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The Lost Gods
Book Two: Burning Bright
Nine gods ruled the world. The Dragons of the Three Storms. Sacred Zhar Ptitka. The Basilisk. The Faerie Queen and
Guardians. Holy Licht.
Pozhar is a land of prophecy. It is a land which has long worked to prevent the prophecy that says should the Sacred
Firebird return, all of Pozhar with burn.
Black clouds will fill the sky, and rain will cover the world, and the Sacred Storm Bringers will once more claim dominion over the
oceans and sky.
~Sacred Prophecy of the Lost Gods, Section 1, Summary
Deadly magic will destroy and wake the Sacred Firebird, who in vengeance will bathe Pozhar in deadly flame and thus reclaim
dominion over fire.
~Sacred Prophecy of the Lost Gods, Section 2, Summary
Prologue
The young woman trembled.
She stood before an altar. It came to just above her waist, carved from black marble, inlaid with gold and silver forming
intricate, scrolling artwork all around the edge. The precious few to have ever seen it never felt less than awe. Once, when
the occasional visitor was not uncommon, many suggested the scrollwork was not simple design, but words that none but a
god could understand.
The rest of the room was just as dark and beautiful, made entirely from that same black marble, all of it covered with that
elaborate scrollwork. It looked like a spell come to life.
A heavy feeling lingered, created by centuries of existence and the taint of magic far older. It smelled like fire, ash, and
smoke. As beautiful as the room was, it was also hot - but not in such a way that anyone inside it was left gasping for breath
and dripping sweat. It was hot, but no one who entered suffered the effects of the heat.
The girl at the altar was pretty. A peasant girl, from a humble farm to the far south of the country. She had fair hair and sun-
darkened skin. Work-roughed hands fisted in a simple green homespun dress. Pretty but ultimately rather ordinary.
Except for her eyes. They burned as gold as the sun at midday, then seemed to shift to a rich yellow-orange, almost to red
before shifting again to gold. Seven days ago, when they'd found her in a small market two hours from her family's farm, her
eyes had been blue.
She was oblivious to the splendor around her. When she had first been led into the room it had briefly stolen her interest,
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but her attention now was solely for the man before her.
High Priest Dym.
"I don't want to die," she said, eyes wide as she looked at him. She bit her lip to hold back whatever else she might say.
She had already begged, already pleaded. Her family had said they loved her as she bid them goodbye, and she had said
she loved them too.
"No," High Priest Dym said. "I'd imagine not." His voice was cool, but not in an unkind way. It was more like a voice that
couldn't help but be cool. His skin was pale, a strange contrast to the dark marble room. Short hair cut close to his head,
leaving his green eyes stark and bright. "All will be well, zolotka, I promise you. There is no need to fear."
"I know," she whispered, gold eyes locked to his green. She bit her lip, leaving marks, then sighed softly and finally spoke.
"Will I be forgotten?"
High Priest Dym shook his head. "Never. Those who are loved are never forgotten." The words felt unfinished, like there
was something more than should have been added. But the High Priest said nothing more.
She smoothed her dress and then clasped her hands modestly in front of her.
The High Priest smiled, but it was full of sadness rather than joy. He reached out and caught a stray curl in his long, thin
finger and tucked it behind her ear, then cupped her cheek. His hand was cool against her hot skin. "Forgive my
impertinence, Eminence," he murmured softly as he bent down and kissed her, briefly, softly. The girl gasped but didn't full
away, and when he pulled away her trembling had stilled. "Go in peace, burn bright…" Like his earlier words, the prayer felt
unfinished. Incomplete.
He lifted his other hand and pressed gently against the space just above her breast.
Another gasp, slightly of pain, mostly of wonder, as the magic of the fire feather pressed to her skin flooded her body,
consumed her. A last soft sigh, and the light in her gold eyes died.
High Priest Dym caught her as she crumpled and lifted her to the altar, laying her gently down.
For a second, all was still.
Then the body on the altar burst into flame. The fire consumed it rapidly. In second there was nothing but ashes left.
Throughout the burning, High Priest Dym stood impassively. His eyes, a bright, clear green, turned dark while he watched.
Somewhere, as if very far away, the cry of a bird sounded. Sad. Angry. Lost. Then silence.
The ashes shifted, stirred, and the room grew unbearably hot for a single moment. There, in the center of the altar, resting
on a bed of ashes was a fire feather. It was long, the length of High Priest Dym's hand, and ranged in color from deep red
at the base to fine gold at the tip.
High Priest Dym delicately lifted the fire feather from the ashes and hid it within the depths of his robes. Then he fanned his
right hand out on the ashes. His green eyes grew bright, and they seemed to shimmer as he spoke. The words were old,
forgotten by nearly all.
"Show me the next."
The Storm Bringers were the first to fall, and were by treachery Sealed. For days the winds and waters raged out of control,
causing destruction across the five worlds.
Amidst the chaos wrought by the fall of the Sacred Storm Bringers, the people of Pozhar saw their own chance. Dissatisfied
with their own proud and arrogant Firebird, envious of all he had and was, they attacked when he was most vulnerable -
nothing but ashes, waiting to be reborn with the dawn. This happened only once a year, and last only through the dark
hours of the night.
One man stood in their way, the priest appointed to guard the ashes of Zhar Ptitka, the Sacred Firebird. Brutally the people
slew him, as much from fear as contempt. They left him dead and broke into the Chamber of Night.
The Firebird was nothing but Ashes awaiting resurrection. But merely scattering those ashes would not be enough to
destroy the firebird. A God of Resurrection and Reincarnation, killing him was an impossible feat. Instead traitorous priests
cast a spell, sending the ashes out to be reborn apart, separating the soul of Zhar Ptitka into a thousand pieces.
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When the spell was cast the angry people turned on the priests. Across the country, priests and those who would not
rescind their devotion to Zhar Ptitka were slain. No one who might know the key to resurrecting the Firebird was left alive.
Magic was outlawed except where it was needed to administer justice and ensure that the new laws were not broken.
So the people of Pozhar moved on, free at last of their arrogant god.
But they lived in fear.
So the new leaders devised a way to seek the truth of the matter; to see if they were truly safe from the god they had
betrayed. Pozhar became a country of prophesy, and the first prophecy to come of their efforts brought their every fear to
life:
Deadly magic will destroy and wake the Sacred Firebird, who in vengeance will bathe Pozhar in deadly flame and thus
reclaim dominion over fire.
Terrified, the people frantically sought a way to prevent their terrible fate. New priests were made, old magic resurrected,
and at last a plan was devised.
They could not kill the Firebird. But they could kill the pieces. The ashes, the soul, of the Firebird had been broken into a
thousand pieces. Those pieces could be found and finally destroyed, with no chance of rebirth. This would free Pozhar of
Zhar Ptitka's control once and for all.
Finding the first was the hardest, but each piece killed pointed to another. Over years and decades and centuries, the
people of Pozhar hunted down the pieces of the Firebird. These pieces, these people, came to be known as Candidates, for
each in theory had the potential to become the Firebird. All they lacked was power, and Pozhar saw to it they never had that
power.
The Candidates were killed, one by one, as Pozhar struggled to avoid the fate spelled out in prophecy.
Then one day the clear skies suddenly blackened with storm clouds. Thunder and lightning made the earth tremble, and
rain poured down so that people at first feared they would drown.
In the hearts of those who knew what the storm really meant, drowning was not what concerned them. The terrific Storm
was the first part of the Sacred Prophecy - it hailed the return of the Sacred Storm Bringers of Kundou. The first part of the
prophecy had been fulfilled.
If the remaining Candidates were not soon found and killed, the second part of the Sacred Prophecy would come to pass.
Pozhar would burn.
Part One
Blessing of the Morning. Strength of the Midday. Peace of the Evening.
~Old Pozharian greetings
Chapter One
"Good morning, High Priest."
Dym raked fingers through his wet hair and turned around. The waist deep water of the bathing pool sloshed around him,
steam curling lazily up his chest and arms, beading on his pale skin and running down it to rejoin the water in the pool.
"Blessing of the Morning, Princess. To what do I owe this immodest visit?" He made no move to cover himself, but stood as
though fully dressed in the middle of court.
Princess Sonya Oranzhevy. Officially, she had given up that title when she married her husband, a mere Earl, nearly two
decades ago. But though many still called her 'Countess' it was mostly out of affection - all still considered her a princess,
and in the past year she had actively assumed more and more of the duties that went with that title.
She was a stunning woman, more beautiful at forty years than she had been in her youth. Her dark brown hair was twisted
up on top of her head, woven through with a wide band of bright orange silk. The silk band matched the brilliant underskirt
of her dress, setting off the deep jewel green of the dress itself.
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If she was discomfited by visiting the High Priest of Pozhar in his bathing chamber, she did not show it. "I was hoping to
speak with you, High Priest."
"I am told, Princess, that there are rooms specifically for that. Parlors, dining rooms, tea room, sun rooms…a few, no doubt,
employ the bedchambers but I feel perhaps that might be a trifle too bold."
Sonya's laughter rang out across the bathing room. "Perhaps a trifle. Forgive me, High Priest, for disturbing you here. A
man should be allowed to find peace somewhere. But I wanted to speak with you, and I wanted to be certain we would not
be disturbed or overheard."
"It is certainly true that I thought never to be disturbed in my bathing chamber." Dym waded to the edge of the wide, white
marble pool and hoisted himself out. He crossed to a chair where earlier he had laid a long, white linen robe and shrugged
into it. "Apparently I was wrong." His lips curved in the ghost of a smile. "Best speak, Princess, before someone else thinks
to come upon me at my worst."
"Hardly your worst," Sonya murmured, then turned and led the way into Dym's dressing chamber.
Shaking his head, attempting to hide his amusement, Dym motioned for her to take the one seat as he began to go about
getting dressed. "What matter is so urgent that you would set the gossips to a frenzy?"
"A frenzy of jealousy. I do not think, High Priest, that you realize just how often the ladies talk about you." Sonya shook her
head. "No doubt a few of the men. It is much bemoaned that you chose the religious path."
Dym said nothing, but his green eyes were bright with amusement. "So did you come to arrange an assignation, Princess?
Enrage the court by securing the aloof priest for your paramour?"
"Would I stand a chance? Because I would gladly add that to my agenda."
"I have, as you said, chosen the religious path. But I thank you for the offer, Princess."
Sonya laughed. "Ever so gracious. Thankfully that was not my purpose in visiting you this morning. I have come to speak
about my dratted relations - both the sick one and the angry one."
"It is not my place to speak about either the King or the Duke," Dym said calmly.
"But you do listen," Sonya said with a sigh, "which is more than I can say for every other idiot in this place. If they do not kill
each other soon, I will take care of it myself." Her fingers fluttered briefly across her forehead.
Dym looked vaguely amused as he slid on his dark gold under robe. It was thin, suited to the late summer weather, with just
enough weight to guard against nights that were beginning to turn cool. Over this he donned a robe dyed so deep a red it
was nearly black. A slight 'v' cut at the chest and slits at the bottom showed the gold beneath, further enhanced by a plain
gold chain wrapped around his waist. The sleeves were wide, deep, but Dym immediately tied them back so that his hands
and forearms were free. Stitched to the wide throat was a hood, more decorative than functional. The days when Priests
kept their heads covered when in the Holy Cathedrals were long forgotten. Around his neck he secured a more slender
version of the gold chain around his waist, the only sign of his office. To the chain at his waist he attached a ring of keys
and a small pouch the exact color of his robe
Next to all the red and gold, which further paled his skin, his jewel green eyes were so startling a contrast that many people
had a hard time looking him in the face.
"You do cut a pretty figure," Sonya said wistfully. She shook her head impatiently. "I do not know what to do about them. My
brother is like a cranky child these days. I am suited to assisting in the running of a country, not to the throne itself. Yet daily
I feel that he is pressing me toward precisely that. Nor does my confounded cousin help." Sonya looked at her hands, the
finely shaped nails painted a light green.
Dym chuckled, the sound soft and cool, a refreshing sort of laugh. "I do wish we could learn that trick of freezing his veins. I
did observe how improved his manners were while he thawed."
Sonya muttered something unintelligible. "I think I am grateful magic such as that is long gone from Pozhar." She shook her
head and muttered something else. "Stop letting me get distracted. As already stated, my brother and cousin are driving me
to madness. I think they are plotting to do something to one another at the banquet tonight, but I am confounded as to what.
They whine and whine but no one actually ever tells me anything. I must always learn things the hard way." She sighed. "I
have come to ask that you attend the banquet tonight and help me to keep everything civil. You have, if not a calming
effect, a very distracting one."
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"If you desired my company tonight, you had only to send a message." Dym picked up a small, flat leather case and then
crossed the room to where the princes sat. He held out a hand and helped her stand. "Seeking me out here was an
unnecessary step."
"On the contrary," Sonya said as she allowed him to escort her out of his private rooms and into the hallway, toward the
main section of the palace. "You could have refused a note and then avoided me the rest of the day." A wink. "Besides, this
way I am securing in the minds of everyone that I am in very good standing with the High Priest despite the growing tension
between my cousin and him." Sonya looked up at him through her lashes. "Or did you think the gossips had missed that?"
Dym shook his head slowly. "Hardly. But neither do I think it particularly remarkable that we disagree. Always there are
those who disagree with the method by which we handle the Candidates. The Duke and I are hardly the first noble and
priest to argue the matter."
"Though you may very well be the last," Sonya murmured. "I cannot believe there are only two left to locate. Will we find
them soon?"
"Beginning is the hardest part," Dym said levelly. "The end always comes swiftly. In a matter of months, perhaps weeks,
there will be no more Candidates." He handed over the flat leather case he'd been carrying. "The newest Candidate."
Sonya opened it and hummed softly in appreciation. "He's lovely. But so young…" she closed the case with a snap and
handed it back to him. "Tell them I expect five hundred images by sundown two days hence, and twice that in simple
sketches by end of week."
"Princess," Dym said and bowed his head in acknowledgment of the order.
"Will you join me for breakfast, High Priest?" Sonya asked congenially as they reached the more populated sections of the
palace. Servants and nobles alike took note of the princess on the High Priest's arms, and her friendly smile, and the fact
they'd come from the direction of the High Priest's chambers.
"If you so desire, Princess," Dym said agreeably. "Though I cannot stay long; my morning duties must be tended."
"Of course," Sonya said. They entered the breakfast room together, and Dym escorted Sonya to her seat. Unlike the dining
room, the private breakfast room was relatively casual. The table was large and round, the room decorated in pale blues
and greens, transitional colors between winter and spring.
Usually the table was filled with a handful of nobles who saw much merit in rising to join the Princess, who favored rising
unfashionably early. This morning, however, only one other person was in attendance - Duke Nikolai Krasny, Chief Advisor
to his Majesty Zarya IX. He stood as Sonya entered, and nodded in greeting. A moment later he offered a stiffer nod to
Dym. "Sonya. High Priest."
"Kolya," Sonya greeted, using the pet form of his given name. "Good morning."
"Good morning," Nikolai said, more to his teacup than to the princess.
"Blessing of the morning," Dym murmured quietly as he sat. A servant quietly moved about the table with plates of food and
cups of tea for the princess and High Priest. Dym sipped his in silence as the Duke and Princess quietly fell to discussing
more mundane matters.
At length Sonya handed over the picture Dym had drawn of the latest Candidate.
Nikolai grimaced. "A child, or he may as well be."
"If I could choose, I would kill myself a thousand times," Dym said, looking calmly at Nikolai.
The Duke dropped his eyes, which were a dark version of the Princess's pale amber. His hawk-like features and dark-red
hair would have been stunning if not for the hardness that froze them. "No doubt," he said, tone stating very clearly that he
did doubt. "So this makes the next to last?"
"Yes," Dym said.
"I will believe it when I see it," Nikolai said.
"Please," Sonya said wearily. "It is far too early to be arguing about this. Save it for lunch, at the very least."
Nikolai reluctantly subsided. "How long do you think it shall take to find this latest candidate?"
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"As I told the Princess," Dym said, "the end tends to come swiftly. At worst, it will take a matter of months."
"Hmm…" Nikolai murmured. He picked up his pale green tea cup and drained the contents. "I find it hard to believe. Surely
killing a god is not so easily done."
Dym set his own teacup down sharply, eyes bright as he stared coldly at Nikolai. "Yes, quite easily. Nearly a thousand men
and women killed over the course of as many years. So very easy indeed."
"Do not preach to me, High Priest," Nikolai replied with equal chill. "I might be party to the scheme, but I am not the one
with blood on my hands."
"No, you keep your hands quite clean," Dym said. His voice was level, but it had weight. "So that they're free to assault
foreign royalty."
Nikolai turned red. "He was a possible threat," he hissed. "And that was more than a year ago - let the matter drop!"
Dym nodded. "As you wish, your Grace." He stood up. "I have duties to attend, if you will forgive me. I bid you both good
day." He bowed and slowly walked from the room, letting out a soft, slow sigh once in the hallway.
He traveled in silence, undisturbed by the people around him. Many looked at him, and nearly all of them immediately
looked away.
Killing the Candidates was necessary. Only the priests of old had known enough about the Sacred Firebird to know how to
kill the divided pieces of his soul. Only priests could create the lesser fire feathers needed to wake a Candidate, as well as
hunt for strains of forbidden magic when it showed up. Only a High Priest had the training to perform the Burning and read
the ashes to locate the Candidates. When the decision had been made to restore the priesthood of the slain god, many
restrictions had been put in place. Only one hundred priests were permitted at any time, and there was only one High Priest.
Never again would Pozhar permit the Firebird to obtain a hold, even if it was merely priests who followed the path of fire.
More than one priest had been dismissed, a small handful put to death, for being more ardent in their following than the
Crown thought wise.
High Priest Dym was the most recent priest, and he had been in office ten years. The task of actually killing the Candidates
rest solely in his hands.
People kept their distance. Those who were brave enough to risk an attempt to draw closer were immediately scared off by
the intensity of his jewel-green eyes. Whispers about the aloof High Priest never ceased, especially as he was favored by
the Princess Oranzhevy but loathed by the Duke Krasny.
Loved, hated or simply feared, the fate of Pozhar rest with him. No other priest was yet fit to assume the cumbersome
mantel of High Priest, nor was it one many took willingly. The majority of the priesthood was made up of men who had few
options left to them. No one could remember a time when women had been permitted.
Dym gathered his robes close as he ascended the few short steps into the Royal Cathedral. There were two primary
cathedrals in the country, and both were located in the royal capital. All other cathedrals had been burned to the ground or
put to other uses when Pozhar had turned against its god.
The Royal Cathedral was the primary, and took up most of one wing of the palace. The entirety was made of some pale,
gold-brown stone the like of which had never been found in the centuries since the fall of the Firebird. The main part of the
cathedral must have once been grand, but when the people attacked Zhar Ptitka they had destroyed much of the cathedral.
Nowadays most of the smaller chapels had been closed off or turned into storage. The hall where Priests of the Sacred
Flame once helped the people had been turned into an over large work room. It was filled with worktables, desks, shelves
and work chests. Throughout was the smell of paper and ink, paint and turpentine. Beautiful floors were stained with the
evidence of the priests' work.
But the windows, beautiful works of colored glass, had somehow escaped the neglect which had fallen across the rest of the
Cathedral. Sunlight poured through them, sending rainbows across the floor, lighting up images of glass that were no longer
understood..
Nothing else remained of the Royal Cathedral's former splendor except a door at the back of the main altar. Rather than the
instruments of ceremony, the massive altar contained shelves of books and a large desk. It was here that Dym spent a
goodly portion of his day, tending always to the search for Candidates and ensuring that his priests did not travel too far
down the path they dared to walk.
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Religion was strictly forbidden in Pozhar - they did not need it, except to finally rid themselves of it. When all the Candidates
were dead, these priests would be turned out, and the Royal Cathedral at last destroyed
But at the back of the altar, nearly out of sight - for no one felt quite comfortable looking at it - was a large, heavy door,
painted black. Across the top half was a fanciful, scrolling design made with inlaid silver and gold. Examined long enough,
the scrollwork began to take on the image of a beautiful bird with bright silver and gold plumage.
Dym stood at the steps of the altar and clapped his hands briskly three times. The priests on the floor all stopped what they
were doing and looked up.
Within the priesthood there were no ranks - there was the High Priest and the other priests. 'Priest' was used mostly to
indicate they held a very particular, unwanted office. There duties included nothing related to priesthood at all. All answered
to High Priest Dym, no matter how long they had been there.
However, behind closed doors the priests had developed a silent system of their own. The ranks were not official, or even
much talked upon, but they were there. Dym motioned his most senior Priest, an older man named Akim, and presented
him with the leather case. "The Princess has commanded we finish five hundred images by sundown two days hence, and
twice that in sketches by end of week."
"Yes, High Priest," Akim said and accepted the drawing.
Always after the ceremony, Dym drew the Candidate that had been show to him. A simple sketch at first, but over the
course of a day he had elaborated upon it. After it was finished, copies were made by the priests to be dispersed throughout
the country. Most of the men in the room would, when the images were complete, depart to disperse the images and hunt
for the Candidate.
It could take anywhere from a day to a decade to find a single Candidate. Only a priest could identify a Candidate for certain
by waking the dormant power of the Firebird within the Candidate with a lesser fire feather. Priests were the only ones
outside a precious few nobles who were allowed to use magic, and that only with express permission.
Dym watched his priests work for several minutes, then turned and approached the door in the back. Unlocking it, he
slipped inside. He closed the door behind him, blocking out all sound from the room beyond.
The Chamber of Night - one of the few rooms whose original purpose and name were still remembered. The gold and silver
scrollwork seemed to shimmer with a light its own; even the black marble did not seem to be mere stone.
As always, the room was hot without causing the discomfort associated with extreme heat. Dym walked down the middle of
the room, feet soundless on the marble floor. The room smelled of smoke and ashes, like fire on a summer evening. The
altar table was the only piece of furniture in the room, the rest of the room bare because once those few permitted to enter
the Chamber of Night all fell to their knees, faces averted, before the presence of his Eminence, Zhar Ptitka.
Dym approached the altar table and ran one hand gently across the surface, which was as smooth and bright as polished
glass. There was no trace of the ashes that had been there a day ago. Softly Dym began to speak, the word so soft they
were indistinct even in the silence of the dark chamber.
Before he got very far, there was a sharp knock at the door. Without pause, Dym withdrew his hand, ceased speaking and
smoothly turned to walk back across the room. He opened the door and stared at Akim, who took a step back - not only
from the ill-favored room but from Dym, whose green eyes had darkened with some unnamed emotion. "Word has come
that his Majesty is on his way."
"Thank you for informing me," Dym said levelly, and stepped out of the Chamber of Night. Locking it, he followed Akim into
the cathedral proper and began to dispense orders to see that all was perfect for the King's unexpected visit.
When he arrived nearly an hour later, Dym greeted him with a deep bow.
His Royal Majesty Zarya IX was clearly related to Princess Sonya. Her older brother, he showed every bit of his forty-one
years. His dark brown hair was already predominantly gray, amber eye faded though the sharpness behind them had not
dulled. Most of his bulk, for Zarya IX had often been compared to a bear in size and occasionally temper, had been ravaged
by illness. Even now he shuddered with suppressed coughs, and shoulders usually straight drooped slightly. Though he
strove to hide it, the strange illness he'd contracted was slowly killing him. "High Priest," he greeted.
"Blessing of the Morning, Majesty," Dym said politely. "To what does our humble place owe the honor of this visit?"
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"I cam to apologize on behalf of my sister," the king said with dry amusement.
The ghost of a smile flicked briefly across Dym's pale lips. "No apology necessary, Majesty."
Zarya nodded and let the matter drop. "She tells me you believe we will find the next Candidate soon."
Dym nodded slowly. "Yes. All know the Sacred Storm Bringers returned to the world a little more than a year ago. Our time
is rapidly approaching - the Candidates will appear in unconscious of hope that one will become the Firebird."
"An empty hope," the king said with satisfaction.
"Pozhar will lead its true destiny," Dym said quietly. "Not that which is writ in stone."
"Yes," the king said, and settled a hand on Dym's shoulder, regarding the reserved High Priest intently. "Your role will not
be neglected, when all is finally finished."
"My eternal thanks, Bright King," Dym replied. He looked directly at Zarya, one of the few who would meet his gaze and hold
it. A daring few whispered, when they were safely locked away in their rooms, that the Princess Sonya was not the only
whose thoughts strayed to the improper when it came to the High Priest.
Princess Sonya was a widow, however. The King had never married, and he was male. Too old now, those few said, to
actually do anything improper - but his support of High Priest Dym was not purely because he thought the man a good
priest.
Or so the whispers went.
But those same whisperers also liked to say the High Priest, who was only thirty-six, was far too pretty for simple skill to
account for his rapid rise to the most notorious position in the country. Quiet, aloof, and reserved, those qualities only
seemed to enhance the High Priest's pale, slender beauty.
