Unleashed Fury (BloodRunes: Book 1) (2 page)

It’s only to be expected that we would
have been the ones to grasp the god’s true intent
, she thought
proudly, her gaze resting on the statue devoted to her grandfather
and her family.

Jezebel knelt at the threshold and hooked her
little finger on her thumb. She raised the remaining fingers to her
mouth, briefly brushing them up against her lips and then touching
them to her heart before standing to take her place in the row of
seats. People shuffled in and Jezebel's father came to sit beside
her. She nodded curtly to him and he patted her on the hand. She
resisted the urge to snatch it away and took a deep breath.
Patience,
she told herself.

The priest strode to the dais, and a hush
spread over the room. He stood below a gigantic round window at the
front of the temple, his hands together in prayer. All at once, the
three dragons that were depicted in the glass came to life and
swirled around each other in a turbulent whirlwind. The priest
could be heard intoning the homage to the Three and they circled
tighter and tighter.

The priest threw up his hands and the dragons
burst forth from the image, their suddenly very real wings creating
a violent tornado of wind around him. He stood steadfast within its
maelstrom, and then turned towards the congregation with a look of
pure bliss upon his upturned face as his robes flapped wildly
around him.

The three dragons merged their twisting forms
together and manifested once more as the single gaping maw of the
Sleeping God. Flames poured out of His mouth towards the priest,
enveloping him and licking at the air around him. Several gasps
could be heard and Jezebel peered around curiously to see who it
was. Clearly they didn't spend much time coming to the services if
they weren't accustomed to this display of the god's power. It
symbolized the cleansing of the world and of the priest so that he
was ready to pass on the Word. The fire died down and the shape
divided, leaving the three dragons to resume their former positions
within the picture which slowly dimmed to become simple glass once
more.

“Welcome!” boomed the priest, and he launched
immediately into his sermon on preparing for the awakening of the
Sleeping God.

Jezebel's attention soon wandered. She didn't
need a priest to tell her how to prepare for the god; she was ready
for Him now.

She found it hard not to fidget, and couldn't
stop her finger from tapping incessantly as the priest rambled on.
Devon has been working on this project for weeks now, or is it
months? I've lost track.
The time to act was upon them.

She had been biding her time to work herself
into a position of real power, and recently she’d learned that King
Edward's untimely demise may have presented her with a unique
opportunity to do just this. She had known already, of course,
about his little accident: He had gone riding last week and come
back dead upon his horse. It had been the hottest topic of
conversation in court, with rumors circulating about the
possibility of foul play. The hunting party with him claimed that
they had seen nothing untoward, however, saying that he had simply
collapsed in his saddle in the excitement of the chase. The healers
eventually declared the cause of death a weak and overextended
heart, and it was determined to be nothing more than a tragic
accident. Jezebel had her own suspicions, but that was another
matter.

The part that now interested her was what she
had gleaned during a luncheon with her cousin the other day.
Because King Edward's unfortunate passing had cut short his reign
before he could fulfill his duty and produce an heir, it apparently
left the Council responsible for choosing the new ruler.
Consequently, the entire Council would then be subjected to a vote
to renew their position or be replaced. Having all six Council
seats up for grabs would greatly increase Jezebel’s chances of
gaining one, and could finally put her into a position of authority
that she so dearly craved.
And so deserve
. With her father's
influence backing her, Jezebel would have been sure to be voted
into one of them. But since he was being difficult and withholding
that support, she would have to use…other means.

The outcome of Devon’s operation could
potentially solve this little dilemma for her, and he had recently
found a new contact. There had only been rumors reported so far,
but if even a small portion of what the rumors contained was
true...

She stole a glance at her father, and bit
back a scowl. She did so hope that it proved fruitful.

*

Jonathan shivered involuntarily as a cold
breeze blew over his naked body. He was conscious of the many eyes
upon him, their whites stood out in stark contrast to the dark
shadows cast by the hooded black cloaks that served to veil their
identities. He held his arms awkwardly in an attempt to cover
himself. If they were disgusted by his form, however, none made any
outward sign and he drew a deep breath to steady himself.

