufts of fur and a single feather. The wind shredded him, ripping out more feathers than Blaise cared to count, and tearing at his scales to reveal the tender hide beneath. He was dumped unceremoniously on the roof of the estate. The slate tiles cracked beneath his hooves. The wind knocked him over and he fell on his side. Blaise struggled to catch his breath.

The thunder masked the sound of his fall.

It took Blaise several minutes to orient himself and shake away the dizziness that kept him from rising. When he did manage to stand, a webbing of cracks marked where he’d fallen. Some of the slate tiles were little more than dust from the force of his impact, revealing pale rock beneath. He couldn’t make out the pattern of the mosaic, but he took a perverse satisfaction in tearing apart the tiles and cutting deep groves through the underlying stone. The scent of a divine was so strong it deadened his nose to all other scents. Several sneezes ripped through him and he hissed at the pain.

Had his divine self been polluted by his time living as a mortal? Lifting a hoof, he rubbed at his beak to dispel the itching in his nose. He had hoped he was done with sneezing.

Blaise bristled and snorted his disgust.

The wind tugged at him, and Blaise followed, neck arched so he could keep a careful watch on his footing and test each and every place he set his hooves. While the building was made of stone, he couldn’t afford punching a hole through the roof. If he got stuck, he’d lose his chance to find out what was happening to Mikael.

Another tug, this time at his wings, antagonized where his feathers had been yanked out during his short, haphazard flight. While some of his primary feathers still overlaid the leathery membranes of his wings, many were broken or verged on falling out.

Blaise resisted the urge to preen and put them back in order, not that it’d help him fly without aid. There’d be time enough for his vanity, after he found Mikael. Drawing a deep breath, he forced his attention back to his task.

His focus didn’t last long.

Hunger stabbed at his stomach, and he hissed again. If he needed to escape, unless nature intervened once again, he’d be in a lot of trouble. Broken feathers and sore wings couldn’t stop him from feeding, and he doubted he’d be able to escape the estate without devouring those in his way.

Blaise ducked his head low and felt his fur and scales bristle. The mortals would learn a reason to fear the unknown, but they’d wouldn’t live long enough to take advantage of their new knowledge.

Unlike the Imperial Palace, the estate’s roof was dotted with glass windows embedded in the stone. On the other end of the building was a faint glow. Blaise weaved his way to it. Water pooled on the panes and ran through channels carved in the stone. The temptation to break the glass and ruin the rooms below almost got the better of him. It would’ve satisfied his growing irritation. Instead of shattering them, he avoided them, clacking his beak a few times before letting out a low huff.

If his hunt didn’t go well, he could always return and destroy them at his leisure. Finding the place again wouldn’t be difficult. Satisfied by the thought, he took a few more steps. The thoughts he didn’t want plagued him. If the hunt didn’t go well, he wouldn’t be around to break the windows. He might be able to put the pieces of his soul back together if Lucin or Mikale got a hold of him, but Blaise doubted it.

He hadn’t been able to restore Aurora. For that, He would’ve needed to get Mother involved.

If the hunt didn’t go well, he could only pray the humans didn’t learn how to control Mikael and Lucin’s powers. Either one of the relics and the souls imprisoned within them could destroy the Erelith Empire.

Blaise bobbed his head. So long as he could keep the Hand of God separated from its vessel, he could deal with the Eye, one way or another.

The light drew close and Blaise eased his way forward, nostrils flared. The overpowering scent of the divine wasn’t enough to mask the fear, blood, and bitter hatred wafting from the room below.

He narrowed his eyes and sniffed again. The window should’ve dulled the scents. The largest was made up of many square panes, and spanned the roof from eaves to peak. Most importantly, it was wide enough for him to drop through.

Below, three figures sat on divans fit for the Emperor. It was as though nature held its breath, too enraged to make any noise at all. The winds stilled, the sky remained dark, and the rain refused to fall.

Blaise’s gaze snapped to the smallest of the humans below, and his breath froze in his lungs. Fear stopped his heart from beating.

Cloaked in a black miasma, the Hand of God rested on the lap of its vessel.

The wind moaned.

Blaise was too late.

~*~

Terin didn’t close the box. He couldn’t close it. While the Hand of God no longer touched him, the uncertainty of what would happen if it were taken from him froze his muscles in place. Would he, like all of the others who had tried to steal the Hand, become crazed as soon as it left his possession?

~No,~ the calmer, friendlier voice reassured him. Terin shivered, unable to think about anything other than the fact he was taking comfort from a voice in his head.