Despite the rumors, no one could come up with any possible lovers. If High Priest Dym had, in fact, slept his way to the top,
he and his lovers had been amazingly discreet even in a country where loving someone of the same gender was ill looked
upon.
Perhaps, those whisperers said with finality, he had simply used forbidden magic to bespell them.
Be the rumors true, false, or a little of both, no one would ever depose him. There was not yet another priest capable of the
performing the ceremony, and so close to the goal that had taken a thousand years to reach, no one would chance the
mistakes of a new High Priest.
"We look forward to your presence tonight, High Priest. I especially will be grateful to see the Duke flay someone else."
Dym bowed his head. "Always a pleasure to assist your Majesty," he said.
"Come by my office tomorrow, High Priest," the king continued. "You will update me on the progress with the Candidates
and tell me more of what you think. We will also discuss your fate when we are finally free."
"As it pleases your Majesty," Dym replied. "Have you an escort waiting?" The King had entered the cathedral alone, which
was not unusual. No one who did not have to ventured into it. "Shall I accompany you back to the palace proper?"
"I would like that," the King said, and permitted Dym to walk at his side as they left the cathedral.
Chapter Two
"Run! Run!" Pechal cried, but he barely got the words out from laughing so hard. He tripped over a tree root and began
laughing all the harder.
Cursing, the man beside him grabbed him by the arm and hauled him up, never stopping as he ran, leaving Pechal to curse
between laughs while he fought for footing and balance. "Stop laughing, you scorched fool, and run faster!"
"Run! Run!" Pechal repeated, and settled down to a wide grin. "Can you believe we got out unscathed?" he said between
pants as they ran, dodging branches and roots, puddles of water and mud. "Did well, didn't we, Raz?"
Raz just shook his head and kept running, the bag thumping against his back spurring him to run even faster despite the
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fact that they'd probably lost their pursuers the moment they'd hit the woods.
They didn't stop running until they passed the lightning-struck oak, and even then continued to jog for some distance. When
they finally stopped, both men were panting - and grinning.
"I told you we could do it," Pechal said. "Told you!"
"Yes," Raz said and made a face. "But I wish they'd told us about the innkeeper."
Pechal just grinned. "Put it on the tab." He raked back the tumble of dark blonde curls that had fallen in his face when his
bandana slipped. Jerking the scrap of fabric free from where it had slipped down his neck, Pechal retied it securely around
his forehead, forcing the errant curls into a tangled mess on top of his head. A spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks
only added to the impression that he was incredibly young, though his age was somewhere around twenty-three. "Owe us at
least another thousand, for not being straight with us about that." His blue eyes seemed to shine with the excitement of a
job done well.
"Two thousand," Raz said shortly. "And they'd better be grateful I don't charge'em five. Let's get going, I want this job done
before sundown."
"Sure," Pechal said agreeably. "Let's get to the mill." He set his clothes, which had been set askew by their wild run through
the woods, and grimaced as he found a tear in his shirt. His pants were loose, the ends tucked into his worn, brown leather
boots. The pants were dark brown and matched the vest he wore over an old, faded linen shirt. There was a small tear in
the right sleeve now, and sighing he rolled his sleeves up so the tear wouldn't get worse.
Raz nodded. Making sure the bag was still secure on his back, he took the lead as they walked through the forest. It was a
thick forest, easy to get lost in, but he and Pechal had made the forest their stomping ground years ago. No one knew it
better.
"So what do you think-"
"What have I told you about asking questions?" Raz interrupted. "We've been in this business long enough you should know
better. So stop asking." When Pechal nodded, Raz returned it with one of his own.
A stiff breeze blew through the forest, carrying a slight bite. Raz grimaced. "Autumn not too far off, now."
"We should probably start moving toward town," Pechal replied. "Don't want to be stuck here when the snow falls. Bad for
business."
"Bad for living," Raz muttered. "There's the mill, let's get this over with." Without waiting for a reply, he began to jog out of
the forest and into a clearing roughly two miles wide and three long. A stream cut through it, and once that water had been
put to use at the mill built in the middle of the small valley. It had fallen into disuse years ago. Rumors in the nearby village -
the one from which they'd just relieved the innkeeper of a particular possession - said that thirty years ago the miller's son
had been taken for a Candidate. Days after his son was taken away, visitors to the mill found him gone, the house emptied
of all effects.
Raz and Pechal had long ago realized it made the perfect meeting place. Any who wanted to engage their services knew to
leave word at the old mill. The ones they trusted, like Ivan's gang, were permitted to actually meet them there.
Dangerous to have a regular meeting spot, but they were good at what they did and traveled too much for anyone to easily
find them otherwise.
Raz slowed down a bit when they were halfway to the mill, combing through his thick, poorly-cut brown hair to try and settle
it, pulling out leaves and a small twig. Beneath the mess, his eyes were the color of smoke. Like Pechal, his skin was
darkened by the sun. But where Pechal was small, short and light - and very fast - Raz was tall and built strong but not
bulky. He was dressed much the same as his comrade, but without the vest and all in dark blue rather than brown, the
pants more snug.
"Welcome back," Ivan said, not bothering to stand from where he sat on a chunk of what had once been part of the mill.
"Didn't expect to see you until after dark." Around him were gathered several men, some more threatening looking than
others. Raz let his gaze linger briefly on one he didn't recognize, surprised that Ivan had taken on someone knew. The tall
man stood behind Ivan but slightly apart from the rest of the group, remarkable only because his features were hidden by a
deep hood. Raz flicked his eyes to Pechal, then to the hooded figure, back to Pechal, who nodded in understanding.
Raz smirked. "What do we look like, amateurs? Don't be insulting - I haven't handed over the goods quite yet." He slipped
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the bag from his back and held it lightly by the straps. "And I won't, not until we discuss an extra two thousand. You didn't
tell us the innkeeper had weapons he knew how to use. Sloppy research or you lied to us."
Ivan lifted a brow. "That old fool can fight? What did he use, a rusty knife?"
"Crossbow," Pechal said. "And a sword. Fought like a soldier." Though he looked relaxed, as if he had not a care in the
world, his blue eyes were hard as he regarded Ivan. "You're not that lazy, Ivan. Why didn't you tell us?"
Ivan shrugged. "Didn't know. Anyway, you seem to have come out unscathed so what are you whining about?"
"Two thousand, Ivan," Raz said. "You know it."
"How do I know you're not making it all up?" Ivan said, folding his arms across his chest, looking somewhat bored. "I think
your price goes up every time I stop by."
Raz rolled his eyes. "That's because your jobs get harder every time we find your ugly mug here." Strictly speaking, Ivan
wasn't ugly. The fact that he was rather good looking, in a dark, 'I'm thinking evil things' kind of way actually went a long
way toward helping his business - something into which Raz never inquired too closely. Ignorance kept everyone happy,
and happy meant people stayed alive. "Two thousand or I'll be more than happy to return this."
"Fine," Ivan said. "Always a pleasure to work with you, Razrusheniye." Dark eyes gleamed with amusement as they watched
Raz.
"Indeed." Raz refused to react to the sound of his full name, which he hated. He would not give Ivan the satisfaction.
Ivan smirked and motioned lazily to one of his men, who tossed two bags in rapid succession at Raz - who caught them
easily, and weighed them in his hand while smirking at Ivan.
"Going to count it?" Ivan asked, teeth bared in a challenging smile.
Raz bowed his head. "Of course not. Aren't we better friends than that?" He tossed the bag he'd been holding. "Until next
time, Ivan."
"Yes. Now call out your strange little pretties." His eyes gleamed with appreciation. "Wherever did you find such specimens?
"
"Call them that where they can hear, Ivan, and I'm not responsible if they gut you like a fish."
Ivan shrugged, eyes on the two women who appeared at a motion from Raz. "I think I would enjoy even that at their hands."
Raz laughed and caught the nearer of the two women who joined them in the clearing, having dropped from the trees in
which they'd been hiding, and gave her a peck on the cheek.
The women were beautiful, exotic looking. Shinju was the one in his arms, and her hair was a pale, pale green, the color
only visible because her skin was so strangely white. Her eyes were a shade of green he'd never seen before, set in a face
as delicate and pretty as porcelain. Her hair was short, stopping just past her chin, a strange thing in a woman. Her ears
were decorated with small white pearls and she wore a necklace of seashells.
Her sister, or so they'd always claimed their relationship to be, and Raz could find no reason to believe otherwise, was Shio.
Her hair was pale lavender, kept back in a tight braid, woven through with bits of shell and black pearls. Where Shinju was
tall and slender, Shio was shorter and full-figured. More black pearls and dark shell were made into a necklace and
bracelet.
Between the two of them, the sisters wore a rather tidy fortune's worth of pearls. Their hair and obvious love of the sea
marked them as Kundouin, but Raz knew better than to ask what two Stormlanders were doing in Pozhar.
They'd met the sisters on a rare visit to the harbor, a place their 'profession' seldom took them. But a merchant had paid
handsomely to have something retrieved from a certain ship and so they'd agreed.
Unfortunately, the merchant had left out pertinent details and the situation had deteriorated. Raz and Pechal had found
themselves in something of a quandary - and suddenly saved by two gorgeous women.
Who had, themselves, recently had their own problems. Strange, beautiful women often found themselves in places they
didn't want to be if they had nowhere in particular to go. Raz and Pechal had helped ensure no one tried such a thing again.
Everyone in the harbor and surrounding area now knew the two women were off limits.
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The four had been a team ever since.
Raz let go of Shinju to give Shio a peck. "No trouble then, my beauties?"
"None, Raz." Shio smiled. "Sounds like some found you, though."
"Nothing we couldn't handle, and I'm certain you would have come to my rescue had it turned into a real problem. Shall we
leave this wretched lot and go find food?"
"Not so fast," Ivan said. "Notice my new member?" He pointed a thumb at a man behind him.
Raz lifted a brow but obediently took a look at the man. "Is that supposed to be remarkable?"
Ivan grunted. "Only because he isn't actually one of mine. We just helped - for a price of course."
"Of course," Raz murmured, barely hearing as the man in question shoved back the hood that had been obscuring his
features. "Highlander. What a party we've got going here."
The man was hard looking, as though he'd been carved from stone and whoever had done the carving had no patience for
soft and pretty things. Pale brown eyes regarded Raz levelly, calmly, framed by hair that looked too fine and soft to actually
be part of those hard features. It was also a pale, pale, gold, pulled loosely back, a few strands slipping to caress and
soften the hard lines of his cheekbones. And if the pale features were not enough of a giveaway, the finely-pointed ears
were a clear sign of his origins. There was no mistaking a Highlander.
"What are you doing so far from home?"
"Looking for something," the Highlander said briefly. He was nearly as tall as Raz, but slightly more bulky. "I have located it,
I believe, but have not the skills for retrieving it. Your team comes highly recommended."
"As it should," Raz said with a grin. "Come on, I'm hungry and don't fancy making do in the forest tonight. We'll go on to the
next town over - it's about two hours from here. I get the feeling whatever you're going to ask will require a pint or two."
The Highlander's lips twitched. "Perhaps."
"We'll leave you gentlemen to it." Ivan murmured. "A pleasure as always, Raz. Pechal." He clasped wrists briefly with both,
then turned to the women. "Ladies, if you ever tire of these fools…" He grinned. "You are always welcome in my band."
"Of course," Shinju said, and gave a toothy grin. For a moment it almost looked as though her teeth were pointed. "We'll
keep you in mind."
"Do that," Ivan said, still grinning. He motioned to his men. "Let's move!" He turned briefly to the Highlander. "It was a
pleasure, Ailill." He spoke without mockery, and regarded the Highlander with genuine appreciation. "Always, you are
welcome."
"Thank you for the assistance," Ailill said with a nod. "Someday I hope to return the favor."
"You already have." Ivan waved the words away, hesitated, then moved on, urging his men to move faster with sharp,
barking commands. In minutes the mercenary band disappeared into the forest, leaving no sign they'd ever been there.
"Ailill?" Raz asked.
"Yes," Ailill said.
Raz nodded. "I'm Raz, that's Pechal, the girls are Shinju and Shio."
"How come Stormlanders to be so far inland on Pozhar?" Ailill asked, looking genuinely curious. "I did not think anyone from
Kundou wandered further from the water than absolutely necessary."
Shio laughed, the sound of it pretty, alluring. Her eyes, dark violet, flared bright. "We are…doing something for our father, I
suppose you could say. How comes a Highlander to be in Pozhar?"
Ailill gave a genuine grin. "Doing something for my mother, I suppose you could say."
Raz snorted. "What a scorching riot, this lot. Let's go get food and that pint or two. He abruptly turned and began to walk
away from the mill, back toward the forest, opposite the direction in which Ivan had gone. Shio fell into step on his right, and
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he could hear Shinju's soft steps behind him. On his left, Pechal appeared, though his eyes were solely for the Highlander.
"So is it true Highlanders can turn into animals?" Pechal asked.
"Pechal!" Raz snapped. "What have I told you about being rude to customers?"
"Wait until they've paid?" Pechal returned tartly, making Shio and Shinju laugh. He turned back to Ailill, eyes wide with
curiosity.
Ailill laughed. "Yes, quite true. But Pozhar does not like magic, yes? I have suppressed mine, which is part of the reason I
need help in retrieving what I have finally located." He grimaced. "I have heard many rumors of what happens to those who
possess magic, and I am not eager to discover which are true."
Raz shrugged. "Foreigners just get kicked out, maybe get a little shaken up first. It's only natives that have anything to worry
about." He and Pechal both fell into a somber silence. Magic had been forbidden in Pozhar for so long, no one could
remember a time when it was allowed.
All knew the stories; impossible not to when stories of the Candidates were always on the tip of tongue - especially the one
that had died only days ago.
Those who were somehow in possession of magical ability had it Burned out of them - Raz had never witnessed it being
done, but stories of the pain inflicted by a fire feather were nearly as common as stories of Candidates.
According to the rumors, those born with magic were becoming more prevalent. It was an easy thing to spot, as magic of
any sort made Pozharians sick - they had lived so long without it, their bodies no longer knew how to cope with it. Raz's
eyes flicked to Ailill, who had said he'd suppressed hi magic.
Raz knew nothing about magic, but he rather suspected that suppressing it took a great deal of skill. Perhaps he'd been too
hasty to take on this assignment - though, technically, he'd only agreed to listen so far. "All right, you've got me curious.
What's a magic-user doing risking himself in Pozhar? Must be quite the prize if your precious mother sent you all the way
over here."
"It's a comb, actually," Ailill said.
Raz stopped, and his team immediately stopped with him. "A comb?" he repeated.
"Yes," Ailill said. "Made from silver, set with esmeralda and rubis. Quite old, and something of a family heirloom. It was
stolen, traded about. I am attempting to get it back. Fair means have failed, so I am going with foul."
"Silver," Pechal said, rolling his eyes. "Silver he says."
Raz grinned. "Typical Highlander."
Ailill lifted one fine, pale brow. "That's what it is." But his lips twitched. "And I am willing to pay, quite generously, in the
same."
"Then, my fine new friend, consider your heirloom as good as reclaimed. How much silver are we talking?" Raz grinned, and
Ailill returned it. They fell into debating money and the job, details and risks and time.
Around them the forest was growing dark as afternoon turned to evening. Dusk fell as they left the forest, hitting at last a
road that clearly saw frequent use, curing along the edge of the rest, running right along side it where Raz and the others
came out of it. Keeping to the side of the road, they reached town just as it grew too dark for traveling.
"Here we are," Raz said with a happy sigh. "Good food at good prices." The group stopped in front of a large inn and
tavern. It was two stories high, and one of the largest buildings in town. In daylight, the wood would be grayed with age but
clearly well-maintained. In a country where the snow could bury houses, the people knew how to build them strong. A sign
above the door was just visible by way of a lantern hung about it - The Roasted Goose.
Raz led the way inside and found a table large enough for them near the center of the dining room. The inside was just as
neat and tidy as the outside, furniture old but sturdy. A small fire kept out the chill that had fallen with evening, and the
unpleasant smell of lots of people was mostly drowned out by the smell of ale and hot food. "Ale," Raz told the barmaid as
she came up. "Except the ladies"
The barmaid spared a glance for the 'ladies,' immediately decided they weren't, and ignored them. "What else can I get for
you?" she asked.
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Pechal grinned. "Food would be good."
Raz nodded absently. "Stew. Bread. Anything good from the stream?"
The barmaid nodded. "Caught fresh this morning."
"Bring that for the ladies, then," Raz said, winking at the sisters. He smiled at the barmaid. "Plain, mind you. Nothing on it."
"I know what plain means," the barmaid said with a brief smile. She looked again the too-pretty girls, but bit back the
questions she obviously wanted to ask. "Anything else?"
"Anything sweet?" Pechal asked wistfully.
The barmaid grinned. "Sure. Molasses pie and I think there might be some sugarbread left."
"The pie," Pechal said happily.
"Sure," the barmaid said. "Back with those drinks in a moment." She smiled, then left to attend to other patrons.
The group spoke idly of the day and weather while they waited. Raz smiled at the barmaid when she returned several
minutes later with their drinks. "Thanks."
"Pleasure," the woman said with a smile. But she didn't linger to chat as she might have normally, instead taking the
remaining tankards from her tray and depositing them on a table in the corner. Raz followed her movements, more out of
boredom than interest, and watched as she spoke to the couple at the table.
He frowned as he took a closer look. The couple was crying - or the woman was. Obviously the man had been crying, but
at least for the moment had stopped. They looked miserable, not even able to summon a wan smile as the barmaid
attempted to cheer them. She patted the woman's hand before walking away. Raz caught her eye and looked at her in
question. Raising a brow at his curiosity, the barmaid nevertheless nodded behind him. Raz turned and looked at what she'd
indicated - the fireplace. More accurately, the fire.
Comprehension flooded Raz and he winced.
"What's up, Raz?" Pechal asked, noticing his silence and the expression on his face.
Raz pointed his head toward the couple. "I think their son or daughter was the most recent Candidate. From the looks of
it…"
"They're leaving," Pechal said grimly. It was how the Candidate stories always ended - with someone dead and their family
leaving the country.
It was necessary. All of Pozhar knew the prophecy. If they didn't kill the pieces of Zhar Ptitka, the Firebird would eventually
return and destroy them. There was no choice. But it didn't mean that people were happy to lose their children, their
husbands, wives, friends, knowing that they were fated to be burned to death, reduced to nothing but ashes. That by some
unfortunate twist of fate, their loved ones had to die.
In Raz's lifetime, this was the second candidate to die - the first had died when he was still a small child, scrounging for a
living with other homeless children. He looked at the couple, the woman crying quietly while her husband looked on, his own
face filled with anguish. Word had spread days ago that the Candidate had been found; meaning she'd probably been
burned only within the past couple of days.
Which meant that there would be new pictures passed out soon of the latest Candidate. Priests, dressed in robes the color
of blood pouring from a deep wound, would begin to show up everywhere with detailed paintings, searching and asking.
They would leave sketches hanging up everywhere, and people would live in nervous, guilty fear until the Candidate was
found and dealt with - unless that Candidate turned out to be a husband, a wife, a son, a daughter or a lover, in which case
the loved ones fought.
They always fought. They always lost.
But rumors abounded that there were only a precious few Candidates left. Then there would be no more murders. Pozhar
would be safe.
Raz looked at the couple, who would take no comfort in such empty words. Had they lost a son? A daughter? How young
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or old? He wished he knew what to say to them, ached with the need to tell them something. But there were no words,
other than the flat, hollow comfort of knowing the loss had helped to save the country.
Once, he thought, there would have words. Prayers they were called. Pozhar did not believe in such things. Pozhar had no
need of religion. Worshipping Zhar Ptitka had brought only trouble. Even know the fallen Firebird lurked at the edges,
waiting his chance to exact revenge against the people who had dared to put down their proud, arrogant god. He had
deserved to die, as had all the gods across the world.
Prophecy was Pozhar's only religion, and it made clear that the religious path promised only their death.
Anyone caught practicing any form of religion met with severe punishment - fines, imprisonment, even death. Prayers,
chants, all of these were forbidden.
Raz wished he knew them anyway, watching the sad couple in the corner. He was a thief, an excellent one. He made a
living taking things away from people. But he'd never carried a weapon, and had never hurt anyone. Objects, after all, could
be replaced.
A person couldn't.
"Raz!"
Raz jumped. "What?" He blinked at Pechal and the others, who looked torn between amusement and frustration. "What?"
he repeated.
"Stop going all mopey. Let it go. Nothing we can do." Pechal, always so playful and cheerful, looked at him solemnly. "Let it
go."
"Whatever," Raz said. "I don't care. So we have to obtain this comb from a place in the royal capital. Obviously a night job,
and it'll take a lot of work. We're looking at weeks here, not days." He looked Ailill. "You staying with us? It's going to be
boring - the capital isn't a place we work often. Too much risk involved; profit isn't worth it. We'll have to learn the territory,
all of that. It's incredibly boring work, really. If you prefer, we can meet you somewhere when we're done."
"I'll stay with you," Ailill said, his lips curving up in thoughtful amusement. "I am curious to see how it goes, and perhaps I
can help if things get too difficult. If we obtain the comb, then the worst they can do is kick me out of your country."
Pechal grinned. "That would be fun. So what sort of animal do you turn into?"
"Eat your food," Raz said sharply. "Stop being rude."
"Fine, fine," Pechal said, disappointed when Ailill did not give an answer. He made a face as Shio and Shinju laughed at
him.
Raz tore into his bread, dunking it in the hearty mutton stew set in front of him, and attempted to focus on the mission in
front of him. But as appealing as the thought of a real challenge - and one that paid in Highland silver - was, it did keep him
from hearing the occasional sob, and feeling like there was something he should say.
Chapter Three
"No," Raz said, and grabbed Ailill's wrist. "Don't interfere."
Ailill frowned. "You would leave two women to fend for themselves?" He glowered across the pavilion to where Shio and
Shinju were being hassled by a group of men who looked as though they probably had wanted posters up somewhere.
Raz laughed. "Two women? No. Shio and Shinju are different. I don't know how, but I know. I would never scorch myself by
daring to come to their rescue. Even when we did help them, it was more just reaffirming what they'd already established."
He shook his head. "Don't ever piss them off."
"So I see," Ailill said softly as he watched the spectacle that unfolded before his eyes.
Five men had wound up hassling the two sisters. It what seemed a matter of seconds, all but one was on the ground,
contorted with pain. Silver flashed as daggers once more vanished into hidden folds in the sisters' clothing. Both wore
pants, their shirts rolled up to bare their arms. Strange ensemble for women, but Raz had never been able to imagine them
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in dresses.
Raz grinned and pecked their cheeks as they sat down with a paper wrapped fish each. Around them, the pavilion returned
to a bustle of noise and chatter - complete silence had fallen when two women trounced five men.
For a moment it looked as though the men wanted to push their luck. Raz glared at the only one they'd left standing, though
not unscathed - his arm was bleeding badly enough it would have to be bandaged.
In any other part of the city, the women would find themselves under arrest, but at the edge of the capital life was more
lenient and a great deal went unseen.
Ailill nodded at the women, surprise evident on his face. "Where, if you'll pardon my asking, did two such beauties learn to
fight like that? I account myself a fine combatant, but I feel you would probably teach me a thing or two."
Raz threw his head back and laughed.
Shio shrugged, looking bored. "Sharks do not differ much from place to place."
"They're all dumb, ugly and taste terrible," Shinju agreed, lip curling in disgust.
"Sharks?" Raz asked. "What are those?"
Shinju looked at him a moment and then laughed. "Land-locked," she said, shaking her head. "Um…think of a very big fish.
They get about as large as small rowboats, some of them. Lots of teeth, love to eat basically anything they can get their
mouths around."
Raz grinned. "Good description. Of course," his face fell into an expression of utter seriousness and gentle reprimand, "it's
your fault for looking good enough to burn all common sense away."
Shio threw a piece of fish at him. "Quiet."
"Yes, ma'am." Raz said, and saluted. He glanced around the pavilion.
It was massive, a large open courtyard surrounded by various shops and inns, a few stray stalls selling jewelry, food and
other miscellany. Tables and benches were scattered all over the old granite tiles that laid out the pavilion, surrounding a
large marble fountain. The fountain statue was of an apple tree, beneath which slept a young boy, an overturned bucket
spilling water back into the fountain below.
All manner of people milled about the pavilion, minus the affluent. No one with money would ever show himself on the poor
side of town unless he needed something that good little rich people couldn't provide. It was late afternoon and ordinary
business was peaking. Once the sun went down, the interesting business would begin.
"What did you two do with Pechal?" Raz asked, frowning when he could not locate his friend anywhere in the crowd.
"He's a big boy," Shio said, nibbling on a bit of fish with obvious relish.
Ailill stared at them. "Are you eating raw fish?"
Shinju gave him a smile and simply kept eating.
"I think they are fish, personally," Raz said absently, still searching the crowd for his friend. "Did you guys lose him on
purpose?"