A cloaked figure led him in a solemn
procession, past the lines of eyes, towards the altar at the front
of the secret temple. His own eyes widened as the figure in front
of him stopped at the base, and stepped aside to lay bare the scene
before them. A towering sculpture of Nuko, the Sleeping God, stood
staring down at him both hands outstretched. One cupped towards him
as if expecting something and the other was held palm outwards with
fingers spread. Chained to the latter was a beautiful young girl as
naked as he, shackled at both wrists and ankles, with a spiked
collar encircling her delicate neck. Her head lolled about on the
chain attached to her collar, and she watched him through confused,
unfocused eyes.

He felt himself responding to her sexuality,
and a blush crept up his face as he remembered his exposed state.
He fought hard to control himself, and tried to put the
embarrassment out of his mind. He knew what was expected of him; he
had spent years working towards this advancement. After glancing at
his escort who gave him an almost imperceptible nod, he started
towards the girl. Even through her drug-induced haze, Jonathan
could see the terror behind her eyes, but his advance never slowed.
Soon, her eyes rolled back in her head. A single tear squeezed out
to trace a glittering path down her cheek and eventually fall upon
the floor.

When his task was completed, Jonathan stood
back and his escort brought forward a cloak, draping it around
Jonathan's shoulders. Jonathan took it gratefully and awaited his
next instructions. The man in front of him raised his hands and the
rows of people started to chant, louder and louder, until the walls
of the underground temple seemed to reverberate with their sound.
Then he brought his arms down again abruptly, and silence filled
the air.

“You now join us on the path to knowledge, my
brother, and I will be the one to show you the way.” The man’s
voice echoed eerily in the sudden quiet. “As such, you may call me
'Master'.”

*

Layna stood on her tiptoes to reach the
gigantic family crest of two mean-looking serpents wound around a
cross that hung above the fireplace in the sitting room. One of
them hissed and took a bite at her hand, but she was too fast for
it. She gave it a quick rap on its head with her duster before it
could sink its teeth into her flesh.

It sneezed indignantly and glared at her
before once more taking its place in the pattern. Layna shook her
head, amused. Magic was wonderful, but she wasn't sure she saw the
point of giving inanimate objects attitude. Unfortunately –
or
perhaps fortunately
– that particular brand of magic had been
lost to the ages. It heightened the value of the manor to have such
a remarkable display of talent still functioning. Jezebel never
missed an opportunity to point this out to her house-guests – or
anyone else who would listen.

Layna climbed down off the ladder and
surveyed her handiwork. She didn’t see anywhere else that had
collected dust, so she gathered her things to leave. As she made
her way out, she stuck her tongue out at the snake that had
reanimated to watch her go. It hissed at her once more and she
opened the door, laughing.

As she stepped into the hallway, her laughter
was cut short as she collided with a hard shape there. She hastened
to right herself, mumbling a frightened apology as she glanced up
to see who she had stumbled against. To her horror, it was Devon.
To make matters worse, he was roughly leading another man whose
hands were tied behind his back. He arched an eyebrow at her as if
daring her to comment.

The man he was leading was handsome
underneath a blackened eye and split lip, but Layna knew better
than to look further. She glued her eyes to the floor and hurried
off. Servants who saw too much in these hallways tended to find
themselves in trouble – or missing. Lady Jezebel did not tolerate
any invasion of her privacy.

Layna heard the men behind her resume their
journey, a muffled groan and a trip forward told her the man was
again being shoved along, and Layna quickened her pace. She quietly
slipped into the kitchen where she let out a sigh of relief.

“Whatcha sneakin' from?” a voice by the fire
asked.

Layna yelped and swung around, searching for
the owner of the voice.

She scanned the room, and her gaze landed on
Lord Gryffon, who was sitting next to the fireplace. Her stomach
fluttered and a weak, “Oh,” escaped her before she could bite it
back.

He was halfway through a dinner roll, which
he took another bite of, and his eyes raked over her as he chewed.
He smiled at her, sending a thrill up her spine, and swallowed
before saying, “Sorry, didn't realize you were so jumpy.”