"No," Shio said. "He saw something and wanted to go check it out. Said he'd meet us back here. I'm sure he'll come back
mostly free of harm." She rolled her eyes. "And probably starving."
Raz laughed. "Very true. All right, we'll start reviewing without him. Stop mutilating the poor fish and tell me what you've
got."
Shinju glared at him and took another bite, chewing it slowly. "Tricky," she said at last. "The house in right in the middle of
all the townhouses, that silly little circle where they can all stare at each other. Blue, three stories, very little room between it
and the other houses. Probably have to go in from the back."
"Very busy area, and always people snooping into one another's windows. Have to be very late, on toward early morning.
It's quite annoying all these city people keep our hours." She grumbled quietly and ate more fish, somehow managing to
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pick out ever bit of bone. "Did you learn anything useful?"
Raz shrugged and listed all that Ailill had already told them, but supplemented it with what he'd gleaned. "The Earl Zholty is
the Chief of Magic. He's in charge of keeping track of all magic within the country, as well any magic that tries to enter - and
how to cope with magic when we go abroad. Or at least when royals and nobles go abroad. He's generally regarded as a
good man, but more than a few on the pavilion say he has a taste for objects a man in his possession should not be
interested in." 'On the Pavilion' was slang for the criminal and questionable elements. "Items contaminated with magic, if not
magical outright. No one knows why." Raz flicked his smoke-gray eyes to Ailill. "Is this comb magic?"
"No," Ailill said. "It is valuable monetarily, certainly. But the value to my mother is primarily sentimental. Any magic
associated with it is residual. It truly is nothing more than a pretty, quite expensive trinket for my mother's hair."
"All I have to say is that it better be one scorcher of a mother," Raz said, grinning. He was interrupted from saying more by
the sudden appearance of Pechal, who sat down in a flurry of activity, seeming to do a million things when all he really did
was sit and begin to eat. "Hey, all. Have any fun?"
Raz laughed. "Always. What have you got for us?"
Pechal grinned.
"Oh, no," Raz said, and opposite Pechal the sisters groaned.
Ailill looked at them. "What is wrong?"
"He only looks like that when he's about to give us bad news. The Very Bad kind." He glared at Pechal. "Tell."
Pechal gobbled up his meat pie instead, and licked his fingers before finally speaking. "Got into some servant gossip at the
market. Word on the nice side of town," Pechal was cute enough, and good enough, that he often got away with hanging
around places the rest of them would never get away with. "Is that the Earl Zholty is planning to make a bid for the
Princess."
"Aren't they both a bit old for those games?" Raz asked, frowning in thought. "The Princess is a widow…Zholty never
married. I hear she's quite scorching, but…"
Ailill chuckled. "Do I know more of your politics than you, Raz? I have heard much about how sick your King is - they say
the Princess might be a Queen before too long."
Raz grunted. "Politics bore me. But I guess they just became relevant - what's up, Pechal?"
"Like I said, the Earl wants the Princess. Servants say he just spent a tidy sum on a handful of exotic gifts for her -
apparently the Princess loves foreign things. Among those was a comb made from Highland silver." He smirked and began
to dig into his second meat pie.
"Fire and ash!" Raz swore. "That means we have precious little time to relieve him of it. Not even I will attempt to steal from
the royal palace. Fire and ash!" He glared at his own food, black bread and sausage, and could not summon the interest to
finish it. "I guess this means we're pulling a long night. Do you know long we have, Pechal?"
Pechal shrugged. He hastily finished eating. "No idea, but probably soon. I mean you don't buy presents and then let them
sit around for months on end.
"All right - everyone finish up, then its back on the streets. If we're going to do this, it'll have to be within the next few days
unless we get information that tells us otherwise. Pechal, way to ruin the fun."
Rolling his eyes, Pechal got up and wandered across to a vendor and bough two more meat pies. "I'm going back down to
the south side, then. When do we meet? And where?"
"Midnight," Raz said after a moment of thought. "We've got rooms at the Dancing Snake for the rest of the week, so meet
up there. If you need me before that, I'll stick close to the pavilion. I'm still trying to see if there's a simpler way to get into his
house. Stay alert. If things are this complicated already, then more is bound to go wrong. Shio, Shinju - try to avoid beating
anyone else up." He winked at them, and received twin snorts of contempt in reply.
Shio and Shinju vanished without further comment.
"So what other ways are there to break into a house?" Ailill asked.
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Raz grinned and cleaned off their table before motioning for Ailill to follow him from the pavilion "Hopefully there's a servant
we can bribe to leave a door open, or to tell us where we can find the comb - though that will fall to Pechal. But we may
learn which servants to approach, or at least which ones to avoid. Maybe other people with a grudge that might be able to
help us." Raz shrugged. "You never know what will turn up, good or bad - though most often it's bad."
Ailill nodded, and brushed back the loose strands of hair that fell forward into his face.. "I am curious to see how it all goes."
Raz slid him a thoughtful look. "You're a curious one." He slowed to a halt. "Your speech, movements - obviously you
belong with the Earls and Dukes and Princesses, not on this side of town plotting to steal from them."
"Oh?" Ailill asked. "Maybe I prefer this side of town." His eyes strayed toward the south side of the city, where even at a
distance the wealth of the large houses was apparent.
Towering over everything was the palace itself, brilliant white, leading up to colorful, twisting spires and domes - the Royal
Palace was centuries old but showed very little of that age. Many whispered magic held it together, and that it would be the
first thing Zhar Ptitka destroyed should he come back to life.
"I think maybe if I asked a lot questions, I'd get some rather interesting answers," Raz replied. His grin flashed. "Assuming,
of course, that you answered them."
"Assumption is a dangerous thing," Ailill said casually.
"Quite," Raz agreed. He slowed down as the street they were on spilled into a massive courtyard. It was nearly the size of
the pavilion and laid with white marble tiles, each cut into a hexagon and meticulously laid together. Though old, the tiles did
not show as much wear as they should. Like the palace, the Old Cathedral seemed timeless.
"What is this?" Ailill asked. "It's beautiful."
Raz looked askance at him. "Don't say that too loud," he said quietly, tilting his head back to gaze up at the twisting spires
and domes of the Old Cathedral. "It's called the Old Cathedral now. No one remembers what it was really called. The only
reason it's still standing is that no one quite has the nerve to destroy it." He shrugged. "My theory anyway. Plus, it would
make a huge mess."
"No doubt…" Ailill agreed. "So strange, really, that the gods are so feared." He shook his head. "Everywhere, the people
fear their gods."
"Oh? What have the mighty Highlands to fear?"
"With us, it is more despair…" Ailill sighed. "But I will not bore you. What purpose does this cathedral serve now?"
Raz shrugged. "A reminder, mostly. The priests work here, drawing and using it as a base for their searches."
"For Candidates, yes?"
"Yes," Raz said. He began to cross the courtyard, to a small side street on the far side. "Come, we're wasting time. I want to
track down who is selling all these things to the good Earl. Perhaps we can find a way inside, or at least learn something
useful, by way of the merchants in question. Worth a try, anyway." He spared Ailill a glance. "If we do turn up lucky, try to
stand around looking menacing, or at least condescending. It might help things along if they think they've incurred the wrath
of an evil, transforming Highlander."
Ailill's lips twitched. "Duly noted."
Raz passed through the courtyard and onto the street beyond with his gaze only for the area in front of him, mind wholly on
the job. But almost reflexively, not quite realizing what he was doing, he turned to look over his shoulder, smoke-gray eyes
tracing the lines of the colorful domes, the white marble that had not aged more than a few days.
As they turned a corner, he brought his head back around and began to talk, plotting how they would go about things, and
forgot all about the cathedral.
"Raaaaaz," Shio complained. "It's time for bed. Not talk. Bed." She gave him a look that generally ended with men bleeding
profusely on the floor.
"Talk," Raz said firmly, though he looked as though that was the last thing he wanted to do. "At the very least, give me the
bare bones. I don't want us all sleeping and forgetting all those pesky little details that keep us from getting locked up." He
looked sleepily around the room. "Where the devil is Pechal? Only he would be late to a meeting that's going to end in us
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going to bed." Raz glared out the window.
Shinju glared with him. "Shall I go out and look for him?"
"Only if you bring him back alive and not bleeding."
"Never mind." Folding her arms across her chest, Shinju slid down further in her seat.
Shio looked more thoughtful. "What about bruises?"
"That's fine," Raz said. "He's going to get a few from me anyway if I wind up having to go find him." He massaged his
forehead. "Fire and ash, we do not need this right now. When is that man going to learn that time matters just as much
outside a job as in one?" He loved Pechal, really he did. They'd grown up on the streets together, gotten into thievery
together, everything. He would do anything for Pechal.
But if the bastard did not get his ass through that door in five more minutes, he was going to find him, wring his neck, and
let Shio and Shinju have at.
Not least of all because as amused as Ailill looked, it did not look good that one of the men he'd employed seemed to be so
unreliable. There was no way Raz could convincingly explain that as flighty as Pechal could seem, when they actually went
to work no one was more focused or efficient. He just couldn't manage it otherwise.
Raz sighed and stood up. "You guys just rest. We'll talk in the morning. I'm going to go find-" he stopped as the door
opened. "Fire and ash, where have you been!" he demanded, grabbing Pechal and shaking him hard.
"Sorry," Pechal said quietly, seeming not to notice that Raz had all but knocked his teeth out.
"Pechal?" Raz asked with a frown. He let go of his friend and reached out to feel his forehead, suddenly noticing how pale
and too-still Pechal was being. "What's wrong?"
"Can we go?" Pechal asked suddenly, looking up. "Just leave? Go home? Maybe, I dunno, go somewhere else?
Somewhere not here?"
"What in the world are you going on about?" Raz asked. "Knock it off and tell me what's wrong. I can't fix it if you're going to
be confusing." He ran his fingers through Pechal's hair to show he wasn't trying to sound harsh, then cupped his face in his
hands and asked more gently, "What's wrong?"
Pechal only seemed to grow more fearful. He yanked out of Raz's grasp and turned back toward the door. "N-Nothing. I've
got to go."
"What!" Raz frowned and grabbed him. "Knock it off, Pechal. What's wrong?"
"Let me go," Pechal whispered, bright eyes blue-gray with what Raz suddenly realized was real fear. "I have to go."
"No, not until you tell me-" Raz never finished, as Pechal suddenly lashed out, catching him to the jaw with a hard punch,
then kicking his legs out.
"You always drop your guard around me," he said, smiling weakly, "Idiot." Opening the door, Pechal bolted before the others
could react, the sound of his feet crashing on the stairs drawing angry shouts from the people roused by the noise.
"Scorching idiot!" Raz swore as he clambered to his feet, wincing at his throbbing jaw, and took off after him, making his
own fair share of racket as he charged down the stairs after his panicked friend. He ran out into the pavilion, along which
their inn was situated, through and out onto the streets of the city, but Pechal could have gone anywhere. Raz wasn't
familiar enough with the city to know where Pechal might go to sulk. He glowered. Well, he'd just have to figure it out.
"What's going on?" Shio asked as the rest of the group came up behind him.
"Haven't got a scorching clue," Raz said. "Something has him scared bad." He frowned, thinking. "But there's no one that
mad at either of us. He doesn't have the kind of past that waits to stab you in the back…scorching idiot!" He kicked the
corner of the building he stood beside. "He was fine this morning, and this afternoon. What in the fires has him so upset
he'd run away from me?"
Shinju gripped his arm and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "I'm sure he's just overreacting to something, Raz. He'll come back,
tell us all about it, you'll clobber him and then we'll go lift the comb from that stupid Earl. Come back and rest. If he's not
back by morning, we'll go look for him."
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"You go to bed," Raz said. "I'm not leaving him out on the streets alone." He shook his head vehemently back and forth. "No
way am I doing that. We promised." Promised they'd never live on the streets again, and that if they - they'd do it together. If
Pechal was going to be a scorching idiot, he wouldn't do it alone. "I'll be back sometime tomorrow morning. Just…make sure
everything is ready to go. If I'm not back by evening, do it all without us. Keep the money." His eyes flicked to Ailill,
surprised that the man had followed them out onto the street. "Sorry about this. I promise we're worth the money."
"I don't doubt it," Ailill said, and then hesitated.
"What?" Raz said. "Look, you don't have to go anywhere else…"
"It isn't that," Ailill said. "Not at all. I trust a team like this more than one that appears perfect. My concern was for that." He
pointed past Raz's shoulder, to a billboard next to a popular tavern. In the dark, the moonlight not offering much. Raz
wondered that Ailill had noticed anything. "I cannot be sure in this light, but…"
Raz moved closer to see what he was pointing to, and swore he could feel the color draining from his face as he realized
what he was staring at. "Fire and ash, no."
Pasted to the center of the billboard, impossible to miss in daylight, was a large piece of paper - about three hand lengths
high and two wide - of an elaborate ink sketch. A man with thick, wild curls and bright eyes, a smile that made everyone
around him want to smile back, a distinctive spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Below the portrait, in large, clear
lettering were the words:
Candidate
If seen, notify at once
Once the signs had listed precisely who should be notified, but after so many years there was no need.
"That scorching fool," Raz said hoarsely. "Why didn't he just tell me?" He shook his head and looked at Shio and Shinju.
"We have to find him, before they do. We can't let them-I don't want-"
Shio grabbed his arm, and Raz realized he was swaying. "We won't let anything happen," she said. "Come on, that idiot
would only go to so many places. Probably somewhere dark with lots of food."
On Raz's other side, Shinju snorted in agreement.
"But probably where there aren't many people?" Ailill asked. "He must be terrified of being seen, from what I understand of
things. Should we split up and look for him?"
Raz looked at him. "You'll help?"
Ailill shrugged. "You are…the closest I've had to friends in a long time, even if technically you're only being nice because I
have lots of Highland silver." He smiled. "I would like to help."
Raz held out his hand, and tightly clasped Ailill's when it was excepted. "We're not nice unless we want to be. You're a good
guy, for a Highlander." He managed a grin. "Let's split up. Shio, Shinju, take the north end. We'll go south. Meet here at
sunrise, unless you find him - if you find him, take him to our room and then one of you come find me. All right?"
Shio and Shinju simply nodded, before turning and vanishing into dark. Raz worried for them briefly, then remembered just
how capable they were. "Come on, Highlander. Let's go find that idiot and beat some sense into him."
"And what do we do when we find him?"
"Get your comb, and then get out of this country." Raz glowered. "I'm a criminal, not a hero. If the country wants me to save
it by handing over my best friend, they'll have to come up with a hell of a temptation."
Ailill smiled. "I should have no trouble securing passage."
"Excellent. Then lets go find our missing passenger."
Chapter Four
"Good afternoon, milord." Ivan said as he straddled a chair, folding his arms across the back. "Didn't think you'd be a repeat
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customer." He stroked his goatee with the back of one finger. "What can we do for you?"
"Are you familiar with the High Priest Dym?"
Ivan looked at him like he was idiot. "Oh, yes. Quite familiar. We go hunting and take tea together all the time."
The man across the room chuckled, setting a delicate yellow and green teacup down with a clink. "I have thought of a new
way to deal with you, Vanya."
"Do tell."
"Every time you say something I don't like, your pay goes down." The man's smile turned nasty. "So shut your mouth."
Ivan ignored him. "I'm not going to do the job if you're trying to cheat me out of what's due. Find someone else if that's the
way this game is going. We're not short customers, milord." Rising smoothly to his feet, like a cat uncurling from a nap, Ivan
motioned to his men and moved to the door.
"Given that I'm willing to pay triple your normal price if you keep that mouth shut, I think you'll learn a bit of patience - and
silence."
Ivan paused. "Money isn't everything."
"But it's a lot."
"Yes." Ivan narrowed his steel blue eyes. "What's the job?"
Relaxing in his chair, the man sat back and sipped leisurely at his tea for several minutes. He smirked as Ivan waited,
perfectly still but clearly impatient. "They've recently posted the latest Candidate portrait."
"Have they?" Ivan asked. "If you want us to find him, too bad. We don't get tangled in games like that."
"I do want you to find him," the man said, "but I also want you to kill him."
Ivan froze, eyes widening for a split second in surprise. "Impossible. Even if it were possible, no deal. I'm a merc, there's not
much I'll refuse - but that's number one on the list. I don't mess with Candidate business, and I'm certainly not going to try
and kill one. That's priest work."
"On the contrary," the man said calmly. He clasped his hand neatly over one knee, looking as though they were discussing
a dreadfully boring bit of news. "I and an associate have decided the current High Priest is not to be trusted. He's too…well,
that is of no interest to you." A patronizing smile. "Suffice to say that we do not trust him to simply kill the Candidates - we
feel he is quite nicely arranging everything to put himself in power. We plan to prevent that. The first step is gaining control
of the Candidates. That's where you come in."
"No," Ivan said. "Candidates are first on the list, politics is number two. A pleasure as always, milord." He motioned to his
men.
"If you leave, Vanya," the man said quietly, but with an edge, "you will regret it."
Ivan stilled and slowly turned around. "Do not threaten me."
The man ignored him and held out his hand. Resting in his palm was a small, orange feather, the tips fading to gold. "Do
you know what this is?"
"A fire feather?"
"A lesser fire feather," the man corrected. "Each Candidate's death results in one greater fire feather and enough ashes to
create a hundred lesser fire feathers. We use them for a variety of purposes - mostly for Burning out magic in those who
should not have it."
Ivan said nothing, but his hand moved to the sword at his waist as the man stood up and slowly moved toward him.
"But we can also use them to cast spells, to break spells, all manner of things."
"Magic," Ivan said, sneering. "How like a noble to forbid something and then make full use of it."
The man ignored him. "I will give you one last chance, Vanya. Agree to find and kill the Candidate for me." He held out a
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rolled-up scroll, bound with ribbon. "A portrait. It shouldn't take you long - everyone will be watching for him, to get it over
with as quickly as possible."
"No," Ivan said, fingers flicking at his side, ordering his men to their places. His steel blue eyes never left the man before
him. "We're not your lapdogs."
Smirking, the man held out the feather and spoke one word. "Umeraite." The fire feather flared, burned, vanished.
Ivan screamed and fell to his knees.
"Don't touch me!" the man snapped as Ivan's men moved toward him with weapons drawn. "Call your dogs off or I'll kill
every last one."
"Back off," Ivan said between gasps of pain. "Stand down."
"Ivan," one of his men said in a rumbling voice. "Are you alright?"
"No, I'm not." Feeling weak, not quite trusting his feet, Ivan nevertheless forced himself to stand. He glared at the man.
"What did you do to me?"
The man laughed coldly and returned to his seat. "In the old days of magic, it would have been called a curse. Do you know
what a curse is?"
"No," Ivan snapped. "Of course I don't. Not all laws need to be broken."
"A mercenary pretending to have morals, how very quaint." The man laughed again. "A curse, my noble Vanya, is a magic
spell that causes harm. Not simply fire magic or some such. No, curses are meant to hurt. Most of them were, in fact,
forbidden. Such as the one I've just cast on you." He smirked. "It's called a death curse. One of the more entertaining ones."
"Death curse?" Ivan repeated, still holding a hand to his chest, which felt like it was being ripped apart, raked open by claws
made of fire.
"Yes," the man said slowly. "You have one month to live, Vanya. If you do not kill the Candidate and send me proof the
deed is done, that curse will kill you. Painfully. Succeed and I will lift it, and you will be alive, healthy, and free to take your
money."
"Bastard," Ivan hissed. "You'll pay for this."
"Yes, I'm sure." He held out the scroll. "Get to work."
With a trembling hand, body still racked with pain, Ivan accepted the scroll. He motioned to his men, and actually had the
door open before he was once more stopped.
"Oh, yes. One more thing you should know."
Ivan rolled his eyes and did not turn around, merely waited.
"You are the second band I've hired for this task. The other was more cooperative, and they've a three day lead on you. If
they beat you to it, I see no reason to lift the curse."
Forcing himself not to slam the door, Ivan lead his men through the winding halls of the inn and down to the street below.
Outside, he slid into an alley and collapsed with his back to the wall. He took a deep breath, one hand to his chest in
unconscious hope it would slow the too-fast beating of his heart. "Scorching bastard," he hissed.
"Boss…" the rumbling voice spoke again.
Ivan looked up and attempted to smile. Six faces watched him anxiously, and the ox-sized Maksim, so steady in a fight,
looked ready to panic. "I'll be all right…for a month anyway. So long as it doesn't always hurt this scorching much. Fire and
ash!" He banged his head against the wall, riding out a sudden wave of pain. "No wonder the ancestors wanted magic
gone. Help me up." A slender hand reached out, rough with a bowman's calluses, and Luka helped Ivan to his feet.
"What are we going to do, boss?" A man nearly as large as Maksim, but much shorter, frowned in worry. His lips were
over-large, giving even his most serious expressions a somewhat comical air. Beside him was a man as small as Maksim
was large - Gleb had a talent for sneaking into places most men couldn't go.
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Ivan grunted. "Good question." He looked to the last three men in his group. Isidor, his primary swordsman, and also gifted
with horses. Karp was also handy with a sword, but his real talent was in finances. Ferapont could find his way home if you
blinded him and left him in a desert across the ocean. "Let's get back to our rooms."
"Are we going to kill the Candidate?" Isidor asked, leading the way from the alley and ensuring the streets were clear of
possible threat - not that there was much that could challenge them for threatening.
"Fire and ash, no." Ivan forced himself to walk steady, hand sliding away from his chest thought it still throbbed and ached.
"The scorching bastard will just have to hope that other band comes through for him."
Maksim frowned. "Boss…"
"I'm not going to die. Scorch them all, I won't be dying from magic. Fire and ash, no." He shook his head vigorously back
and forth - but stopped when it made him dizzy, one hand moving reflexively to catch the man nearest him before he
recovered himself. He let go of Gleb and righted himself, glaring away attempts to assist. "We're going to figure out how to
get rid of it ourselves."
"How?" Ferapont asked. "It's not like anyone but another noble would know what to do. Correct me if I'm wrong, but if a
bunch of mercs go knocking on doors in the south end, we'll all wind up dead - and from good, plain steel or rope."
Ivan made a face. "We'll start figuring it out tomorrow. Right now all I want is a bed, maybe some ale. Fire and ash, how did
we get into this one?"
"I told you we shouldn't have taken another job from that scorching earl," Luka said, voice calm but with a note of reprimand.
"It was worth investigating," Ivan said firmly. "Wasn't really expecting to be cursed. So now we know to just ignore him next
time."
Around him, all six men rolled their eyes.
Isidor looked at him from the corner of his eye. "I wonder if there's a curse that forces bosses not to be scorching, smart-
mouthed, idiots."
"If you find it," Ivan said. "I know plenty of people you can try it out on."
Laughing, Isidor yanked open the door of the tavern they favored, though they didn't visit it often enough to be considered
regulars - not a smart thing to be in their business. The Singing Fox was packed, all of its patrons questionable in some
way. A few flicked a glance at the seven men - an unusually large group for the hour - but rapidly looked elsewhere.
Ivan dropped heavily into the nearest chair once his men had hassled away enough people to obtain a table large enough.
He let his head hit the table, groaning in pain. "As soon as this is fixed, I'm going to skin that bastard alive."
"We'll hold him down," Maksim said. He twisted in his seat to catch the attention of a barmaid and ordered a round.
Karp took the scroll Ivan still held in one fist. Sliding the black ribbon off, he slowly unrolled the scroll. "Fire and ash," he
hissed, and dropped the scroll as if it burned. It fell to the table and rolled itself up.
"What's wrong?" Ian asked.
Luka snatched the scroll up and unrolled it, then spread it out on the table so everyone could see.
"Fire and ash," Ivan said, echoing Karp. "I wonder if they know yet."
All seven men stared in silence at the flawless painting of Pechal staring up at them from the table. Ivan muttered a curse
and drained the tankard of ale set down in front of him and ordered the barmaid to fetch him a second and third.
"What are we going to do?" Gleb asked.
"Do?" Ivan snorted. "Are we supposed to do something? I don't recall those idiot thieves being our friends, or anything more
than an occasional associate."
Luka gave him a hard look. "The good Earl said he hired a second group. The only other band in the city recently is
Vladimir's bunch."
The men exchanged glances, none of them reassuring. Ivan let of a long sigh. "This means what to me?"
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"They'll kill all of them. Not just Pechal. They'll kill Raz just for fun, as well as the Kundou girls." His look grew more pointed.
"They're solid, and they put up with all your scorching crap. Like not telling them everything they need to know."
"Challenge is good for them," Ivan said with a brief grin. "They can take care of themselves," he continued, but his men
could tell he was wavering - that he'd likely already decided, but needed to be pushed. "You're not convincing me I should
waste valuable time to go help those idiots."
Isidor smirked and moved in for the kill. "They'll still have Ailill with them, and Vladimir won't leave him alive just because
he's easy on the eyes and foreign."
Ivan barely hid a wince. "Why should I care about a stupid Highlander?"
"Do you want us to list the reasons, boss?" Luka asked, and around the table the men chuckled. "Because you can admire
pretty women all you like, we know what you really look at."
"Fine. All right. Fire and ash, I think I need to get rid of all of you and get a new team." He finished off his second ale and
started on the third. "We rest. Tomorrow we go hunt down those idiots and tell them what's up. Then we go figure out how
to get rid of curses." He lifted his tankard, signaling his men, and seven tankards banged together
"Feeling any better, boss?" Luka asked, looking up from his bread and sausage breakfast as a shadow fell across the
scuffed, shaky table.
Ivan sat down hard across from him. "Not really, no. If I'm going to die soon, why do I have to feel like someone let a pissed
off cat loose in my chest in the meantime?"
Luka choked on a bit of sausage and went into a coughing fit.
"And now you're laughing at me." Ivan fought a grin. "Where is everyone?"
"Out looking," Luka said when he could talk again. "Didn't see any point in making them sit around, and you obviously
needed your sleep. Kept crying out last night, boss."
Ivan shrugged. "How long they've been searching?"
"About two hours now," Luka replied. "If Raz is anywhere in the city, we'll find him before too long. He may be on the
pavilion, though I guess someone would have found him by now if he was."
"Depends on what the job's demanding," Ivan said, and stood up. "I'm going to the pavilion. Keep the men searching. If you
see Maksim and Gleb, send them out to the harbor. Make sure Karp is checking the south end."
"Sure, boss." Luka looked at him pensively. "Take it easy, yeah?"
"Fire and ash, I'm not dead yet. I'm sure the angry cat will settle down eventually." Ivan grimaced and turned away. "Stay
out of trouble, find me around midday if you don't turn up anything by then."
"Whatever you want, boss."
"Not to be cursed," Ivan muttered as he left the inn and joined the throng on the street. Weaving his way through the crowd
of merchant, shoppers, children and visitors, gradually Ivan reached the pavilion.
So early in the morning it was largely deserted. A great many of the people who would dwell here often didn't finish working
until about the time most people were beginning to stir.
Picking a table that gave him the best possible view of the large pavilion, Ivan motioned to a girl at a nearby stall. He held
out two silver coins when she drew close. "Bring me tea and a hot meal, sweet, and I'll give you another one of these."
"Yes, sir!" The girl snatched the coins away and darted back to the stall, speaking animatedly to a man that was clearly her
father. A few minutes later she brought him a mug of tea and a bowl of porridge sweetened with a bit honey. She'd also
thrown a sausage on top.
"That's a girl," Ivan said, and handed over the promised extra coin. He ate slowly, in no hurry to go anywhere and the food
was better than he'd expected. The tea was strong but sweet - obviously the vendor believed in earning his coin.
Ivan watched the people who passed through the pavilion, ever alert for a familiar face. Strange that he hadn't seen Raz at
all; he knew the man was in town. He always kept track of who was where, and Raz's team was always handy when
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something needed to be snitched without fuss.
There was always the possibility they knew Pechal was the Candidate and had already fled - in which case Gleb and
Maksim would find them at the harbor. But Raz had probably taken the job Ailill had offered, and Candidate or no he
wouldn't leave a job unfinished. If for no other reason than they'd need the money to flee the country.
Because he just couldn't see Raz turning in Pechal. Those two were brothers in everything but blood. He skimmed the
crowd from east to west, searching for Pechal's familiar curls, Raz's quick, cat-like way of moving, the smooth forms of the
strange Kundou girls…and felt his chest tighten when he suddenly spotted the person he least - and most - wanted to see.
When Ailill glanced in his direction, Ivan caught his glance and motioned for him to come, gratified to see the smile that
broke across Ailill's face.
"Ivan," Ailill greeted, sounding pleased to see him.
"Morning," Ivan said, and bit his tongue on saying something stupid, forcing his mind to business. "Look, I've got to be brief.
Have you seen Raz and Pechal? The girls?"
The good mood vanished from Ailill's face like sunlight behind storm clouds. "Pechal ran off. We've been trying to find him.
Shio and Shinju went to check out the harbor this morning, Raz is searching the south end again." He shook his head. "Are
you asking for the reason I suspect?"
"Yeah," Ivan said grimly. "Tell them to stay alert. Nobles are playing politics with the Candidates as game pieces. Earl
Zholty has hired a merc band to get to him before the High Priest does."
"Hired you?" Ailill asked carefully.
Ivan shook his head, pretending it hadn't stung to be asked - it was a more than fair question. "I said no."
Ailill seemed to relax, and only then was it obvious he'd been tense. "You look like you were dragged through the streets,
Ivan."
"Just a long night," Ivan said. "It's nothing." He allowed himself ten seconds to think of a good excuse to stay. Unfortunately,
all his reasons were appealing but not necessarily good. Stifling a sigh, Ivan climbed to his feet. He couldn't quite suppress
a wince when his chest flared with pain, heart still beating too fast. Suddenly one month seemed far too long. "Got to go. It
was…" Ivan shook his head. Fire and ash, he was only thirty-three. Why did he feel twice that? "Take care of yourself,
Highlander."
A strong hand caught his wrist, and Ivan let Ailill stop him. He turned to look at him.
"You too," Ailill said quietly. "I…are you certain you can't stay? Speak with Raz yourself?"
Ivan shook his head. "Time is precious."
"Until we meet again," Ailill said, and slowly let go of his wrist.
The feel of his fingers lingered. Fire and ash, he was an idiot. "Goodbye." He thought for a moment that Ailill called his
name again, but didn't look back and didn't slow until he was well away from the pavilion, when the clawing, burning pain in
his chest forced him to slow.
"You need to lead a less exciting life, boss."
Ivan rolled his eyes. "Ever the witty one, Luka." He pushed off the wall he'd leaned against until his chest settled a bit. "As a
matter of fact, I was thinking about retiring in a month or so."
"Now who's being witty?" Luka asked sourly.
"I made contact with Ailill," Ivan said. "Find the others, tell them we're moving out. Any ideas where we start?"
Luka shrugged. "Not a one. Don't exactly know a whole lot of magic users, do we?"
"We'll figure something out," Ivan said, hoping he didn't sound as weary as he felt. Taking a deep breath, he pushed on
through the crowded street, striving to ignore the pain in his chest, focusing on the lingering feel of fingers wrapped firmly
around his wrist.
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Chapter Five
"I don't understand - where could he be?" Raz buried his head in his hands, more tired than he could ever remember being.
"Scorching bastard, why does he think he has to run from me?" His voice was rough, and he buried his head in his arms
before he could give more away.
"Raz…" Shio said softly, one hand soothing up and down his back. But she offered no comfort.
"That stupid bastard," Raz said, sitting up. "I'm going to kill him myself when I find him. I know he's still around here
somewhere." He glanced at Ailill, who sat quietly on his bed, drinking tea from an old, earthen mug. "I can't believe
someone tried to pay Ivan to kill him. And that someone else agreed. Fire and ash, this is becoming a huge mess."
Ailill gave him a wry look. "Should killing a god be a simple matter?"
"If I were a god, I'd insist on everything being simple. This no sleep, barely eating, worried sick arrangement is no fun at all.
Definitely not how I'd want my murder to go if I were the god in question."
"No doubt that's why you're mortal," Ailill said, laughing softly. "I'm sure we'll find him, Raz. If Pechal is staying away, no
doubt it's to protect you - or so my impression, in the short span of time I have known all of you."
Shinju nodded. "Sounds like Pechal, and we've only known him a year. Not the brightest, but he's got a good heart."
"Not the brightest," Raz repeated with a snort. "He's darker than a cellar at midnight in the middle of winter."
Ailill choked on his tea. Next to Raz, Shio looked torn between violence and laughter. "Be nice."
"No," Raz petulantly. "Pechal started it."
Shio and Shinju rolled their eyes as Ailill chuckled.
"We've looked everywhere," Raz said. "I'm out of ideas." He stared glumly at the table. "He couldn't have left the country
already."
"Doubtful," Shio said with a frown. "I mean, they'll be looking for him at the harbor more than anywhere else, right? No
where else to go, unless he wants to go all the way north and try to make it through the Jagged Mountains."
Ailill shook his head. "Even assuming he was stupid enough, he wouldn't make it. Schatten has been cut off from the world
for centuries - he tries to go through the Jagged Mountains and he'll die for sure. If death didn't bother him, he'd just turn
himself in."
"He has nowhere to go," Raz said. "He must be hiding in town somewhere. Fire and ash!" He slammed his fist down on the
table and stood up so fast his chair nearly fell over. For several minutes no one said anything. With a sigh, Raz sat back in
his chair. "All right. We've got to do the job tonight. If we put it off any longer, we're all scorched." He eyed Ailill. "I am sorry.
If you never want to do business with us again, I understand completely."
"Do not worry about it. As I said, it is this aspect that assures me I can trust you." He motioned with his hand, as if brushing
it all away. "I wish I could call off the assignment, but I have been hunting this comb for many years. It is imperative I obtain
it."
Raz shook his head. "We'd never call off an assignment, especially when a third of the money is handed over at start. All
right - Shio, Shinju, I want you two on the street. Cover my back. If things seem to go wrong, do whatever you can to cause
a distraction."
The sisters nodded.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Ailill asked.
"No," Raz said, and grinned. "This is what you're paying us for, so just sit back and let us do it." He drummed his fingers on
the table in thought. "Best to leave town after the deed is done - we'll travel separate and meet at the old mill. Something
like that comb, we don't want to be anywhere around here when he realizes it's missing - and if things go wrong, we
definitely don't want to be in town. So - if you don't see me before three bells, head for the old mill. I'll see you there." He
glanced at Ailill. "You can stay and wait for me, or head there on your own."
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"I'll wait here, and if you are not back by three bells…" Ailill shrugged and grinned. "I believe I remember the way. I do not
know how you say it in Pozhar, but in Verde we would say 'Blessing of the Faerie Queen'." He laughed and looked at the
sisters. "Come to that, I don't know how you'd say it in Kundou either."
Shio laughed. "We say 'May the Three Storms favor you."
"May the fires serve you," Raz said. "That's what we say."
Ailill's mouth curved in amusement. "As in, do not be consumed by flame?"
"Exactly," Raz said. "All right. It will be late enough to do this in about two hours - everyone rest, or go get ready however
you want. I expect you to be in place in two hours. If you're not…" Raz didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to - Shio
and Shinju would be in place.
He just wished he could say the same for Pechal. They'd each done their share of solo missions, but they preferred to work
together. A job as hard as this, he would have felt much more comfortable, even if two people were more likely to get
caught than one. "I'm going for a walk, maybe to grab a bite to eat. Ailill, I'll see you here no later than three. If I take longer
than that, move out on your own. Be ready to leave immediately."
"As you say," Ailill said.
Raz grinned. "May the fires serve us all, then." With a wave, he departed, too restless to rest as he probably should.
Outside, the anxiety he'd shoved came back in force, and he fought the urge to send his fist through the wall. "Scorching
idiot," he whispered, "where could you be?" Heaving a long, heavy sigh, Raz stepped out into the street and let his feet lead
the way, staying just alert enough to avoid having his pockets lightened.
When he finally looked up several minutes later he realized he'd wound up at the Old Cathedral. It really was a beautiful
building - so different from the ugly granite and quickly-weathered wood that were more common.
Every time he visited the royal capital, he avoided this area if he possibly could. Something about it always made him
uneasy, like he was about to get caught doing something he shouldn't. Which was rather amusing, as he only visited the
capital when he had a job to do. Maybe it was just a lingering fear of a god who hadn't been alive in years.
Too bad it wasn't the sort of place Pechal would hide - far too close to the enemy.
But the idea refused to let go now that it had taken seed. Surely it wouldn't hurt to at least look around - visitors were
allowed in the Old Cathedral. It wasn't really used as much more than a fancy boardinghouse for priests while they worked
to hunt down Candidates and magic-possessed.
Shrugging off his trepidation, Raz forced his feet to move and slowly climbed the steps up to the cathedral entrance.
The door opened soundlessly into a room that was nearly empty - a few people here and there, priests and townsfolk, a
couple of men that looked like merchants. Voices carried but not the words. Ignoring the few looks sent his way, trying not
to attract more notice than he must, Raz moved to the edge of the large room and tried not to gawk.
The ceiling was high, paintings and images done in gold painted all across it, in the hollows of the domes, filling every
available inch of space. He wondered what they all meant, but was too busy looking at everything to stay on one image long
enough to puzzle it out. Long forgotten stories, no doubt. The floor was black marble, a strange contrast to the white walls
and colorful ceiling. Windows lined the walls, filled with colored glass depicting more stories he didn't know, people and
figures he didn't recognize though he had a strange feeling that he should.
Raz shrugged it off and went back to staring, this time at the work tables scattered across the room, the men bent over a
few of them. He felt suddenly sick - these men were drawing more pictures of Pechal. These men were helping to kill his
friend.
Hands clenched into fists, Raz turned away and stared at a window until he trusted himself not to do something stupid. He
couldn't help Pechal if he tried to beat up priests. He had to figure out if Pechal might be hiding here, maybe in an empty
room or somewhere above the ceiling - in the rafters or something. He and Pechal had made homes in stranger places as
kids.
Closing his eyes, Raz took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He did it twice more, then opened his eyes and turned
around, ready to hunt for Pechal in earnest. His eyes landed on a priest.
Oh, fire and ash, the man was beautiful.
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It felt like something inside him broke, as he watched the man walk down the center of the room. He was tall, pale, hair as
black as coal. Slender but not sickly looking. His face was as beautifully made as the paintings on the ceiling, the colored
glass in the windows. So solemn looking - he should smile.
Why did the sight of the man make him ache? Like…like…Raz didn't know. It felt like anguish…anguish and…shame.
Then the man turned, idly looking around the room as he headed toward the door, and faltered to a stop. He stared at Raz,
face draining of what little color it had.
Raz stared back. Green. His eyes were as green as an esmeralda struck by sunlight. "Why?" he asked, barely realizing he
spoke, voice rough with strange emotion. "Why does looking at you hurt?"
The man flinched as if he'd been physically struck.
Seeing the look made Raz feel worse. He strove to say something else, to clear up that he hadn't meant-
"High Priest," a priest said, coming up behind the one with green eyes.
Raz didn't hear what else the priest said, eyes only for one man. Fire and ash, this was the man who would kill Pechal.
High Priest Dym. Raz stumbled back, breaking contact with those green eyes and feeling like he'd lost something. "Why?"
he asked no one in particular. He had to go. Get out. Get away.
There was a sudden commotion from the back of the room, and Raz looked out of habit, taking in changes in environment in
case they proved threatening.
"High Priest!" A priest said, dragging a kicking, twisting, terrified man forward with the assistance of two other priests. "We
found him hiding in the rafters."
"No!" Pechal screamed. "Let me go! Let me go!"
"Use a fire feather," Dym said.
The smooth, cool voice ran made Raz tremble. Something was wrong. It wasn't right. He didn't understand why. But he
knew he wasn't going to stay around along enough to find out. It didn't matter. - what mattered was his friend.
He started moving closer, using the upheaval to slip around unnoticed. If the High Priest had been shaken, for whatever
reason, by Raz, obviously the discovery of the Candidate had made him forget.
Raz fought back a scream of rage as Pechal howled in pain and fell to his knees. Then a priest stepped forward, and there
was flash of light, then suddenly the cathedral felt too hot.
Almost…mere steps away, as several priests finally took notice, Raz gave up sneaking around. "Pechal! Run!"
Hearing his voice, Pechal jerked his head up, eyes wide with disbelief as he saw Raz - then he sprang into action, throwing
off the nearest priest and shoving two more aside before bolting for the door from which they'd come.
Raz knocked out two more, threw a third into a wall before following after his friend. "Go, go!" He said. "How do we get out?
"
"This way!" Pechal said and took off running, earlier panic falling away as he fell into the rhythm that made he and Raz such
a perfect team.
Raz followed him, knocking over furniture and closing doors, anything to slow down their pursuers. "You scorching idiot!'
"Later!" Pechal countered, leading them down a narrow hallway and into a pantry, on into the kitchen proper. Out the back
door and into a garden, climbing up and over the high wall rather than waste time with the locked gate door.
Raz followed, landing neatly on his feet on the opposite side. He didn't stop, but leaped over another fence into the yard of
a house. Pechal ran alongside him, and together they raced through the city, hoping to get out of it.
While they seemed to be outrunning the priests, Raz found he could not outrun the pain, the anguish, that haunted him in
the form of a pale, beautiful face and jewel-green eyes.
"We have to get out of the city," Pechal said, breaking into his thoughts.
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"Really?" Raz demanded. "Why do you say that?"
"Shut up," Pechal managed before he scaled another gate, leaping down into the yard on the other side. "Come on, this
way."
"Since when do you know the city so well?"
Pechal didn't reply, too busy weaving and bobbing through all the backstreets.
Minutes seemed like hours, and near as Raz could figure nearly an hour passed before they finally managed to get out of
the city. They didn't stop until they'd reached the forest a mile outside the city; a thin forest, not much more than an over-
large copse of trees But with the late hour, it would do.
Raz rounded on Pechal, temper flaring. "I'm going to kill you!" He emphasized the threat by sending Pechal to the ground
with an aching jaw. "You stupid, scorching idiot! What were you thinking! You could have gotten yourself killed!"
Pechal hunched his shoulders and stared at the ground. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry isn't good enough!" Raz grabbed Pechal by the shoulders, hauled him up, and proceeded to shake him to death.
"You. Are. An. Idiot. Fire and ash, Pechal, what were you thinking!"
"I just thought-"
"You weren't thinking!" Raz let him go, watched him fall back down to sit on the ground. "Why did you run from me? From
me?"
"I didn't want you to have to deal with it."
"Deal with it?" Raz looked at him in disgust. "There's nothing to deal with. We're friends. Brothers. Never alone, yeah?" He
dropped down next to Pechal. "Scorching idiot. You shouldn't have run. We could have slipped out of the country all quiet
like - Ailill even said he'd help."
"What?" Pechal's brow furrowed. "Why?"
Raz cuffed him lightly. "Because he's a good guy," he winked, "for a Highlander." His momentary levity faded. "Look - I've
got to get back. We're set to steal the comb in about an hour, and it'll take me most of that to get back into town. Lay low
here, don't run off, and I'll be back later with supplies and everything. We're headed for the mill; after we get there we'll
figure out what else to do. All right?"
"All right," Pechal agreed meekly. "I'm sorry, Raz."
The last of Raz's anger drained away and he tugged Pechal into a tight embrace. "S'okay. Just don't be stupid again." He
ruffled Pechal's curls. "We're not going to let some stupid High Priest burn you." His voice caught as he said 'High Priest,'
and he pressed on before Pechal could comment on it, ruthlessly shoving away the memory of green eyes. "Stay out of
sight, idiot." Raz embraced him tightly one last time, then let him go. "See you in a few hours."
Pechal nodded, and satisfied he'd stay put, Raz turned and hurried back to the city.
Unfortunately it was too late to grab a quick meal from a vendor, and he didn't have time to stop in a tavern. Well, he'd just
eat later.
The south end of the capital was far more quiet than it's northern half. From the palace the bells chimed eleven times. Raz
stuck to the alleys and shadowed portions of the main roads, carefully avoiding the priests walking about, no doubt in
search of their lost Candidate.
A complication he hadn't planned for, but he'd make do. Shio and Shinju were somewhere, they'd distract the priests if it
became necessary. Ducking into another alleyway, moving from memory - he'd explored the place thoroughly earlier that
day - Raz slowly made his away down the crowded alley until he came to a high stone gate.
Houses in town were crowded together, climbing up rather than spreading out. The Earl Zholty's house was one of the more
elaborate ones, an overblown showcase of his wealth. Raz took a deep breath and then climbed up the gate, landing with a
quiet thump on the other side.
This was the same bastard who had apparently hired men to kill Pechal. Raz had never been so tempted to kill someone in
his life.
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Not that ever been tempted to kill anyone. If he was comfortable with taking lives, he probably would have made himself
right at home in Ivan's little band. No, he stuck with stealing.
Killing the stupid Earl wouldn't solve problems anyway, just create more. They'd attach the murder to the comb, and if they
found out a Highlander had been in town searching for it - and Raz didn't doubt somehow they'd find that out -it would
cause no end of trouble for Ailill.
Which would be bad for business. As well as for his health. That aside, Ailill was fast becoming a friend.
Sighing, Raz snuck through the garden to the servant's entrance. From inside his jacket he withdrew a small, leather bundle
and slipped out a lock pick, guessing which size would most likely work.
Right the first time. Smiling briefly, Raz set to work and had the lock open in seconds. Slipping inside, he silently began to
make his way through the house. The servants' routes would be the wiser, except that servants were more likely to be
awake at this hour and he couldn't risk running into one. So the main staircase it would be.
This was always more fun with Pechal along. But his friend was alive, that's all that mattered. If he had to do this job solo in
return, fine. Raz left the kitchen and stepped quietly into the entrance hall - even in the dark, the place screamed of
opulence. No doubt it was lavishly decorated with silk and satin, gilt-trimmed to the point of gaudy. Raz shook his head.
Nobles.
He paused at the foot of the staircase, noting that down a smaller hallway, light spilled from beneath a closed door.
Bad - the master of the house was awake. Good - he wasn't in his bedroom. The only truly useful bit of information they'd
been able to glean from the servants was that he didn't keep the gifts locked up in a study safe. No, the brilliant Earl
decided his bedroom was the best place for them.
Raz wasn't going to complain.
Padding up the stairs, he hesitated briefly at the second floor landing before turning right, counting doors until he came to
the third - Shio and Shinju had gotten most of the necessary information. Trusting them, Raz turned the handle and slipped
inside.
For a moment, all seemed well.
He and the footman saw each other at the same time. Raz was across the room before the man could give a shout, a swift
kick sending the man to the ground. Raz drew a dagger from his boot after he'd pinned the man to the ground. He wasn't a
killer, but he could act like one of the situation called for it. "Don't do anything stupid," Raz said, voice quiet but hard. He
pressed the edge of his dagger to the man's throat. "The Earls' gifts for the Princess - where are they?"
When the man didn't reply, he pressed down lightly with the dagger. Blood well up from the nick and trailed down the
footman's throat. "Tell me," Raz said.
"There," the man said, eyes going to a short bureau on the far side of the room. "But it's kept locked - only the Earl has the
key."
"Thank you. Fire serve you well," Raz said politely, then used the hilt of the dagger to knock him out. Standing, he moved
the unconscious footmen to where he wouldn't immediately be noticed should someone glance into the room and went to
the bureau.
It came up to just above his waist, made of some dark, heavy wood. Six deep, long drawers, decorated with gold handles
and fancy, abstract scroll work engraved in the wood. On the topmost drawer was a keyhole set in gold. Pulling out his
picks, Raz selected one of the smaller ones and set to work.
This one took him two minutes, and they felt like two hours. At last it gave, and he quickly began to go through the drawers,
throwing whatever was easily carried into the pack he slid off his shoulders. Most of the stolen items would be discarded,
most of it too hard to fence. But taking whatever he could carry meant they wouldn't know the comb was the real focus of
the theft.
Where was it? Worried, Raz opened the final drawer and let out a soft sigh of relief. Nestled beside a thick rope of pearls,
several rings and two bracelets were four combs - two gold, one that looked like jade, and one of Highland silver. Tucking it
into a hidden pocket of his vest, Raz threw the rest into his bag, swung the bag onto his back and crossed the room to the
window. A second later he slipped outside, shut the window behind him, then dropped from the balcony into the side yard
and worked his way around to the back.
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Over the gate, through the alley, Raz didn't relax until he was back at the inn. He grinned as he entered the room.
Ailill looked up as the door opened, and his eyes took on a gleam as he saw the grin on Raz's face. "You have it?"
"Of course," Raz said smugly. Reaching into his vest, he pulled out the silver comb and eyed it a moment. Delicate, pretty,
glaringly feminine. The teeth of the comb were long, the ends sharp. All across the top were roses, with rubis for the petals
and esmeralda for the leaves, gold making the stem and thorns. "It's beautiful," Raz said, and tossed it to Ailill.
"I can't believe…" Ailill stared at it in wonder. He looked up at Raz. "Thank you. Highland silver is not enough to pay for what
you've done for me."
Raz shrugged. "Just another job for me, though it's rare I get a customer I enjoy working for." He smiled. "Tell you what -
help me get Pechal out of the country and we'll call it even."
"Done," Ailill said immediately. "I hope we find him soon."
"I did find him," Raz said with a grin, and there was no mistaking the elation in his voice and face. "But there's no time to
explain now. I had a bit of trouble stealing that; they'll notice the theft in a matter of minutes if they haven't already. We've
got to go."
Ailill nodded. The comb vanished into the depths of his jacket. "Everything is ready." He hefted a bag from the floor and
slipped it onto his shoulders. "Shall we?"