“Oh no, I - ” she started, pointing towards
the door, but he cut her off.

“No need to explain,” he said holding up his
hands to stave off her explanation, “That was the lovely Devon I
caught a whiff of out there wasn’t it?”

She simply nodded mutely at first, but then
remembered her manners, “Yes, sir.”

“He makes me jumpy too,” he told her in a
conspiratorial tone, “And please don’t call me ‘sir’, it sounds so
stuffy.”

“Yes, si...my lord,” she answered
politely.

Gryffon sighed dramatically, and playfully
rolled his eyes. He got to his feet and came to stand next to her
by the table. He stood a full head above her, a thin stubble lining
his strong jaw. “Please,” he beseeched, holding out a hand, “Just
'Gryffon'.” She tentatively took the outstretched hand, and her
stomach did another flip flop as its warmth nearly enveloped her
cold fingers. He shook it twice before releasing her, a smile
playing on his lips. “You’re Layna, aren’t you?”

She nodded again, this time her voice nearly
escaping her entirely. “Y-yes,” she finally managed to stammer out,
“I came here a few months ago from the country, and Lady Jezebel
was kind enough to hire me despite my lack of experience in noble
households.”

Gryffon surprised her by snorting. “Did you
just put the word ‘kind’ in the same sentence as ‘Jezebel’?” he
asked her incredulously. Then he laughed.

Layna froze and stared at him, disturbed
despite the warm feeling that his laughter spread through her. She
could get in a lot of trouble if anyone heard her in a conversation
like this, and her eyes darted to the door of their own
volition.

He seemed to pick up on her discomfort and he
cleared his throat to continue. “I’ve been meaning to stop and
introduce myself to you, but it never felt like the right time.
From what I’ve seen, you seem quite competent at everything,
despite her outrageous demands.”

Layna could feel her face getting hot at the
compliment and she quickly steered the conversation away from her,
“Forgive me for asking, sir, but aren’t you here as her consort?”
She winced at her own audacity but couldn’t help herself. The
question had been weighing on her mind, and with him talking about
Jezebel like he was…she had to know. It was met only with another
laugh. Layna looked quizzically at him.

“Hmph,” he snorted, “ensnared and kept
against my will is more like it, but I suppose that's the story
she's spreading. But that's a tale for another time. How are you
liking the big city?”

Layna was still distracted by his admission
that he wasn’t Lady Jezebel’s consort, and surprised herself by
answering truthfully instead of reciting her carefully planned out
speech. “It’s a little overwhelming,” she replied, “I’ve never seen
so many people in one place before, not even at the markets. It’s
strange to walk down the street and not see even one face I
recognize.”

“I know what you mean,” he sympathized,
“perhaps I’ll have to give you the tour some time, I’ve managed to
make myself known to quite a few of them.” He gave her a wink.

Layna shifted uncomfortably. As much as she
dearly wished she could, she couldn’t forget that he was still a
noble, no matter how disarming his mannerisms were. And even if he
didn’t like Jezebel, she certainly liked him. Layna did not want to
be between the lady and something she wanted.

“Um, I'm sorry sir, but I really must be
getting back to my chores. It really was a pleasure to meet
you.”

She hurried off before he could reply, and
slipped into one of the many passageways that snaked around the
manor, making her way back to her own tiny room. Once there, she
let out a real sigh of relief and collapsed on the bed. She gave
herself the luxury of completely clearing her mind for a few
minutes before she worked up the energy to sit up and start
unlacing her dress.

As she slipped out of the heavy material and
into a lighter night dress, she felt her tiredness from the day
dissipating, and her mind began to wander. Absently, she wondered
why Devon had been dragging that poor man down the hall. It
couldn't be good news, Layna was sure of that, but she had no idea
what Jezebel would want with someone who looked as though they had
just gotten out of a bar fight. Layna had the sinking feeling that
something bad was happening with the man even now, but felt
helpless to stop it. She sighed guiltily. There was simply nothing
that she could do. Usually Devon kept his dirty work away from the
manor, and that was the way Layna liked it.