Raz nodded and led the way outside, through the streets and out of the city.
Chapter Six
Dym walked silently through the halls of the palace, oblivious to the buzz of noise around him, lost in his own thoughts.
Forcing them to current problems was impossible. Even the matter of the Candidate could not hold his attention for more
than a second.
On some level, he had known he'd see that face again. It was impossible that he not. Such was the way of things. Still, it
had hurt. For a moment, he had not been sure he could bear.
Why does looking at you hurt?
Making a rough sound, biting back the cry of pain that wanted to make itself heard, Dym again wrenched his thoughts back
to where they should be. Not on that too-familiar face, but on the other. The Candidate who had gotten away, thanks to
carelessness - mostly his own, because he'd let a familiar face shake him.
Dym felt tired.
"High Priest!" Dym turned at the sound of someone calling for him, to see a royal guard marching briskly toward him. "The
Princess requires your presence at once."
"Of course," Dym said levelly. "Tell her I am on my way."
"Yes, High Priest." The guard bowed and then dashed off back the way he'd come.
Dym followed at a slower pace, once more fighting a battle with his thoughts - and this time winning, because it wouldn't do
to let someone else gain the upper hand. If Princess Sonya was summoning him in the middle of the afternoon, it was
undoubtedly because of the debacle with the Candidate.
The guard had not mentioned the Princess's location within the palace, which meant she was most likely in the king's office.
As his illness worsened, more and more of his duties were foisted upon his sister. While it was unusual for a woman to
assume such authority, it was not unheard of - and few people had any desire to challenge Princess Sonya.
She was indeed in the king's office, dressed in a blue afternoon gown decorated with pink and yellow flowers, hair tightly
braided and coiled, decorated with flowers to match the dress. Far too pretty a woman to be stuck in an office of dark
browns and maroons decorated with hunting trophies and weapons, smelling of pipe smoke and men's cologne. But the
sweet scent of her perfume - vanilla and cinnamon - was slowly permeating the office, staking its own claim.
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"High Priest," Sonya greeted with a warm smile. "Good afternoon."
"Strength of the Midday, Princess," Dym said with a bow. "How may I be of assistance?"
"I've several things to discuss with you, and I shall be surprised if you don't know at least the first."
Dym nodded. "The Candidate, I would hazard."
"Yes," Sonya said, setting aside the letter she'd been looking over and sitting back in a wide, deep, leather seat. "The
stories I've been hearing are fascinating. I suppose I should be upset no report was sent to me, but I know you and so I'm
not. Simply appease my curiosity."
"Yes, Princess," Dym said, amusement making his eyes brighter than usual. They dimmed as he began to explain.
"Apparently the Candidate had taken refuge in the Old Cathedral, sneaking inside and hiding in the old rooms at the top that
are no longer used. He probably could have hidden their indefinitely, if a few priests had not been set to cleaning those old
rooms out. I was there visiting the priests and checking on the status of things. Rather than follow procedure, they brought
him to me in the main room. It caused a panic, and we all were taken enough by surprise that mistakes were made. We will
find him again soon, Princess."
"No doubt," Sonya said. "I certainly can see where everyone would have been thrown off balance." She sighed. "What a
relief it will be, when all is finally said and done. I wonder, if our ancestors knew of this, would they still have killed the
Firebird?"
"Nothing worth having is easily obtained," Dym calmly. "If you want something, you must be willing to pay the price."
Sonya nodded. "That is certainly true - unless you are a thief." Her lips curved in amusement. "Have you heard of what
befell the Earl Zholty?"
Dym shook his head.
"You must be the only one. Apparently he was robbed last night. A brigand snuck into his house, accosted his valet and
snuck off with a fortune in jewelry. Quite violent, I hear. Threatened to take the poor servant's head off with his sword, and
they fear he'll be back to take what he left behind.
"Interesting," Dym said. "I hadn't realized the Earl was in the habit of wearing jewelry."
Sonya shrugged. "Perhaps it's to bribe women to his bed. Certainly his manners won't get him very far."
"Jewelry, is it? My impression was that the latest fad was to visit a prospect in his bathing chamber."
Sonya's laughter filled the room, and it was several minutes before she could speak. "Alas, that tactic does not seem to
work." She winked. "Still, perhaps it bears further experimentation. Perhaps when one of those handsome men from Piedre
comes for a visit…" She winked again and then forced herself back to work. "My brother is taking a turn for the worse."
Dym nodded.
"Your face gives nothing away, dearest Dym, but I can read it anyway. I happen to agree, as does my brother. He is never
going to take a turn for the better." She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her seat. "I think I could
handle it better if I knew what was killing him. 'Strange disease' does not reassure me." She rubbed her forehead tiredly.
"Though so long as no one else contracts it, I shall count my meager blessings."
"All blessings are equally precious. If they seem inadequate, that is the flaw of the blessed, not the blessings."
Sonya stared at him for a moment, amber eyes intent. Dym starred calmly back, as composed and aloof as ever, but his
green eyes were dark, and seemed to say he understood. At last she sighed. "You are right." She closed her eyes,
obviously doing battle with the thoughts in her head. When she finally opened them again, pale amber had turned to dark
gold with pain. "It's probably only a matter of days, weeks if we're lucky. After that, everything is going to be chaos. Precious
few are aware his illness is that bad. I wanted you to know because when chaos takes over, I've no doubt my cousin and
Earl Zholty will be quick to make sure you're in line for undergoing significant change. You have my full support - don't
hesitate to make that perfectly clear to whomever tries to trouble you."
"Thank you, Princess."
"Speaking of trouble, have you had any - besides the Candidate, which I'm sure you'll take care of. I'm certain a few extra
days will make no difference, really, when we've been doing this for centuries."
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Dym shook his head. "Nothing but the usual minor things that crop up from time to time. I'm certain you've troubles enough,
Princess."
Sonya shrugged. "It comes with being a Princess with a sick brother." She smiled. "Speaking with you always cheers me.
Thank you."
Dym stood and bowed. "I am honored to be of assistance, Princess."
"Thank you for coming. I hope the rest of your day goes well." She hesitated, then sighed. "Might I ask you something?"
"Princess, please do not say you worry about offending me."
Sonya smiled ruefully. "Questions can offend more than actions. I wondered why you chose to become a priest? You're not
like the rest of them, who had little choice in the matter. Not that I know your past, I'm not so rude as to invade your privacy,
but I sense you could have been much more."
Dym was silent for several minutes. "There are many, Princess, who said that you could have done much better than an
Earl. That you should have done better. Yet had the Earl Oranzhevy been a Baron or a peasant, I sense you still would
have married him."
"Yes," Sonya whispered, staring at her desk but seeing something else entirely. She looked at Dym in sudden
comprehension. "Are you saying…"
"I am saying that there are some decisions we can not help but make, no matter what it costs us to make them." With a last
nod, Dym left the room.
He made his way back to his own chambers, once more lost in thought, largely oblivious to the people around him. Passing
through the outer salon, through his bedroom, Dym stopped at last in his dressing chamber. Slowly he undressed, hanging
up his priest robes and exchanging them for one of dark linen. Securing it with a plain gray sash, he moved to a long,
backless couch set in a corner of his bedroom.
All his rooms were dark in color, a mix of browns, greens and blues. While the weather was still warm, he kept the windows
open, enjoying the smell of fresh air, a hint of the ocean. But mingled with it was the smell of ashes, a scent of which he
was never entirely free.
Sitting down, back to the high, curved end of the couch, Dym picked up the sketchpad he'd left lying on it. If any nosy
servant, acting on orders or simply impulse, happened to glance through, they would see only sketches of the past and
current Candidate mixed in with sketches of flowers, different parts of the castle.
Turning to a blank sheet, Dym hesitated briefly over the materials resting on a small table nearby, finally settling on a thin
piece of charcoal. Ignoring the mess it was already making of his hand, he began to slowly and carefully sketch.
Beneath his hands an image slowly began to take shape. It was a close-up of a man. Handsome, charismatic. Large eyes,
colorless in charcoal but Dym remembered they'd been the exact color of smoke. Thick hair, poorly cut and messy, as if
hands were constantly mussing it. Whose?
Dym shoved the errant thought aside and focused on the sketching, on drawing. Strong cheekbones and jaw, a nose in
perfect proportion. Lips, dark in color, curved in a smile that looked infinitely better than the misery that had shaped them in
the Cathedral of Dawn.
Why does looking at you hurt?
Flinching, Dym ignored the echoing question and continued to sketch, filling in shoulders, the beginnings of a dark vest and
linen shirt. Finished, he tore the page out, set it aside and immediately began another. This second one was a full sketch,
showing a trim build encased in simple clothes, eyes still wide, mouth still curved in a smile. Around the figure Dym
sketched in details of the Cathedral. Right behind him had been the window depicting the Golden Apples and Dym drew it
in, charcoal lines amazingly delicate. Careful lines turned weak moonlight into beams of sunlight, and even in black and
white the image seemed to blaze with life.
Making a rough sound, Dym tore it out and treated both images so the charcoal wouldn't smear. He glanced at the mess on
his hands, where it had smeared on his arms and no doubt on his face. Shaking his head, Dym crossed into the sitting
room and locked the main door, then passed back through his bedroom and into his dressing room again. Hanging up the
dark robe, he carefully picked out a white linen robe, careful not to get charcoal on it. Hanging it on a hook in the bathing
chamber, Dym climbed into the steaming pool and began to scrub himself clean.
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"I hear a Candidate actually got away from you, High Priest." Nikolai looked at him from across the long banquet table,
smug amusement plain on his face.
Dym nodded, but did not offer any explanation.
Nikolai's smugness turned into ire. "How did it happen?"
"I dislike boring the table with such a subject. I erred, I am in the process of fixing it. If your Grace would like to see that
matters proceed as they should, you are of course most welcome to come by the Cathedral to see for yourself."
Sonya laughed. "Come, Kolya. Surely you've already heard more than enough of that. I certainly have. Don't we have
anything to talk about."
Reluctantly Nikolai conceded defeat and shifted his attention to the man sitting next to the High Priest. "Zholty, I hear you've
lost a few things. That is a story that never grows boring."
"If I ever catch the thief," the Earl said, making a face, "I shall be certain to send him on to you before I have him locked
up."
"I hear he ran off with your finest string of pearls," Nikolai goaded.
Earl Zholty laughed. "As well as the earrings I was going to give to you." Around them the table erupted in laughter.
Sonya shook her head and shared a brief look with Dym. "I would not make too much fun, cousin. Misfortune hits hardest
he who thinks himself immune."
"Immune?" Nikolai snorted. "Hardly that, dear cousin. I've headaches enough for three, I assure you." Along the table,
conversation picked up again, tension created by Nikolai's words to the High Priest fading away.
Another hour passed, as dessert was brought out and eventually taken away, and Sonya started to bring the meal to an
end and lead everyone to the grand salon. Before she could speak, a servant appeared at her side and ducked down to
whisper in her ear. Hiding a frown, Sonya nodded and whispered a reply back. Smiling politely, she signaled for Nikolai to
takeover. "High Priest, might I trouble you to walk with me?"
"I would be honored, Princess," Dym said. Standing smoothly, he helped Sonya to her feet and escorted her from the room.
Behind them, conversation faltered, then resumed in full measure, proper topics of conversation interspersed with
speculative whispers.
Dym was silent as they walked the empty halls; the majority of the nobility were in the banquet hall, the rest would be at
home complaining that they hadn't been invited. His robes were the same he always wore, remarkably plain next to the
splendor of the nobles in their finest evening gowns and suits, the Chiefs in their fancy robes of state. Beside him Sonya
was resplendent in pink and silver…save for the unhappy expression on her face. Dym waited.
"My brother has taken another turn for the worse," Sonya said at last. "They felt I should be summoned. Normally I would
have Nikolai accompany me, but I am tired of him using my brother's illness as an opening to tell him what he thinks of the
current state of things." Sonya laughed weakly. "So often now it feels like everything is falling apart. My brother is sick,
tension is growing in the court, criminals growing bolder…never mind all the problems we're having with relations abroad. I
won't bore you with that." She sighed softly. "Perhaps I'm just letting silly superstition get the better of me, but ever since
that dratted storm nothing has been the same."
Dym didn't answer immediately, and spoke slowly when he finally replied. "When the gods fell, the balance of the world
shifted. With the return of the Sacred Storm Bringers that balance is shifting again - for better or worse, no man is fit to say.
But the shift affects all things. Silly superstition is merely a lack of understanding. Eventually good things will come to
balance out the negativity that is weighing you down."
Sonya smiled and leaned slightly into him. "Always so comforting, Dym."
"A priest is mean to comfort and help," Dym said calmly. "If he cannot be depended upon for that, then he is a poor priest."
"You make me think of my husband. He always knew exactly what to say." She sighed and stood straight. "Which reminds
me…do you remember all that we spoke of this afternoon?"
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"Yes, Princess."
Sonya let go of his arm and halted, tilting her head to look up at him. "As I've already said, my brother will not live much
longer. I will probably be on the throne in a matter of weeks. There are only two candidates left, right? I wonder, if when all
is done, if you would consider being my consort? I love my husband, I always will, but I think you and I would get on well
together. I trust you more than anyone else I know…it would be nice to have you at my side."
Dym's face remained composed, but his green eyes flared with surprise. "Princess…"
"I knew you'd say no," Sonya said, forcing a smile. "But I wanted to ask, and I wanted you to know. The offer is always
there, should you ever want to accept it."
"Princess," Dym said softly. "I am truly honored, for I assure you I am not worthy." Slowly he reached up and cupped her
face, leaned down to give her a soft, brief kiss. "I thank you, Princess, and wish that I could accept."
Sonya stared at him, dazed, then shook herself.. "It's all right," she said, and gave a more genuine smile. "Were Misha still
alive, I would still be his loving, devoted, happily-married wife. I just wanted you to know." She laughed suddenly. "I have the
bath chamber and a kiss; I think I'll count those blessings and not ask for more. Come, let's go see my brother." Her smile
was defeated by a deep frown. "Just a few days ago he was walking about the palace, if a trifle slowly, and now he cannot
leave his bed. If I didn't know any better…" she left the sentence unfinished.
A guard opened the door for them as they approached the King's Chambers. Sonya nodded to him.
Inside her brother's bedroom, the air was hot, overwhelmed by the blaze in the fireplace. Grimacing at the temperature, and
the overwhelming smell if illness permeating the room, Sonya strode briskly to her brother's bedside and laid a hand across
his forehead. "Zarya," she said quietly. "I'm here."
"Sonya, sweet sister, I'm so sorry." Zarya's voice was faint, but steady.
"Shh…" Sonya soothed. "Just rest. You'll be better soon."
"Or dead," Zarya replied. "Someone else is here. It can't be Nikolai if he hasn't opened his mouth yet."
Dym said nothing as he drew closer, but a faint smile curved his lips. "Majesty."
Zarya smiled, something like genuine pleasure brightening his illness-dimmed eyes. "Things must be dire indeed if my sister
has dragged you from that cathedral."
"If I can lend your Majesty any comfort, I am more than happy to do so."
Zarya struggled to sit up, ignoring Sonya's fussing and making her help him. "I guess in other countries you'd be chanting
prayers of death over my head." Zarya grimaced. "None of that. I am happy merely to have someone who does see me in
bed as a good chance to discuss politics. Do I look as though I can do anything about what they tell me?" He motioned to
his sister. "I keep telling them to harass her."
"Yes, and when I tell them no they come back to you. Much like caring for children, I'd imagine." She looked briefly sad, but
pressed on. "Anyway, I thought we weren't supposed to be discussing politics. Drink your tea, Zarya."
"If I must," he agreed, and obediently drank the tea he'd been ignoring. "Amuse me? Did something horribly embarrassing
happen to anyone at the banquet?"
"No," Sonya said reprovingly. "Stop gossiping."
Zarya looked to Dym pleadingly.
Dym smiled faintly. "How about a story?"
"What kind of story?" Zarya asked.
"Very few people visit the cathedrals anymore; if they did, they would notice that each of the paintings and windows tells a
story."
The king frowned. "How would you know them? By rights, I should have you arrested for knowing more than the law
permits."
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"If a king and a farmer enjoy meat pies, does it suddenly make the meat pies bad if a criminal enjoys them as well?"
Zarya threw his head back and laughed, holding on to his amusement even when the laughter turned to racking coughs.
"Well spoken, High Priest. Tell us one of your lost stories."
Dym nodded. "There is one, in a window in the Old Cathedral, which uses six small pictures to tell a story called 'The Boy
and the Golden Apples'."
Once upon a time there was a young boy who became lost in the forest. Over and over again he cried out for help,
searching for the people who had been with him. But no one answered his cries and he found nothing in the woods except
the wild animals. For many days he wandered through the forest, surviving on nuts and berries, drinking from the stream he
was afraid to let vanish from his sight.
Until one day he found himself at the end of the forest, and staring into a field beyond. In the middle of that field was a
beautiful building, like nothing he could remember ever seeing. Entranced by it, the boy immediately set off towards it, fear
and exhaustion falling away.
The building was surrounded by a high wall, but by climbing a nearby tree the boy managed to go over the wall and into a
magnificent garden. There, too exhausted to move, lulled by the sweet smell of flowers and fruit, he fell asleep beneath a
large bush.
He was wakened by the sound of singing, the voice too beautiful for him to believe it was real. Peaking out from behind the
bush that hid him, the boy stared in wonder at the singer - a wondrous man, surely a lord, sang as he walked in the garden.
He was dressed in splendid gold and silver clothes, but his voice was more splendid by far. The boy stared, unable to look
away. Eventually the lord stopped wandering the garden and paused beneath the apple tree at the garden's center.
The tree outshone everything else in the garden, with leaves so vibrant and green they paled the finest jewels, and the
apples hanging amongst the branches were the color of pure gold, heavy and large. The splendid lord reached up and
picked one apple, and the boy was sad to hear the singing stop, except he saw how happy the apple made the lord.
The lord finished eating the apple and resumed singing, but his steps led him away from the tree and eventually from the
garden. Saddened, the boy hid back beneath his bush and waited for night to fall. When it was dark, he quickly stole
whatever he could reach, but never did he go near the lord's splendid tree of golden apples. After he had eaten, he
returned to his bush and fell asleep.
Every day he waited for the splendid lord to appear, and listened to him sing, and watched as he ate a golden apple. By
night he helped himself to the garden food, and cleaned as best he could in the little pond in the corner, and went to sleep
beneath his bush.
Until one day the lord did not appear, and the boy began to grow anxious. Where was he? Was something wrong? Had the
lord gotten lost? Sad to think that he might never see the lord again, anxious to hear that lovely voice, worried that the lord
would not be happy without his apple, the boy waited until dark and then ventured to the apple tree. Climbing it, he picked a
single golden apple and then walked slowly toward the end of the garden where the lord always vanished and the boy had
never been brave enough to go.
At the end of the garden was a door, and it led to a maze of beautiful rooms. But they were no people, only an awful silence
to fill them. Through them the boy wandered, holding tightly to the shining, golden apple. Just as he began to despair, to
think that he had once again lost himself and would never see the splendid lord again, he came across a room more
magnificent than all the others. In this room, sitting by a window, was the splendid lord. The boy froze in the doorway, too
scared to move forward.
The splendid lord must have sensed something, for he suddenly looked up, and was surprised to see someone standing in
the doorway. He beckoned the boy forward, and asked what he was doing. Shyly the boy explained, and when he finished
he held out the golden apple to which he'd so desperately clung.
Smiling, the splendid lord accepted the apple and kissed the top of the boy's head, and declared that forever after the boy
should stay with him, and when he was too busy to visit the garden, the boy would bring the golden apples to him. Then he
took the boy into his arms and began to sing, and the boy knew he was lost no more.
"What a pretty story…" Sonya said. "It almost makes me want to cry. How sad that it's no longer told."
Dym smiled. "It is not as forgotten as you might think. Many of my priests come from very far away. In the more rural
villages, many of the stories are still remembered. Speak with them sometime, if you want. It would make them quite
happy."
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"I will," Sonya promised. She glanced at her brother, who had fallen asleep, and stood up to arrange him more comfortably.
"Thank you, Dym. As always, you are far too kind."
Dym bowed. "As always, it is an honor. Shall I escort you to your room?"
"That's all right. I'm going to stay here for a bit. If you need to go, please do. I take you away from your duties enough as it
is."
"You take precedence, Princess. I am happy to help. Peace of the Evening, to you and his Majesty." Bowing low, Dym
departed.
Chapter Seven
"I don't feel so good," Pechal said.
Raz frowned in concern. "Feel sick? You rather look it."
"Not sick…just strange. Ever have a feeling you couldn't explain?"
Why does looking at you hurt?
Raz shoved the thought away. "Yeah, know what you mean. Probably just making yourself sick with worry."
"Probably," Pechal agreed, though he sounded far from convinced.
"Knock it off," Raz said, cuffing him. "Stop fretting and get a move on. The mill is only a few hours away, I don't want to
waste daylight."
"Yes, boss," Pechal grumbled good naturedly. Standing up, he cuffed Raz back and then bolted back to camp. Ailill laughed
as they continued to banter, packing up what little remained of their camp and smoothing the fire with dirt.
Pechal whistled as they traveled along, faltering only briefly when Ailill surprised him by joining in after a moment.
Recovering, he grinned and resumed whistling, filling the forest with sound.
Raz eyed him from time to time, never looking long enough for Pechal to catch him doing it. Pechal was…different,
somehow. Nothing overt, something subtle. He couldn't figure out what.
Well, other than his eyes, which had suddenly turned really strange. Every now and then they looked gold, or red, even
orange. Like flames.
The same voice that kept playing back a smooth, cool voice. The same voice that cooperated with the parts of his mind that
enjoyed torturing him, calling up memories of jewel-green eyes and pale skin, a look of abject pain. Why does looking at you
hurt?
He wished he could take the words back, undue the harm they'd caused. But there was no such thing as undoing a mistake.
You either lived with it or fixed it. Raz ached to fix it, to see what those eyes looked like when they were happy, to see joy
instead of pain fill that face.
Why? Why did he feel this way? Anguish that made his eyes sting. Shame that made his chest ache. He'd never met the
man; they had stared at each other for mere seconds. There was nothing there to explain why he felt as he did.
Yet every night dreams he couldn't remember kept him from truly resting, and every morning he woke up speaking the
name of a man he didn't know. Pechal had said he didn't feel right - neither did Raz.
At least he didn't have the weird eyes to deal with Raz frowned in thought. Probably from the fire feather they'd used before
Pechal broke free? Raz had heard about them, everyone had heard about them, but he'd never actually seen one or what
they could do.
Near as he could tell, all it did was cause a lot of light, a smell like burning wood, and messed up Pechal's eyes.
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"Come on," he said, shaking off his solemn mood. "If we make it to the mill before lunch, I'll make Shio and Shinju catch a
rabbit."
Pechal's eyes flared orange at the thought of rabbit. "Then hurry up, you're both moving way too slow." With that, he bolted,
running pell-mell through the trees in a way that for most promised a swift, hard introduction to a low-hanging branch. But
Pechal was as swift as nimble as the rabbits he loved to eat, when there was promise of food at the end of something.
He may not be feeling well, but even as a Candidate Pechal was still Pechal. Raz smiled and took off after him, Ailill
surprisingly close on their heels.
They reached the old mill clearing an hour before midday. Raz smiled and waved back to Shio, who was perched on the
roof of the mill. He laughed when she realized who was with him, and then the two sisters were running toward them and
Raz shoved Ailill out of the way as the sisters tackled Pechal.
"You're all right!"
"You idiot!" Shinju pulled hard on his hair, making Pechal wail. She frowned. "You're burning up. What's wrong with your
eyes?" Then she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "We're glad you're okay."
"Eh, they hit me with a fire feather," Pechal said. He smiled and tugged her hair in revenge. "I'll be back to normal in a few
days. Now come on, Raz said if I hurried you two would catch a rabbit."
Shio rounded on Raz. "I see. We do all the work, huh?"
"Do you want to me to go hunting?" Raz said. "I'll come back with a mean basket of berries, but that's about it."
Shinju rolled her eyes. "I don't know the two of you survived without us."
"They're called taverns," Raz said.
"And vendors," Pechal added.
"And people should learn to lock their doors," Raz finished with a grin.
Shio and Shinju sighed. Tossing her lavender hair, Shio rolled her eyes and turned away. "It's a good thing we already
caught two rabbits and a few fish." The sisters led the way back to the mill, grumbling good-naturedly about the
incompetence of their companions.
"How in the Queen's name did the two of you wind up on their good side?" Ailill asked, eyeing the twins thoughtfully. Unlike
Raz and Pechal, who looked like little more than simple peasants to the casual eye, Shio and Shinju clearly looked like they
were accustomed to a much harder life. Though there was no evidence of it, the sisters were well-armed and he'd seen
firsthand how easily they could take down a group of full-grown men.
Raz laughed. "We're amusing, I think. Plus we're not going to…expect things from them." He grinned. "We have a policy
against sleeping with teammates."
"And anyone who does what they can do to a poor little fish," Pechal muttered.
Ailill laughed.
"Oh noble berry picker," Shio said, holding out a basket. "Would you like to go and find some things to go in a stew?"
Raz glared. "Where did you get the basket?"
"We found it lying around," Shinju said, eyes wide with innocence.
"Put that away!" Raz huffed, fighting a grin. "I'll go find a few things. Try to stay out of trouble while I'm gone."
Silver flashed as Shio started to prepare the first rabbit for cooking.
"I'll come with you, if that's all right," Ailill said. "I'm a skilled berry-picker myself."
Shinju rolled her eyes and began to work on the second rabbit. Beside them, Pechal laid down and pulled his bandana over
his eyes. Raz knew in the time it took him and Ailill to reach the forest Pechal would fall dead asleep.
Just another day.
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"That smells good, Shio." Raz stared hungrily at the boiling pot.
"It'll smell even better when we add the rabbit," Shio replied. "You're really good at finding this stuff - it almost makes up for
the fact you're a lousy hunter."
Raz shrugged. "I don't mind once they're dead - I just don't like the killing."
Shinju shook her head. "Don't like to do the work. Just like a man."
"Hmph," Pechal said. "That's funny coming from a couple of girls who act like men."
Shio rolled her eyes. "Just because women on land have grown weak doesn't mean all of us must be weak."
Raz laughed. "What, Kundou isn't on land now?"
"There certainly isn't much land to it, is there?" Shinju asked. She took over stirring the stew from her sister, ladling a
generous portion into a wooden bowl which she then handed to Ailill, who accepted in with surprise.
"Hey!" Pechal protested. "There's no rabbit yet."
"Patience," Shio said. "I'll add it now." She flicked her dark eyes to Ailill. "The Faerie Queen's people do not eat meat."
Ailill smiled gratefully. "I did not want to cause a fuss by mentioning it.. Thank you."
Shio nodded, smiling briefly.
"Huh," Raz said. "I never noticed, but looking back - you don't meat."
"Why's that?" Pechal asked. "You're really missing out."
Ailill chuckled. "Back home, in the village where I lived for several years, there's a girl in the house next to mine. Her mother
died when she was young, and she's cared for her father ever since. When she was fourteen, her Form came to her - she
turns into a rabbit."
Pechal looked at the pot of stew boiling over the fire. "Good reason."
"We tend to think so," Ailill said with a smile. "And no I won't tell you what I turn into."
Raz snickered at Pechal's crestfallen look. "So it is considered rude to ask?"
"Yes," Ailill said. "Though I take no offense at genuine curiosity. But it is easy to judge a man by the Form he takes,
something which we fight hard not to do in Verde. To ask a man his form is to indicate that you're making a hasty judgment.
It show impatience, lack of thought, and an invasion of privacy. Not everyone likes to share their Form."
"You make it sound like your Form is fairly well known."
"It is," Ailill said. "Those who know me, know me primarily by my Form." He sounded tired as he said it.
"Sort of like being seen for your position, not as just a person?" Shio asked.
"Precisely," Ailill said.
Shinju gave him a thoughtful look, dark-green eyes sharp. "You don't carry any weapons. I thought perhaps it was because
you're as squeamish as those two idiots."
"Hey!"
Ailill smiled weakly. "I have no need of weapons."
"Stop harassing the Highlander," Raz said. "We don't harass customers, and we don't upset friends - except for Pechal."
"Shut up," Pechal grumbled, and started to say more when a quick gesture from Shio stopped him.
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"Hurry up and eat," Shio said in a reprimanding tone.
"Yes, mother," Raz said dutifully, but waited for Pechal to finish stealing two helpings before making an attempt at getting
his own.
Then Pechal and his bowl of stew went flying as Shinju tackled him. A hard thunk brought everything to a momentary
standstill, and Raz stared at the arrow lodged in the wall of the old mill house. "Spread out!" he threw aside his bowl and
drew his dagger, lunging for cover as more arrows started to fly. "Pechal, stay hidden."
"From behind!" Shio cried, then gave a cry as she attacked the nearest of them who had tried to sneak up on them. Nearby
Shinju hurled threats in a language Raz didn't recognize except that it always spelled trouble for someone.
Then he didn't have a chance to do anything but fight, dodging away from a sword, nicked by an arrow. "Someone find that
bowman."
Ailill threw off an assailant. "I'll do it," he said, and took off for the woods.
"Little pointy-eared ran away did he," a man the size of a bear laughed as he approached Raz.
Raz curled his lip. "Bastard. You really will do anything for money, won't you, Vladimir?"
"I never liked you cowardly little thieves anyway," Vladimir replied, and then lunged at Raz.
Dodging away, Raz rolled and was on his feet again before Vladimir could recover. "Nimble little mouse, aren't you Raz?
Make this easy on yourself and just give up."
"Not on your life!" Shinju cried, and silver flashed as she threw a dagger.
Vladimir roared as it embedded in his shoulder and shifted his attention to her. Raz used the chance and bolted, racing
across the campsite to help Pechal, knocking out one man.
Everything froze at the sound of loud cry - something like a snarl, or a howl, but not quite either one of those things. It
sounded again, and this time was followed by a pained cry that was very much human.
"Fire and ash, what was that?" Raz demanded, then barely avoided the fist thrown his way. He caught the arm, twisted it,
kicked the mercenary down and snapped his neck - then saw stars before his eyes as someone got him from behind. He
turned over, barely in time to avoid the knife meant for his back, and kicked his assailant in the stomach.
Then the man fell, an arrow in his head. Raz scrambled to his feet and looked for the source of the new arrows - but of
course the forest appeared empty. He looked to where Shio was still fighting Vladimir. "Back off, Vlad!"
Vladimir snarled and lunged, but faltered with an angry cry as an arrow landed in the same shoulder where Shinju's dagger
had struck. He finally looked around, realizing most of his men were dead. "I'm not finished with you," he said. Sheathing
his sword, he motioned to the few men still standing.
"Go away," Raz said. He started to say more, when the sight of something large and strange appeared at the edge of the
forest. Two somethings he realized - a body being hauled along like a trophy by a large white cat. It was long and sinuous,
and massive enough it could probably take down a horse just for fun. When it drew closer he could see that it's eyes were
pale brown. Raz's eyes widened. "What is that?"
The cat reached the campsite and dropped the body he'd been dragging along - a bowman. Raz gaped. "Is that-it can't be-"
From the corner of his eye, he saw Vladimir move toward Pechal, but couldn't react in time - and then Vladimir fell, an arrow
lodged in the corner of his forehead. Shio knelt and examined the fletching, then smiled. "Another mercenary group in the
forest."
Raz relaxed. "Ivan!" he bellowed, "Get out here right now." A moment later, he could see them coming out of the section of
forest closest to the mill. "Let me guess - you want the money that no doubt is on his head?"
Ivan started to speak, but in a sudden blur of movement he was pinned to the ground by the enormous cat.
"Stop!" Raz said before Ivan's bowman could shoot. "It's okay - I think."
"You think?" Luka asked incredulously. "Fire and ash, what is that?"
"Ailill," Pechal said eagerly. "It's Ailill."
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"Get it off me!" Ivan roared, struggling futilely beneath the weight of the cat, unable to get so much as an arm free. He froze
as the cat licked his face once, twice, and his protests came out as little more than sputters.
Raz started laughing, and after a moment everyone else began to join in.
Making a sound that sounded like a cross between a growl and a purr, the giant cat continued to torment Ivan. Eventually it
settled down, and moved so that it rest with its head and front paws on Ivan's chest.
"I'm so glad everyone finds this amusing," Ivan said irritably. "Will someone kindly tell me why I'm being harassed by a giant
cat?" He craned his head up to eye the cat resting lazily on his chest. "It's heavy, get it off."
Raz snickered "It's Ailill, we think. He said he'd take care of their bowman for us. I wonder if he's what made that strange
sound."
Ivan sighed.
Giving him one last sputter-inducing lick, the cat climbed off Ivan and let him stand.
"I think he likes you, boss." Isidor grinned when Ivan glared at him.
Raz left the group to their laughter and looked over the dead bodies scattered across the campsite. He didn't look at the two
he'd killed, knowing he'd be sick if he did. He hated death, hated killing, but that wasn't what bothered him the most.
What bothered him was that there should be something to say. Something to make everything easier to bear. Something to
reassure the living…and the dead. But there wasn't.
There wasn't a single thing he could think to say.
"Raz!" Pechal nudged him. "It's okay. Don't look so gloomy." His friend smiled at him. "Not our fault, yeah?"
"Yeah," Raz agreed, but didn't stop frowning. "I guess we need a new spot. Certainly can't stomach staying here."
Ivan stopped glaring at the cat, which was rooted to the spot next to him, and pointed a thumb behind him. "We've got a
camp a couple of miles east. We were on our way elsewhere when we caught signs of Vlad stomping around. Figured
twelve against five wasn't terribly fair. Though next time I'll just let the cat handle things." He resumed glaring.
Behind him, Luka chuckled. "We'll clean up here, if you want. Bit more practice." He seemed to give Raz a sympathetic look.
"But you guys have to make dinner."
Raz nodded. "Thanks. We owe you."
"Oh, definitely," Ivan said. "The next time we need something stolen…"
"Free of charge," Raz said. "Unless you leave details out."
Ivan grinned. "No idea what you're talking about, Razrusheniye."
"Shut up," Raz said. He motioned to his team. "Let's get going." He looked at the cat. "Coming?"
For reply, the cat rubbed his head against Ivan's leg.
Raz laughed. "All right. We'll see you at camp."
Chapter Eight
"I'd say we're done here boss," Maksim said with a yawn. "Can we go eat now?"
"Definitely," Ivan said. Evening was rapidly turning to full night, which meant traveling through the forest would become
difficult if not outright impossible. "Fire and ash, I can't wait until we're back to business as usual."
Isidor grunted. "Agreed."
"Let's go," Luka said. "If food's not waiting, you can take your frustrations out on Raz and Pechal."
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The group laughed as he pointedly left out the two women. Luka looked toward the cat that had provided a surprising
amount of help in disposing of the bodies. "Thanks, cat. Ailill. Why are you still a cat anyway?"
In reply, the cat merely yawned.
Ivan rolled his eyes. "I'm going to have a few choice words with you once you're human again, Highlander" He stepped
away from the cat, always nearby when he stood still, and started to lead the way back to their campsite - only to find
himself eating dirt, with a heavy weight on his back. "Cat!"
His men laughed. "I think, boss, that we'll just head back to camp and leave you two alone."
"I'm going to kill you all," Ivan threatened. He continued to hurl threats until he was alone in the clearing, and turned over
when the cat finally climbed off him. He sat up. "What is your problem?"
The cat blurred, shimmered, and when Ivan blinked to clear his eyes, the cat was suddenly gone and Ailill was in its place.
Ignoring the nauseous feeling caused by the presence of magic, Ivan glared. "What?"
"There's something wrong with you," Ailill said, a frown on his face. "I didn't notice as a human, but my Form has better
senses…I thought magic was illegal in Pozhar."
"It is," Ivan said, one hand automatically trying to go to his chest. Though in the past few days the pain had settled some, it
still felt as though knives were being driven into him from to time - being pounced by an overgrown cat hadn't helped. "But
tell me when that ever stopped someone." He looked way. "Its none of your concern anyway."
"No, it's really not," Ailill replied "But I'm concerned all the same. What happened?"
"It doesn't matter," Ivan said, and stood up. "We should get back to camp." Before he did something stupid. He made it
three steps before something with teeth yanked a leg out from under him, and he turned around to once again find himself
pinned down by a giant cat. "Stop that!" he snarled.
Ailill shifted back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for any of my behavior to offend. It's just that I seldom get to have fun in my
Form. I was only playing before to cover up that I was trying to figure out what was wrong with you. I didn't know who else
knew." He grinned. "Then I just did it for fun."
"My men know. They were there when it happened." Ivan wished he'd go back to being a cat. As unnerving as it was,
having a human Ailill on top of him was far worse. Ailill wasn't pretty, or even handsome, but such things had ever appealed
to Ivan. Ailill was different. He was competent, confident, independent. Someone who could take care of himself - no doubt
turning into a giant cat helped with that - and didn't waste time over fussing how to get things accomplished. They'd met in a
tavern. The Highlander had seemed to know with a glance that Ivan could help him - he hadn't, actually, but Ivan had known
to take him to Raz. He knew he was infatuated. His team was one thing, but Ailill was a man who could take care of himself,
who could stand beside Ivan, not behind him. That Ivan found appealing. He was also very obviously male, which definitely
appealed as much as Ivan had once tried to deny that part of himself. "What do you want?"
"I would say," Ailill said dryly, "that was fairly obvious from the start. You're the one trying to avoid it."
"It's not exactly allowed in this part of the world," Ivan said.
Ailill snorted. "You get paid to break rules, unless I have seriously misjudged mercs all these years."
"First rule of the business is to go unnoticed," Ivan replied, wondering how they'd gotten on this subject. "Bedding other men
gets you noticed. That leads to dead."
"A poor excuse," Ailill said, "but we'll discuss it later. What's wrong with you?"
Ivan sighed. "It doesn't matter."
"Do all you Firelanders have rocks for brains?" Ailill demanded. "Where I come from magic is a part of life. Has it occurred
to you I might be able to help?"
Ivan opened his mouth, then closed it again. It hadn't occurred to him.
Ailill laughed. "Rocks for brains. Tell me what happened."
"Earl Zholty tried to hire us to find and kill Pechal," Ivan said, slowly sitting up as Ailill at last backed off. "I said no." He
continued explaining everything that had happened.
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"That's an interesting curse," Ailill said as he finished. He leaned forward, looming over Ivan again.. "I thought you were a
merc."
"I am," Ivan snapped. "Thought it's gotten to the point I may retire soon."
The moonlight was bright enough he could see Ailill smile. "Must have been a lot of money in it."
"Yeah, and all the problems that come with getting involved in the squabbles of nobles. I like money, but I like breathing
more." Ivan started to try and stand up, but a warning look stilled him again. "Are we done here?"
"I think I can break the curse," Ailill said, ignoring him, "but I need one of those fire feathers to do it."
Ivan could only stare. "That's it?"
"Don't know until I try," Ailill said slowly. "Pozharian magic is different from my own…but I think I can manage it. The
principles are the same." He smirked. "Of course, it'll cost you."
"Of course," Ivan repeated, rolling his eyes. "How much?"
Ailill replied by surging forward, pinning Ivan to the ground and taking his mouth in a kiss that was immediately hard,
possessive, and consuming. Nothing hesitant or questioning about it - Ailill simply took what he wanted and expected no
problems in getting it.
That appealed, even if most of Ivan's mind was trying to panic. He ignored it and focused on kissing Ailill back, fighting for
dominance, tongue exploring every bit of a mouth that tasted like green things and black tea. Definitely a man's mouth, so
different from the women he made do with.. This was everything he tried not to want every time he slept alone.
"That'll suffice as a down payment," Ailill said, breaking away with a gasp. He ducked his head to lap Ivan's throat, nipping
gently at the skin where jaw met neck.
Ivan managed a laugh, and let his hands to do what they wanted when it was obvious Ailill wasn't going to complain. But
part of him was waiting for everything to go wrong. "Scorcher of a down payment," he said. "Curse must be worse than I
thought."
"Well, you might be overpaying," Ailill said. He licked Ivan's lips, then kissed him again. "And if you wanted to pay in full up
front, I wouldn't complain."
"You Highlanders aren't shy, are you?" Ivan shuddered as Ailill proved exactly how shy he wasn't.
Ailill laughed, and there was something sheepish in it. "It's not that so much as…I haven't changed in a long time. Coming
out of my Form, I'm always a bit…bolder." He tugged at the laces of Ivan's shirt. "You don't seem to mind."
"Seems stupid to protest at this point," Ivan replied. Burying his hand in hair that was just as soft as it looked, strange when
the rest of the man was definitely not soft, Ivan dragged Ailill down for another of those consuming kisses. If this was all
he'd ever get, he intended to take all that he possibly could.
A sharp, booming crack split the quiet evening, and Ivan swore as the sound startled Ailill into biting harder than he meant.
Pushing, he rolled them over and then clambered to his feet, reassembling his clothes.
"What was that?" Ailill said, standing up beside him.
Ivan started running toward the forest. "A flintlock," he said.
"You'll never find your way through the forest," Ailill said. "It's too dark now."
"I'm not going to stand here while someone attacks my men!" Ivan snapped.
"Try to keep up," Ailill said, and in the time it took Ivan to draw a breath he was a cat again. The moonlight set off his white
coat, making him easy to see even in the darker light of the forest. Then Ailill bounded off, and Ivan swore as he dashed
after, not even trying to keep pace with the feline just hoping not to lose him, arms up to take the brunt of the branches he
inevitably hit, moonlight just enough to avoid running into a tree.
The camp was in shambles when they finally reached. Ivan went cold as he saw the bodies spread out across the camp.
"Boss," Luka said from where he'd obviously landed in front of a tree. "Gleb needs help; he took the shot. Three of them.
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Took us by surprise, snatched Pechal. Raz went after them."
With one of those eerie growl-screams, Ailill turned and dashed off into the forest. "You okay?" Ivan asked Luka as he found
Gleb. Swearing as he saw the blood pouring from leg, Ivan set to work fixing the wound. "How is everyone else?"
"No fatalities," Shio said as she picked herself up. She was bleeding from a cut on one arm, but didn't seem to notice it.
"They were even nastier than Vladimir - I thought you said he only hired one other group."
Ivan made a face. "That's what he told me. Help me out here, unless you're squeamish."
"You have no idea how utterly ridiculous that statement it," Shio said. Dragging herself across camp, she dropped down
beside Ivan and helped him tie the leg off to slow bleeding, then drew a thin dagger from somewhere Ivan didn't see and
began to dig out the bullet.
"Who or what are you?" Ivan asked. "I've never met women like either one of you. Is Shinju all right?"
"She's going to be furious when she wakes. Unless you want to know what it's like to be attacked an angry lightning-eel, I
suggest you and everyone else keep away."
Ivan didn't bother to ask what in blazes a lightning-eel was. "Right," he said, then moved to hold Gleb down as he finally
woke - to intense pain. "Hold still," he said sharply. "Shot's almost out."
Gleb nodded and bit back a scream.
One by one, the people around the camp started to stir. Isidor yelped as he tried to help Shinju, and Ivan shared Shio's
chuckle. "Leave the Kundouin alone. How is everyone?"
"Fire and ash, someone is going to die," Maksim swore. "My head feels like it was split open. What did they hit me with?"
"Probably a rock," Ivan said. "Only thing hard enough."
Luka stood up slowly, grimacing in pain. "They got Maksim just as they got Gleb - that threw the rest of us off, and after that
it was scorching chaos." He moved toward the fire, swearing softly as he sat down, favoring his left leg, and began to
rekindle the flames that had been doused in the fight. "Hope your cat man can catch them, because they made sure we
weren't fit to follow. Raz shouldn't be running either, but I don't think being dead could have kept him from it."
"Forest will kill him first," Ferapont said grimly. "Too dark to be running like that, and he'll likely get lost. I don't know how
the mercs are managing it."
Ivan nodded and said nothing, merely helped Shio finish wrapping makeshift bandages around Gleb's wound.
Another booming crack shattered the brief calm the group had achieved. It was immediately followed by an animal cry of
pain, a terrible yowl. Ivan was standing before he realized he'd moved. "Ai-"
Shio snagged his arm. "You can't. You'll get lost. They'll be all right - trust Raz."
Ivan shook her off. "I'm worried about them both. Raz, from what I gather, is injured. And I can't tell if Ailill is wounded or
dead."
"Sit tight, boss," Luka said. "If we go out there, we're guaranteed to wind up dead. That won't help anything."
Ivan snarled in fury and prowled around the camp, helping his men with their injuries and salvaging what he could from the
mess made in the fight. He was just about to lose his temper when two men stepped out of the trees and into the clearing,
holding each other up.
Blood trickled down Raz's face, a great deal of it dry, sticky, and smeared with dirt, a leaf stuck to one cheek. Beside him
Ailill drooped tiredly and as he stepped closer Ivan saw that one sleeve was completely soaked in blood. He dashed toward
them.
"I'm all right," Ailill said. "Changing gets rid of most injuries. I was too exhausted to keep chasing though, especially if they
had more of those strange weapons." But he didn't protest when Raz was dragged away by the sisters and Ivan slid an arm
around his shoulders and helped him to the fire. "I tried to catch him. Those things are nasty."
"Flintlocks?" Ivan asked. "Yeah, they're all kinds of nasty. Expensive, not really worth the hassle." He frowned, mind
beginning to race. "Not many people use them, pretty much mercs and a few hunters. The occasional noble who fancies he
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knows how to use one. If we had time it wouldn't be hard to track down who has them. A small group with at least two
flintlocks? Quiet enough I don't already know who they are?"
"Foreign," Gleb said faintly. "I don't think they were native. We'd have heard of them. Only groups we know with flints are
Matvei and Stas. Word is Taras picked up a couple, but this attack doesn't fit their style. Moving through a dark forest like
it's midday? Foreign." His voice trailed off as he spoke, final words barely audible before sleep took him away from the pain.
"Fire and ash!" Raz swore. "Stop trying to kill me."
Shio didn't sound worried. "If I wanted to kill you, Raz, you'd be dead. Now sit still."
Obediently Raz subsided. "I can't believe I let them get away."
"You're lucky you're not dead," Shinju said tartly, wiping away the blood that had dried on his face. "Taking off like that was
stupid, and doing stupid things won't save Pechal. Tomorrow we'll start tracking them down."
Ivan looked up from where'd been looking at the man half-asleep against him as a thought occurred to him. "Why didn't they
kill him?"
"What?" Raz asked.
"I mean - when the Earl offered us the job, he said explicitly that we were supposed to find and kill the Candidate."
Luka chuckled, but it wasn't a happy sound. "That's easy, boss. If his lordship was willing to pay a hefty fee to have us kill
the Candidate, what do you think the High Priest might pay for a merc not to kill him."
Ivan swore. "This is why we don't get tangled up in lordly politics."
"Looks like we're tangled up and thoroughly knotted," Raz said sourly. "Ouch!"
"Stop squirming and it wouldn't hurt as much," Shio said tartly. "You are the biggest guppy I have ever met."
"What's a guppy? You two make no scorching sense, sometimes."
"A baby fish," Shinju replied. "There, you're all set. Now let's all get some sleep."
"What does that make you?" Raz grumbled, some of his humor returning. "Sharks?"
Shio and Shinju laughed. "Sharks are scared of us."
"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," Ivan interjected, amused. Beside him Ailill chuckled. "Are you certain you're all right?"
he asked more quietly as the camp fell silent around them, everyone either asleep or well on their way.
"Just tired. And extremely disappointed." Ailill sat up just enough to give him a brief kiss.
Startled, Ivan nevertheless kissed him back. "Go to sleep," he said quietly. "We'll renegotiate the arrangement later." With
an effort, he moved Ailill to an unused bedroll, protesting only briefly when Ailill insisted he stay.
"Boss looks pretty cozy. Who gets to wake him?"
"You," Maksim said, voice full of laughter. "But first give me the fifty silver you owe."
Isidor snorted. "No deal. Bet wasn't for sleeping."
"And of course they spent all that time in the field talking."
"No silver."
Ivan sat up with a growl. "No heads on your scorching shoulders either if you don't knock it off." He rubbed his face and
grimaced, feeling in desperate need of a bath and at least three more days of sleep. "I know I didn't hear you two talking
about some bet."
"Must be hearing things, boss." Isidor shrugged as if horribly confused. "We were just talking about what to do for
breakfast."
"Go figure it out elsewhere - and be quick about it."
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"Yes, boss." Isidor and Maksim obediently went to see about breakfast.
Groaning, Ivan fought the urge to curl back up against Ailill and go back to sleep. "What time is it?"
"Barely past sunrise," Luka said from where he was stoking the fire. "Raz and his terrors are already gone."
Ivan swore and stood up. "Those idiots. They're going to get themselves killed."
"If it was one of your men, you'd be doing the same thing," Ailill pointed out, reluctantly standing to join the rest of the
waking.
"That's beside the point," Ivan snapped. "My men aren't Candidates. Raz is getting deep into stuff he shouldn't be messing
with."
Luka shrugged. "His call, boss. What do you care anyway?"
"Maybe I'm going senile," Ivan groused.
"Doubtful," Ailill murmured so only he could hear.
Ivan shot him a look but didn't otherwise respond. "All right - most of you are in no condition to travel hard." He let them all
complain for a couple of minutes. "No arguing. You lot are staying here - we have to travel fast and at least half of you can't
do that. The rest of you are staying to look after the injured lot." That aside, if hunting down Raz took a turn for the nasty,
he didn't want his men to take the fall with him. Which forced him to think of something else. He looked at Ailill, making his
hands stay where they were at his side. "You should be getting out of the country," he said. "I know Raz must have finished
his job for you, which means you should be going before you get tangled up in all this."
"I'm already tangled up in it," Ailill said, the words said casually but the heat in his eyes decidedly not. "That aside, I already
accepted the down payment for helping you with that curse." He reached out and yanked Ivan close, leaving not much more
than a breath of space between them. "You're not allowed to take it back."
Around the campsite, Ivan's men howled and laughed. "Now you owe me fifty silver," Maksim declared, laughing all the
harder when Isidor threw a small sack of coins at his head.
Ivan eyed them until both men found something else to do. He pulled away from Ailill before his men found more ways to
harass him. "I think the discipline is severely lacking around here."
"Not with Ailill to finally administer it to you," Luka said, ducking behind the injured Gleb as he said it.
"Your head is coming off when I get back," Ivan said, and continued more seriously. "Stay low and out of sight. Shouldn't be
anymore trouble, as we're running right towards it. Don't move until you hear from me - and any message will come with the
code."
"Right, boss." Luka said, joking manner falling away. "We'll head toward Green Falls, hole up there. A bit out of the way, but
that's all to the good."
Ivan nodded. "Move slowly, go easy on poor Gleb - though not too easy. Gleb, don't do something stupid. I mean it.
Everyone take care."
"You too boss," the men chorused.
"Hey, Ai," Karp added as they reached the edge of the clearing. "Take care of the boss. Good ones are hard to find."
Ailill smiled, and covered Ivan's mouth to shut him up. "I will." Then he blurred, shimmered, and was a large white cat.
Nipping playfully at Ivan's leg, he then turned and bounded into the forest.
"You'll pay," Ivan said, then turned and chased after Ailill.
Chapter Nine
"So what exactly are we going to do, Raz?"
"I'll figure it out when we get there," Raz said, then added, "though 'don't get shot' is definitely a part of it."
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"That's good to hear," Shio said.
Shinju muttered something beneath her breath, and Raz didn't ask her to repeat it. He kept his eyes ahead, willing the royal
capital to appear on the horizon. Moving as quickly as they possibly could, it would take them two days to reach it. Hopefully
they'd overtake the merc that had Pechal long before that, but he wasn't counting on it. Thieves were fast, but mercs with a
small fortune just two days away were going to be faster.
"Fire and ash!" Raz shouted. "Why can't we be there sooner?"
"Because we don't have horses - nasty beasts - and swimming wouldn't save any time," Shio said matter-of-factly. "Besides,
you probably can't swim."
"Not unless swimming is another way of saying sink like a rock," Raz replied. "I hate water."
Shio made a face. "I don't know why. The water makes sense. Land only confuses me."
"What, you spend all your time on a ship?"
The sisters sighed. "Something like that," Shinju said, sounding vaguely amused.
Raz didn't feel like puzzling out why. Besides, they seemed to enjoy keeping their little secret, whatever it was. Pechal. He
had to find Pechal. How had he let him get away. Raz wanted to scream. Or punch something. Someone. Resisting the
urge to lash out mindlessly, he simply increased his pace to all but running, ignoring the protests from behind him.
"We'll have to stop to eat sometime," he heard Shio say.
"And then we can drug him?" Shinju countered. "Raz, you're going to exhaust yourself. We'll never get him back if you kill
yourself trying to get there."
Raz ignored them. If he'd been paying more attention to his surroundings and not moping over a memory of green eyes -
which belonged to the man who would kill Pechal! - then he would have noticed the mercs sooner and maybe then Pechal
wouldn't be on his way to die.
"Stop killing yourself over it, Raz." Shio's voice was unusually gentle. "As hard as you try, as careful watch as you keep,
there is always a shark no one can stop."
"He's my brother!" Raz exploded. "I promised to look after him and I let them take him away!" He bit his tongue on saying
anything more, and was grateful when the sisters did not try to comfort him. There was no comforting. He'd failed. "We have
to reach them before they reach the capital," he said after several minutes. "If they make it to the palace, he's beyond our
reach. I…" he drifted off, then spoke again, voice barely audible. "I don't understand…Pechal…"
"We can only do our best," Shio said. "Ultimately, the oceans control all that dwell in them."
Raz smiled weakly. "A way of saying fate controls everything?" He sighed. "So Pechal is fated to die? Because he just
happened to be a piece of some god nobody remembers?"
"Zhar Ptitka," Shinju said. "The Holy Lord of Fire, Father of Life and Death."
Shio continued. "Beautiful and knowing, cold and proud. Slain by anger and jealousy."
Raz shuddered, but was unable to say why. "Stop it. Talking about it will get you dead faster than one of your blasted
sharks."
"Does it look as though a shark has gotten close enough to hurt me?" Shio asked idly, and for a moment a silver dagger
flashed. "Let them try. Should they actually succeed, the fury of our sisters will make them regret it."
"Just how many sisters do you have?" He looked at Shinju. "I would think two of you is plenty enough in the world."
Shio and Shinju laughed. "We have many sisters, and some of them would make us look like mere babes."
"That I do not want to see," Raz said. "So drop the god talk."
Shrugging, the sisters fell into silence.
What if the mercs had kept horses somewhere? If so, there was no way they'd ever catch up to them. What if Pechal was
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about to die? What if he was already dead? Raz fought back the panic trying to get out. It wouldn't help. Pechal was
counting on him.
A sound from Shio was the only warning he got, before Raz was hit hard from behind and found himself with a mouthful of
dirt. Choking, coughing, he struggled to get free of the bone-crushing weight on top of him.
"Knock it off, cat," Ivan said, though he was laughing. He held out a hand and helped Raz to his feet. "I think you have too
much fun doing that."
Butting Ivan's hand, the cat then turned to Shio and Shinju, rubbing against each of them before twining back to Ivan.
"What are you doing here?" Raz demanded.
"Helping," Ivan said calmly. "And I've business of my own in the capital anyway. What's your plan?"
Raz sighed. "I don't have one, beyond 'find Pechal.' I try not to think too hard on it."
Beside them Ailill suddenly ceased to be a cat and was once more human. "The ramifications of finding your friend and
whisking him out of the country are certainly daunting. Then again, Pozhar has made something of a career out of defying
their Sacred Firebird." He smiled. "No doubt you are doing your ancestors proud."
"Or shaming them by repeating their mistakes," Shio said tartly. "To kill a god is terrible. To think you do not need a god is
arrogant and foolish." She tilted her head up to look at the sky, hand going out to find and hold Shinju's. "To anger a god is
frightening; to disappoint a god is shameful."
"The gods lost their way," Ailill said. "Some may never find their way back. That is not our fault."
Shinju looked at him in contempt. "The gods trusted their people, their children. They were betrayed."
"You can't know that. No one can."
"The oceans do not forget," Shio said vehemently.
Ailill looked at the sisters, eyes narrowed in thought. Then they widened. "Oh," he said softly.
"Precisely," Shinju said.
"What did we just miss?" Raz asked, looking at Ivan.
Ivan shrugged. "Who cares? Let the god-devoted squabble. We should look into getting horses - if not to get us there, then
definitely to get us away. If - when - we manage to get Pechal, we'll never outrun them on foot. Unless you're a giant cat of
course, but not all of us have that handy little trick."
Ailill laughed. "Trust me, there are more problems than benefits involved with my Form."
Raz lifted his brows went up. "Such as?"
"Nothing of interest outside of Verde," Ailill said, shaking his head. "Least of all to me." He laughed at the glares Raz and
Ivan settled on him. "Merely politics. As hard as we try not to judge by Form, there is always trouble when a lion must take
orders from a pig."
Ivan laughed. "That would certainly make me loathe to anger the lion were I the pig."
"As I said," Ailill replied dryly. "There is always trouble."
"Do tell what sort of animal a giant white cat would see as trouble," Ivan said.
Ailill made a face. "My Form brings nothing but trouble when I am home. That is why I try to be home as little as possible."
He motioned impatiently. "But this is very boring. Surely we have more interesting things to discuss than gods and animals."
"We could discuss how precisely we're going to get Pechal back, but that just seems to depress everyone," Shinju said.
"How about what we'll do once we have him back."
"Assuming we're not trapped like rats somewhere," Ivan said. "We need to get him to the harbor as quickly as possible.
Easier said than done, as that's the first place they'll look. Never mind the matter of securing passage."
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"If we can get him to the harbor," Ailill said. "I can secure passage."
Ivan looked at him. "I don't know much about politics - until now I've done a good job of staying out of them - but I'm pretty
certain that you'll be in a world of hurt if it's ever discovered a Highlander helped a handful of Pozharian peasants smuggle a
Candidate out of the country. Nor can I imagine there are a whole lot of giant, white cats running around the Highlands."
"No," Ailill said with a sigh. "I'm fairly distinctive. But," he continued with a smile, "no one will know of my involvement, and
as I said - with my Form, I am always in some manner of trouble."
"You're being more elusive than I like," Ivan said with a frown.
Ailill looked at him, eyes hot. "I'll be more forthright later."
"We're not talking about the same thing, are we?"
"You understood what I meant, therefore we must be."
Ivan rolled his eyes.
"Can we stop soon?" Shio asked. "It's hot. I wouldn't mind finding some water and cooling off for a bit." She looked up at
the sun blazing high overhead, summer hanging on tenaciously, still fighting off autumn. "How do you people endure this so
far inland?"
"There should be a stream not too far away, if we turn off the road a bit a mile up. We can rest there," Raz said, though it
was obvious he was reluctant to even think about stopping. "And it's not that hot."
Ivan looked at him like he was crazy, and Raz noticed for the first time that everyone was sweating. "I thought it felt nice,"
he muttered. "Fine, we'll stop. But not for too long."
"Seeing as Ailill and I didn't sneak off without even breakfast," Ivan said, "we can scout ahead if you guys want to rest a bit."
He frowned. "Ailill couldn't find any trail but yours earlier. Maybe we'll have more luck this time."
"No trail?" Raz asked. "How is that possible? They went tearing out of the forest, we followed their trail easily enough unit
the forest ended. The main road showed signs of use after that…but surely you must have noticed something?"
Ailill shook his head. "Nothing. It's like they were never here, so far as scent goes."
"I guess I shouldn't have expected anything about this to be easy," Raz said glumly.
"Come on," Shio said, latching onto his arm. "We need to rest, and you're resting whether you like it or not. Let those two
go ahead. We'll catch fish and I'll fix it so even you like it."
"You always eat your fish raw," Raz said, reluctantly letting them drag him along to the stream that was precisely where he
said it would be.
Shio grinned, baring her teeth. "It tastes best that way. But I do know how to cook it. Here, you sit. We're going to cool off
and then I'll make you lunch."
"You two have been friends right from the start," Raz said, sitting down but refusing to admit it felt wonderful not to be
moving. "But you've changed a lot. When we first met, you'd barely talk. Now you make nearly all the food and you're being
nice to me."
Shinju and Shio looked at each other, then shrugged. Shio laughed softly. "Earning forgiveness, we have found, is not so
awful as we first thought. Though this country is far too hot. I miss the sea."
"And good fish," Shinju added, following her sister to the stream.
Raz barely heard a word they said, beyond the two words that were echoing like clanging bells in his head. Earning
forgiveness.
I'm so sorry.
I was wrong.
Don't deserve…
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Never meant for this…
Looking at you hurts…
Can you ever forgive me?
"Raz!"
He woke with a gasp, and for a moment could make sense of nothing, awake but still lost in a dream of jewel-green eyes
set in a face so beautiful the sorrow went unnoticed.
"Raz?" Shio asked. "What's wrong?" She helped him sit up, then reached up to touch his cheek, and Raz suddenly realized
he'd been crying.
"Bad dream," he said hoarsely. "Didn't realize I'd fallen asleep. How long?"
"Maybe about twenty, thirty minutes. Lunch is ready, and then we'll get back on the road. You shouldn't worry so much - it'll
lead to mistakes." But she leaned in and hugged him, and Raz hugged her back, grateful for the contact, enjoying the scent
of grass and salt-water that mingled on her skin. "Come on," she said at last, and shook him lightly. "Everything will be all
right, and in a few days I'll make a rabbit stew and tell everyone how you were crying."
"You will not," Raz threatened. "Or I'll take away all your fish."
"Try it," Shinju said.
Raz grinned and let them drag him to the small campfire they'd made, obediently eating and enjoying the fish they'd
prepared though it all tasted like sawdust.
Pechal. He was worried about Pechal. Now that he was awake, he was starting to feel sick with worry again. If they didn't
find him soon, Pechal was going to die.
Why then had he been dreaming about Pechal's killer?
"Hey!" Ivan called, appearing at the top of the bank. "You have to come see this. Hurry!"
The three wasted no time, ditching their food and dousing the fire, grabbing their things and running after Ivan, who was
already running back the way he'd come. They ran for at least a mile, following Ivan through fields well away from the main
road.
"We found it by chance," Ivan said, slowing down as they crested a small hill. He motioned to the bottom of it. "Ailill smelled
death."
At the bottom of the hill, a location clearly picked for its seclusion, was the remains of a campsite, the smell of smoke
strong. And something else, something vile, but Raz didn't recognize it.
Three bodies were spread out around what had been a campfire, and from the spilled food it looked as though they had
stopped to eat. Slowly the group ventured down the hill, and as they reached it Raz finally realized what had killed them -
and what the smell was.
They'd been burned. He covered his mouth and looked away, unable to bear the sight of burned skin, other places where it
was raw, places where it wasn't there at all. He looked elsewhere, desperate for a distraction, rolling down one sleeve of his
shirt to cover his mouth and nose.
After a moment, he realized what was strangest of all. Whatever had killed the men hadn't touched the rest of the campsite.
Nothing else was burned, and if whatever it was had been bad enough to kill three men…why was everything else
untouched?
"Dragons lend me strength…" Shio said in horror. She sank to her knees to examine the nearest man. "What manner of fire
does this?"
Nearby, Ailill gave a low growl.
"I feel sick," Ivan said. "And I don't mean in a squeamish way - I mean in a magic way."
Raz frowned at him. "Yeah," he agreed falteringly, though he hadn't felt any sickness but that brought on by three burned
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bodies. "What did it?" He suddenly realized how stupid he was being? "Where's Pechal? Assuming these are the men that
took him…"
"Probably," Ivan said. He stroked the back of one finger across his goatee, thinking. "There are two horses here," he said,
nodding to the two dark brown horses in question, which like the rest of the camp seemed wholly unaffected by whatever
had killed the men. "But three men. It's likely somebody, hopefully Pechal, ran off with one. But…if they had horses, they
should be farther than this. In addition to that, we should have been able to pick up a trail."
Silence fell as everyone considered Ivan's words. Soundlessly Ailill approached one of the bodies, pawing and nosing until
he managed to move it, giving a soft, satisfied sounding growl when he latched onto the back upon which the body had
fallen. He took it to Ivan, who accepted it with a puzzled look. "Why don't you just change back, instead of making me figure
everything out?"
Nipping Ivan's hands, Ailill obediently shifted. "Sorry. It's sort of…easy to fall into it. That's why I try not to use it at all when I
travel. There are some, back home, who spend more time in their Form than human."
Ivan said something that only Ailill could hear, but Raz saw it made them both smile. He shook his head, mostly amused but
also…that ache, deep in his chest, flared slightly. Like he'd lost something. Or never had it. Furious with himself, Raz
shoved the thoughts aside and focused on what was important.
He realized Ailill was speaking. "I smelled magic on this," Ailill said with a frown. "But whatever was in it is long gone. A
pity." He dropped the sack he'd given to Ivan with a sigh. "It is my uneducated guess that they were using fire feathers, at
least to some degree - unless your country has some other means of using magic."
"No…" Raz shrugged. "I mean, they could. Peasants and criminals don't use magic…or at least we didn't…and I've never
heard of the nobles using anything but fire feathers. Our country doesn't really have magic anymore. Even the priests and
all have to use fire feathers to cast spells."
Ailill looked troubled. "Then either they used magic not from this country, or someone gave them fire feathers and taught
them how to use them."
"The earl?" Ivan asked. "That's unlikely. From something he told me, there are very many of those just lying around. If they
were caught using them, the penalty is a confinement so long it may as well be death. Depending on what they did with
them, it very well could be death. And besides, even nobles don't know much about magic. How could they teach it to a
group of mercs?"
"Someone knew enough to curse you," Ailill pointed out. "I'm sure it would not take much skill to learn how to cover ones
tracks. But that still does not explain what killed these men."
"High magic," Shinju said. "Poorly used."
"Like a child who doesn't understand quite what he's doing," Shio added.
"Meaning we have no idea what just happened here," Raz said tiredly. "I say we take the horses." He glanced at the bodies,
feeling sick all over again but unable to simply ignore them. "I…there isn't much we can do for them, is there?" His throat
tightened, as if he were choking on something, and no more words would come. Because he didn't have them, didn't know
what to say.
Go in peace…
Burn bright…
From the ashes…
"Be reborn," Raz whispered, and realized when the others looked at him that he'd spoken aloud. "Sorry. I don't. know…I
didn't mean…"
No one said anything, and when Ailill looked as though he were about to speak, Raz turned away and stalked to the nearest
horse. Checking that everything was in place, he mounted and looked to the others. "Are we going or not?"
Though all gave him pensive, concerned looks, no one said anything. "Shio, Shinju, you'd better each ride with one of us.
I've seen you on horses…"
"Vile beasts," Shio said with a grimace. "Fine." She walked over to Raz and allowed him to help her up, arm tight around his
waist as she settled in. Nearby, Ivan and Shinju mounted the second horse. Raz summoned a grin as he looked at Ailill. "I
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hope I was safe in assuming you don't require a horse?"
"Not until we get closer to people," Ailill said with a smile, and shifting into his Form he led them away from the strange
campsite and toward the city.
Chapter Ten
"High Priest," Earl Zholty greeted politely without looking up from the paper he was reading. "My assistant said you wanted
to speak with me."
"Peace of the Evening," Dym said levelly. "I hope I am not disturbing you."
"Not at all," Zholty replied. "There is always work to be done." He finally shoved his papers away and looked up. "What did
you need?" Though he was polite in manner and speech, there was an obvious impatience in his eyes and movements.
"Several of my priests were counting the storeroom, and reported to me that an entire box of lesser fire feathers is missing.
I thought perhaps you might know of its whereabouts, and I simply missed a note informing me you were taking them." He
stared calmly at Zholty, green eyes dark, intent.
Zholty pulled out a handkerchief and cleaned his monocle, then placed it back over his right eye. "Certainly not. I supervise
all matters pertaining to magic, but we both know I leave the actual handling of those things to you. What would I do with
twenty-five fire feathers?"
"I wonder what anyone would do with that many," Dym said. "I had hoped the solution would be as simple as you needed
them for a project I had not heard about. Rare is the problem, however, that has a simple solution. If such were the case,
they would not be problems. Thank you for your time, Earl. I shall keep you informed of my investigation."
"Do that," Zholty said. "Perhaps I should consider posting guards in the cathedral, if security is beyond your capability."
Zholty caught Dym's eyes, his own hard.
Dym returned the stare calmly.
Zholty dropped his gaze. "This will, of course, have to be reported."
"Of course," Dym said, and with a bow left the office.
Back in the hallway, he wandered the palace lost in thought. People stopped speaking as he approached, and behind his
back the whispers sprang up with more fervor than usual. Dym ignored them, focused entirely on his thoughts. His
expression never changed, but his bright eyes steadily darkened in color, until they very nearly seemed black in the weak
light of the hallways.
Eventually he wound his way back to the Cathedral, and there dismissed the few priests who had not been sent out to hunt
down the Candidate. He walked the perimeter of the empty cathedral, gazing at the dozens of windows, the painted ceilings,
his feet knowing where to walk while his eyes looked elsewhere.
He paused when the door opened and waited patiently as Duke Krasny approached. "Peace of the Evening, your Grace.
How may I be of assistance"
"There is never a lack of exotic rumors about you, High Priest. Why, I do not know. You are the most boring man I have
ever met in my life, as well as the most foolish. But the latest bought of rumors is hard to ignore, and my cousin will not
answer my questions - which alone tells me much. I have come to you for answers, and to tell you to stay away from her. I
know not what games you play, and I cannot yet catch you at them, but if I find she is tangled up in them I will see that you
suffer dearly for it."
Dym titled his head slightly in a small nod. "I play no games with the Princess. What are your questions?"
"What is your relationship with her?"
"We are friends and allies. The Princess had few confidantes, and with his Majesty sick, she feels in desperate need of
them." Dym contemplated him. "You do not believe me."
"Why should I? It is hard to trust a man who seems to feel no remorse for the things you do."
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Dym's eyes flashed bright, then dimmed. "All that I do is for Pozhar and its people. There is nothing to regret in my actions. I
am sorry if your Grace feels differently."
Nikolai turned to regard the window before which Dym stood. It was tucked away in a small nook that must have once
housed a small altar, and the image it depicted made little sense to the Duke. Long and narrow, it was a set of six circles,
each outlined in yellow glass. Within each circle was a different image - at the top a young man, dressed in the same shade
of red worn by the priests, below that an image of a plain-looking woman, below that an orange-red cat, followed by a pale
yellow rose, a man in a hat common to farmers, followed by a woman in a red dress and gold grown. The images were
simplistic in design, but caught the eye.
"Does the window interest your Grace?" Dym asked softly.
"It makes no sense," Nikolai conceded reluctantly. "Every time I am in this wretched place, these stupid things confuse me.
Who had so much free time that they would put up such nonsensical things?"
Dym's lips curved in amusement, but it was there so briefly it might not have been there at all. "These are all left over from
the days when the Firebird still lived, of course. The true meanings have been lost over time, but this one is not so hard to
figure out." He pointed to the topmost image. "A priest," he said. "The first life, or more likely one of the more important
ones for this soul." He pointed to the next. "The next life, the soul reborn as a peasant woman, then as a cat, as a rose, a
farmer…and lastly as a noble…perhaps a Queen."
Nikolai snorted in contempt. "Absurdity. If we truly are close to destroying a god, we are indeed better off without him. How
can a person be a cat? A flower?"
"Some lives are punishment, others reward, others a chance to start anew…others a price." Dym shrugged. "Or so it once
was said."
Nikolai eyed him. "You know far too much about what is forbidden, High Priest."
"One cannot be a soldier without learning even those things he does not want to know," Dym replied calmly. "How does one
catch an enemy if he does not know him from a friend?"
"You've a smooth tongue, no doubt about that," Nikolai said sourly. "See that you keep it from my cousin."
"The Princess is my friend, nothing more," Dym replied. "And now if your Grace does not mind, I wonder if I might pose a
question to you."
Nikolai grunted.
"A box of fire feathers has gone missing. Earl Zholty claims to know nothing about it, which further concerns me. I trust my
priests implicitly. I am hoping you might know their whereabouts, and somewhere I was simply not informed?"
"An entire box?" Nikolai asked, frowning in concern. "That's no small matter, especially as there's only a handful of us who
can use them. How did you let an entire box slip past you, High Priest?"
"I do not know," Dym said. "That is why I had hoped I was simply not informed, as has happened before." Though his voice
remained level, there was a reprimand in it.
"Perhaps your priests need to relearn how to count."
"Perhaps," Dym agreed noncommittally. "Is there anything else I can do for your Grace?"
"How goes the hunt for the Candidate?"
"As always, it is a slow process. We will find him in time, never fear."
Nikolai looked at him. "Just don't let him get away again, hmm? The more quietly this is done, the less the people will fuss.
So close, we can't cause an upset."
"Of course," Dym agreed. "All will go according to plan - there is no cause for worry."
"We shall see, High Priest, we shall see." Nikolai turned to leave, and jumped in surprise as the heavy cathedral doors
banged open, admitting a rush of people and a flurry of noise. The sounds echoed through the massive cathedral, creating
a deafening cacophony. "Enough!" he roared.
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Dym spoke more levelly when silence fell. "What is going on here?"
"Candidate," a priest gasped, and moved aside as guards pushed through the excited throng of people who had come to
see what became of the stir created. Roughly they threw a man to the hard marble floor. He was slight of build, short of
stature, his hair a tangled mess of large, blonde curls. Nikolai strode over and order the man put on his feet.
The man cried out in pain when a guard hauled him up, and his head flew up as he desperately sought an ally in the crowd
of gawkers, eyes a bright, blazing gold.
"Enough," Dym's quiet voice cut through the noise like knife. He stared at he guard holding roughly to the Candidate. "Let
him go."
The guard hastily obeyed, and backed quickly into the crowd, letting it swallow him.
Dym looked at every person who had entered the Cathedral, guards curious to see the outcome, a few stray nobles curious
to see what had caused such a commotion. One by one they dropped their eyes, curiosity turning into something that felt
like shame. "Get out," he said quietly.
When the people had gone, Dym approached the Candidate and held out a hand. "Come," he said gently. "We will get you
taken care of." He motioned to a couple of the priest who had remained. "Take him to my chambers."
"Why bother?" Nikolai demanded impatiently. "You have your Candidate, get it over with."
Dym turned slowly around and locked gazes with Nikolai, eyes a blazing green. "What if tomorrow reveals you to be the
next Candidate, your Grace? Would you like it if we simply 'got it over with'? Could you even do it?"
"I'm no coward."
"Easy to say when you are not the one about to die," Dym said.
"Indeed," Nikolai said, voice as cold as ice.
Dym turned and walked away.
As he traveled the halls from the cathedral to his chambers, the people lingering in the halls quickly found other places to
be, whispers dying to stark silence. Dym entered his chambers and finally released a whisper-soft sigh, closing his eyes. He
opened them a moment later, and walked quietly through his rooms to the bathing chamber, dismissing his priests with a
gesture.
"What is your name?" he asked quietly, watching the man sitting in a corner of the large bath.
"Pechal," he replied faintly, not looking up from the water.
Dym walked around the edge of the tub and knelt beside him, slightly behind. He frowned as he noticed the bruises on one
forearm, obviously made by rough hands. Gently taking the wrist, ignoring the way Pechal went still with fear, he pressed a
soft kiss to each of the bruises. "I am sorry you were hurt," he said, and let Pechal take his arm back.
"W-w-why are you being so…everyone else has been so rough." Pechal laughed. "I mean, I'm just a homeless thief, I'm
used to rough, but…"
"You were mistreated," Dym said quietly. "You should be treated with honor, as you would have been had my men found
you first." He reached out and gently began to untangle the haphazard curls as best he could. "I apologize that you were so
ill-treated."
Pechal shuddered and splashed water on his face, as if trying to wash something away. His voice was shaky when he
spoke. "You're going to kill me. Why are you being so nice?" But rather than give Dym a chance to answer, he continued
talking, as if it was hard to stop once he'd begun. "I haven't felt right since I ran, when the priests used the feather on me."
Dym listened quietly, his only movements to wash Pechal, who did not seem to really notice what was going on.
"Then there were the men that tried to kill me…" Pechal said softly. "And the last group, the ones that got me…they had fire
feathers." He pulled his arm from where Dym had been washing it and buried his face in his hands. "I killed them, but I
didn't mean to. Raz will hate me, when he sees what I did to them. I didn't mean to do it. I was just tired of it all, angry. And
cold. Even now I'm cold. But I didn't mean to kill them. I just wanted to go home." He buried his face in his hands and began
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to sob.
Dropping the washing cloth he'd been holding, Dym awkwardly pulled Pechal out of the bath and embraced him. Softly he
kissed his cheek, and let Pechal cry, his own expression shuttered, save for his eyes which blazed bright green with anger.
"Why?" Pechal asked eventually, voice hoarse from crying. "I don't understand any of it."
Dym slowly got them to stand up, and wrapped Pechal in a soft, cream-colored robe. "Why the men were trying to kill you, I
do not know. But it doesn't matter anymore. Why must you die?" Dym stroked his hair, untangling a few more of the curls,
then helped Pechal into his bed. It was large, piled with thick blankets and a velvet coverlet of dark green. Curtains of the
same material were tied back with silver ribbon, stark against the near-black color of the wood. He made sure Pechal was
settled before moving to where a tray had been set by a servant who knew by now what was expected and fixed a cup of
tea which he brought to Pechal. "Mint," he said lightly. "You will like it."
Hesitantly Pechal took it, and did seem to cheer a bit at the taste of mint tea.
"Perhaps it would be easier to explain why you always feel cold…and why I sense you came here on your own, even after
you obviously escaped from the men who kidnapped you." He continued as Pechal nodded. "The fire feathers are used to
wake what is sleeping inside you," Dym said. "Mostly to prove we are not mistaken in identifying the Candidate.
Unfortunately, as the days pass, the sleeping powers begin to come truly to life. A fire that begins to burn out of control…"
Dym looked him in the eyes, and Pechal stared raptly back. "Pozhar has forgotten nearly all that it once knew, including the
fact that though the body dies, the soul forever lives on, constantly reborn into a new life. But your soul…it is but a mere
piece. It is searching for the other pieces, which is why you feel cold. It is also the reason you came here."
Pechal shook his head. "But I'm going to die."
Dym reached out and cupped Pechal's face in his hands, tugging him gently forward and kissing him softly. "All will be well,
Eminence. Rest, and tell me when you are ready."
Dazed, Pechal nodded, seemingly oblivious to the tears running down his cheeks. Kissing him once more, Dym sat quietly
until Pechal fell asleep, fingers gently brushing away tears, caressing the myriad freckles.
Rising, he left the room, closing the door shut quietly behind him. Wending his way through the halls, he stopped before the
royal offices and demanded an audience with the princess.
"Dym!" Sonya stood up as he entered. "Kolya has told me the Candidate was brought in."
"Yes," Dym said, and Sonya recoiled at the obvious anger in his voice. "He had some rather interesting things to say.
Apparently some men tried to kill him - because he was the Candidate, or so is my impression. Furthermore, he was
kidnapped by men in possession of fire feathers - which unfortunately he accidentally used to kill his assailants."
"Fire feathers? The very ones you said were taken?" Sonya sat down hard. "What is going on?" Her eyes were wide with
worry and confusion. Then they narrowed in anger. "I will figure it out. How is the Candidate?"
"Resting," Dym said quietly. "I sense he will be dead before dawn."
Sorrow flashed across Sonya's features. "Any family?"
"He said he was a homeless thief," Dym said.
"That's awful," Sonya said unhappily. "I don't like to see the families mourn, but…if there is anything you need, let me know.
I will figure out what is going on, and who is behind it. I have a sneaking suspicion I've a relative involved in this. Now
would be an excellent time for one of those ice spells I detest." She shook her head at the memory. "I am sorry, Dym. If
anyone else tries to give you trouble, just have the guards haul them away. I'm sure a few hours in a damp cell will improve
behavior around here."
"Yes, Princess. Thank you."
"You are the one to be thanked, Dym." Sonya smiled sadly.
Dym bowed, but did not reply, merely turned and left as quietly as he'd come.
When he returned to his room, Pechal was standing by a window, looking down at the fields beyond the castle. "I think I'm
ready," he said quietly, not turning around to look at Dym. "I don't want to die…" He finally turned around. "But…"
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Dym held out his hand, and Pechal took it, returning the embrace Dym tugged him into. "Who are you?"
"My name is Dym."
Pechal nodded, and did not repeat his question. "There's not some big ceremony or something is there? I'm just…I don't
want to be stared at."
"Just you and me," Dym said softly. "Once there was a ceremony. Over the years most people have preferred to pretend it
does not happen. Come." Taking Pechal's hands, he led him through corridors that were deserted, used only by servants
who were finished with their chores for the night.
He smiled briefly at Pechal's look of wonder as they entered the cathedral. "It's so pretty," Pechal said. "Raz never wanted
to go in the one in the city. I was surprised to see him that day…" his momentary smile collapsed.
Dym's steps faltered. "Raz…the young man who helped you?"
"Yeah," Pechal looked gloomily at the floor. "My best friend. We're like brothers. Grew up on the streets together, made a
name for ourselves. If you need something stolen, we're the ones to come to." He laughed suddenly. "Raz pulled that job on
the stupid earl the other day." He stopped, eyes widening in panic. "Please don't tell!"
Dym chuckled, and let his thumb brush the freckles on one cheek. "They will not hear it from me." He motioned around the
room. "Does anything catch your eye?"
"The ceiling," Pechal responded, eyes once more fastened to it. "That one there," he said, and pointed.
Dym followed where he indicated and another small smile curved his lips. "The Garden of the Faerie Queen of Verde.
Everywhere else in the world, rulers hide themselves inside lavish palaces. But the Faerie Queen is rarely seen inside, or at
least traditionally. Once long ago she sat on a throne made from the wood of an ancient oak, in the middle of a splendid
garden, surrounded always by her Guardians and Beasts."
"She's pretty," Pechal said. "Like a mother."
"She is mother to all," Dym said, and led him through the cathedral to the heavy door behind the main altar. His keys
clinked together loudly in the silence of the cathedral, but the sounds faded as he opened the door.
Pechal gasped to the see the Chamber of Night, black and gold and silver, here dark, there bright, shining, like a spell come
to life. He began to tremble, calm of only moments before unable to bear the burden of what was about to happen, but did
not stop or slow as he followed Dym to the altar table. "This is all there is to it?"
"Simple is best," Dym said, and moved Pechal so that he was standing before the black marble table.
"Does it mean anything?" Pechal asked. "Or am I just thief to be forgotten?"
Dym cupped his face, jewel-green eyes bright with the intensity his cool voice could not express. "Those who are loved are
never forgotten, because those who love never forget." He ducked his head and kissed Pechal softly, and when he pulled
away Pechal had ceased to tremble. "Go in peace, burn bright." Taking the greater fire feather from his robes, Dym pressed
it to his chest.
Pechal gasped briefly in pain, then went still. Slowly the light in his eyes faded. Dym caught him as he fell and lifted the
body to the altar, standing quietly as it burst into flame.
Raz woke screaming, sobbing, choking when he could not manage to do both at once. He didn't notice the hands that tried
to hold him still, the words that tried to soothe. Just screamed and sobbed and choked.
Against all his protests they'd stopped for the night, and even Raz knew that nearly falling off his horse three times in the
span of ten minute was a bad sign. But still they'd had to all but tie him down.
He fought off the touches trying to console him, shoved them all away, buried his face in his hands and sobbed. "He's
dead," he managed eventually. "Pechal's dead."
"Raz…you don't know…" Shio said soothingly.
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"I know!" Raz bellowed, oblivious to the way everyone around him recoiled, winced. "He's dead. We're too late." He pulled
his knees up and gave fully into the sobs, distantly relieved that no one again tried to touch him.
He didn't deserve to be comforted or soothed. He deserved every last bit of pain.
Because when he'd first woken, it hadn't been Pechal he'd been thinking about. It wasn't Pechal he'd been dreaming about.
He'd been dreaming about jewel-green eyes in a sad face, a tall man standing before a black altar, face calm but eyes dark
with pain. Pain Raz wanted to ease, soothe, kiss away. If he'd ever had the right to comfort, he didn't have it now and that
hurt most of all.
It was only later he'd realized Pechal was dead, and he hated himself for letting his thoughts go elsewhere. He cried for
Pechal, he cried for himself, and he cried because even now, he could not forget those pain-dark eyes.
Part Two
Those who are loved are never forgotten, as those who love never forget.
~Old Pozharian saying
Chapter Eleven
"How is he?" Ivan asked as Shio sat down wearily across from him.
"Perfectly miserable," Shio replied, picking at her fish without enthusiasm.
Ivan grunted and went back to choking down his own food. "He needs to leave," he said at last. "I don't think staying will do
him any good."
"I can secure him passage once we get to the harbors," Ailill said.
"The trick of course is getting him to move from that bed," Shinju said despondently. "Like trying to remove a starfish once
it's stuck to something."
The ghost of a smile flickered across Ivan's face as the ocean reference completely passed him by. "Something like that, no
doubt." He poked at a remaining bit of sausage, then shoved his bowl away and focused on his tea, which had turned tepid.
"I suppose he'll move when he's ready."
"Yes," Shio said softly, and finally gave up on her piece of fish. "I think I'm going to go for a walk or something." She stood
up and walked off across the pavilion, Shinju following right behind her without a word.
"I wish there was something I could do," Ailill said softly. "I did not know him long, but it was long enough to understand why
they're so heartbroken."
Ivan shrugged. "We seldom crossed paths, just every few months or so when I needed them for a job too delicate for my
men to handle. But looking at them, you'd never guess them for street urchins. Both of them…always seemed happy about
things. It's not right, somehow, seeing Raz…"
Ailill nodded. "I agree." He gathered up the remains of their food and threw it out. "Shall we go elsewhere?" He held out a
hand to help Ivan up, and was slow to let it go as they walked back to their room.
They paused as they passed the third door on the right side, and Ivan looked in to see that Raz was still buried in his bed,
all but dead. Biting back the urge to say something, knowing there was nothing that would help, Ivan quietly closed the door
and continued to the next door, letting Ailill close it. He collapsed onto the bed nearest the window, the first time he'd really
laid down since they'd dragged Raz into town and gotten him to lie down.
Now they couldn't get him out of bed.
Used to sleeping alone, it was startling but immediately appealing when Ailill lay down next to him, arm sliding around him to
tug Ivan close. Lips feathered across his cheek, teeth nipped at his nose, and Ivan opened immediately when Ailill finally
gave him a proper kiss. He tasted like sweet tea and green things, a flavor Ivan realized was inseparable from the
Highlander. He buried on hand in soft hair and held him close, half-afraid that if he let go, he'd realize he was dreaming.
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"You're dangerous, Highlander."
"I could say the same for you, merc," Ailill said. He gave Ivan another long, slow kiss. "We should rest."
Ivan nodded and pressed closer, curling into Ailill like it was the most natural thing to do, unsettled at how well they seemed
to fit. When they woke, they would have to work on Raz, and the sisters, and figure out how to steal fire feathers. But for
now, he was more than content to let it fall away, and for a few hours enjoy what he'd never thought he'd have.
"So how precisely does one go about getting a fire feather?" Ailill asked, tugging playfully at Ivan's hair.
Ivan slid him a thoughtful glance. "Why do I sense that you could simply walk in and ask?"
"Hardly," Ailill said. "It would take them months simply to get over the scandal and outrage." He let go of Ivan's hair and laid
back down, wrapping an arm around Ivan's waist, curling up against him. "I'd just come out of it with a lot of trouble and no
fire feather."
Shaking his head, curious but not dumb enough to think Ailill would explain, Ivan kept to the matter at hand. "Fire feathers
are used by priests and a handful of specially-appointed nobles and soldiers," Ivan said. "Obviously the feathers are in the
palace then, it's just a matter of where exactly. Perhaps the Cathedral? Or an office, I suppose…"
Ailill nodded. "Finding out that exact location is going to be as difficult as the theft itself."
"A pity Raz is out of it; he always said he'd never attempt a palace job but I know he's just always wanted a good excuse to
try." Ivan drummed his fingers on the table. "I don't know of another group that'd be up for it. Not when we've got such a
small window of time to work in."
"Just over two weeks, yes?" Ailill asked softly.
"Yeah." Unconsciously Ivan pressed a hand to his chest, where the pain had subsided to a steady throb. Just painful
enough he never forgot it was there - as if he could anyway. "We need Raz…" Heaving a sigh, Ivan disentangled himself
from the bed and Ailill and tugged his boots back on, coming a hand through his hair as he walked to the door.
He rapped sharply on the door of Raz's room, then shoved it open - only to find the bed empty. "He's gone," he said as Ailill
appeared beside him. "Where did he go?"
"A good question," Ailill said pensively. "Hopefully not to do something stupid."
Frowning, Ivan immediately turned and all but ran down the stairs and out the door. Weaving his way through narrow,
crowded streets he didn't slow until he reached the pavilion. Ailill appeared at his side a moment later, and Ivan moved
forward again, crossing to where two familiar women stood talking quietly to each other. "Where'd he go?" Ivan demanded.
Shio shrugged. "Away. He said he'd be back."
"You just let him walk off in the state he's in? What if he tries something stupid?" Like revenge. Ivan could see Raz doing
that - it was the quiet ones like him who always got loudest when pushed too far.
Shinju rolled her eyes. "Since when did you become our leader? Anyway, unless the priests have moved their work to the
harbors, we've got nothing to fear."
"The harbors?" Ivan frowned. "Why would he go there?"
"Storms if I know," Shio said. "He hates water. But he told us to stay here, and he said he'd be back. Now unless you have
something useful to say, we're going to go check out the palace."
Ivan blinked. "What?"
"How in the Storms' names else are we going to break into the palace?" Shinju looked slyly at Ailill. "Unless the Beast wants
to tell us."
Ailill glared. "Leave it, daughters of the dragons."
"This is why we hate gods," Ivan said, rolling his eyes. "Those of you that take them seriously are all idiots." He left them
standing there glaring to find food. When he returned a moment later, whatever they hadn't been saying to each other
seemed to have settled. "So what's the plan?"
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"We'll see what we can learn about the palace," Shio said. "You tried to help us with Pechal…" she fell silent a moment, but
shook herself after a moment, "the least we can do is help you. I think Raz will, once he…puts himself back together." She
reached out to find Shinju's hand, clasping it tightly.
Ivan sighed, then forced his somber thoughts aside. He gave the sisters a smile. "So how do two women such as
yourselves get anywhere near the palace? Or even to the south end of town."
"Human," Shinju sniffed, "we've been around longer than you can imagine. We've picked up a few tricks. Figuring out where
in the palace those feathers are won't be hard at all." She gave a sudden smile, and Ivan had the strange idea that he
suddenly knew what a shark was. "We'll meet you back here this evening, and dinner is on you." With a wink, the sisters
departed.
Something they said finally hit him. "What did they mean 'human' - they're not?" He glared at their backs, barely noticing
when Ailill stole a bit of bread straight from his fingers.
Ailill chuckled. "You should be flattered, Firelander." He stole another piece of bread as Ivan tore it from the small loaf he'd
bought, sucking briefly on Ivan's fingers. "Mermaids have not been seen on land for hundreds of years. Even my people
thought they had passed into legend." He looked thoughtfully at the two women as they vanished from the pavilion.
"Peculiar that they have chosen to reappear in Pozhar, and now of all times…" His lips curved in amusement. "Doing
something for their father indeed."
"Whatever," Ivan said. "I don't care. This is why mercs stay out of complicated business." He looked up at Ailill, steel-blue
eyes tracing every line of the Highlander's stern face. "Speaking of complicated," he murmured. "I get the feeling you come
with more complications than I can begin to think up."
"You certainly wouldn't think of them," Ailill said, "but I promise I'm no more complicated than a man who's been cursed
because he refuses to kill a piece of a god."
Ivan fought a smile. "When you put it that way," he said, "I guess things aren't that bad." He stepped hastily back, rocked by
the sudden urge to just reach up and taste Ailill's smile. That would cause more trouble than he wanted to think about. He
wondered if the heat in Ailill's eyes was in his own.
Then abruptly Ailill's eyes went hard, locked on something past Ivan. Spinning around, Ivan glared at the all-too-familiar face
of Earl Zholty's steward. "What?"
"His lordship requests an audience," the servant said stonily. "Immediately."
"You can tell his lordship that I'm busy for the next two weeks, but I'll be happy to speak with him after that," Ivan replied.
The steward bowed. "Then his lordship bids me mention that he knows the faces of your men and it would not be difficult to
see to their arrests and executions."
Ivan muttered a soft curse, barely feeling the fingers that touched soothingly to his lower back. "Fine," he bit out. "We'll be
more than happy to give his lordship an audience."
Smirking, the steward gave another elegant bow and turned on his heel, stalking back across the pavilion, not bothering to
see if they were following.
"This could be bad," Ivan said. "He shouldn't care about me anymore. The Candidate's dead, and I'll be dead in two weeks.
If I tried to incriminate him, I'd just die that much sooner. I'm of no threat.'
"Mmm," Ailill hummed thoughtfully as he followed Ivan through the winding maze of crowded streets. "Perhaps he needs
you to find the next one, as of the three groups he hired yours is the only one still alive." Another thoughtful hum. "Quite a
busy man, this Earl, to be buying stolen goods, then losing them, amidst trying to undermine the execution of the
Candidates. What is his ultimate agenda, I wonder?"
Ivan looked at him. "You're a nobleman, aren't you? You speak just like them, wonder about things that someone like me
generally could not care less about."
"I was born a commoner," Ailill, sounding tired, "but fate had other plans for me. I am not quite a nobleman…more like a
highly-glorified servant. That however does make me more familiar than I like with politics. I am never happier than when I
am not there, trust me." He reached up to his hand through Ivan's short hair, and started to lean in before remembering
where they were. Letting his hand fall slowly away, he smiled briefly and then followed Ivan through the backyard of the
Earl's house - sharing a smirk as they recalled that only days ago Raz had snuck through it - and into the kitchen, winding
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through the house.
Ivan knocked at the door of Earl Zholty's study, then opened the door and slid inside.
"Who is he?" Zholty demanded, setting down a red and violet teacup with a loud clatter.
"My new associate," Ivan said coolly, making sure his sword was loose in its scabbard. "I would suggest not trying anymore
curses."
Zholty eyed Ailill. "What is a Highlander doing in Pozhar?"
"That is my business," Ailill said, voice taking on an edge Ivan had never heard before. He looked askance at the man, not
quite taking his attention from the Earl. Ailill's pale brown eyes had gone hard, stern face set into even more severe lines.
He stood utterly still, attention solely for the Earl. Ivan was not ignorant of how the world worked; most days he wished he
knew a great deal less. But watching these two, he suddenly felt just how little he really knew. It made him tired; he wanted
nothing more than to go find his men in Green Falls, drink himself into oblivion and then go find a job raiding a carriage or
kidnapping some spoiled rich man's son or daughter.
"You will state the reason for your presence."
Ailill smirked. "If I must state my presence, I would do so as protocol requires, which of course will require I relate this
meeting. How about we all just agree to remain discreet, Earl Zholty?"
"As you wish it, Highlander. But I find myself mighty suspicious of a Highland noble who willingly associates with the worst
of Pozhar's riff-raff."
"Be careful of your words," Ailill said.
Ivan sighed. "Can we please just get to business?" he snapped. "I hate politics. Are you going to curse me again? What do
you want?"
"Poor little riff raff," Zholty said with a mocking laugh. "Is the world of real men too much for you?"
Ivan rolled his eyes and did not reply. It would be too easy to put Zholty in his place, but it would only cause more problems
than it would solve. Though taking his sword and slicing off chunks of that pompous ass would go a long way toward
improving his mood. Sadly, he hadn't gotten as far as he had in life by indulging himself often. On that note, Ailill was
probably enough of an indulgence for as long as he had the man.
"You failed to kill the Candidate," Zholty continued.
"I told you I wasn't interested in the job," Ivan replied. "From what I saw, the Candidate didn't much like being captured. He
fried the men you hired - that would be the group you didn't tell me about - to a crisp.
Zholty frowned. "I only hired you and Vladimir."
Ivan snorted. "Sure. I bet you didn't give them the fire feathers either. Come off it, Earl. You're not fooling anyone but
yourself."
"Fire feathers?" Zholty said in a soft tone. "They had fire feathers?"
"This conversation is over, unless you want to tell me the point of it, but seeing as the answer is already no, I guess it's
over. Have a good day, Earl."
Zholty picked up his tea and leisurely sipped it. "One would think, after the last time, that you would know better than to
disobey me, Vanya."
Ailill rest a hand on his shoulder. "Come, Earl. We are not interested in your politics. What do you want of us?"
If Zholty heard him, he gave no indication, instead frowning into the delicate teacup held in his soft, smooth hands. "I smell
the hand of that damnable Duke in this."
"We're going," Ivan said. "If he just wants someone to stand around and be threatened, he can drag a servant in here. I
have better things to be doing with my time."
"Like attempting to find a cure for that curse?" Zholty asked, eyes sly. "Let me guess. You think the Highlander can help.
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You're wrong."
Ailill stepped forward, a restraining hand still on Ivan's shoulder. "How do you know that?"
"Highlander, I'm the Advisor of Magic. I have access to things no one in Pozhar dreams exists. In all of the world, there are
maybe three other people that can read the books I do, and I doubt any of them do it half so well." He smirked, eyes as
hard and cold as winter. "The Highlands are not much better off than Pozhar. Turning into filthy animals is pathetic
alongside real magic."
It was Ivan's turn to hold Ailill still, resting a hand at the small of his back. "Enough, Earl."
"Che," Zholty said in contempt. "I'm not the one who is going to die in two weeks, merc. I suggest you shut that mouth of
yours for once in your life and listen to what I have to say. In a few days the High Priest will be turning over the image of the
latest Candidate. I would already have it, but the Princess has delayed things for reasons that are of no concern to you."
"The King is probably going to die any day now," Ailill said. "Everyone knows that. It would be in poor taste to hunt down
and kill a man during a period of mourning. After that will be the Princess's coronation, which would again delay the matter
of finding the last Candidate. Giving you plenty of time to find and murder him, throwing off a plan that Pozhar has been
working on for a thousand plus years. Why?"
The Earl grunted. "Who are you, Highlander?"
"Of no concern to you unless you do not lift the curse from Vanya."
Ivan started briefly at hearing the pet form of his name come from Ailill. It felt…intimate. Right. Much better than hearing the
stupid Earl say it.
"Is that the way the wind blows?" Zholty asked with a smirk. "Animals tend to be possessive; I guess that shows your roots
more than even those ears."
Ailill merely laughed. "So you want Vanya to find and kill the Candidate while no one else is looking for him? Even if we
agreed to do it, which we won't, you said yourself that the High Priest has not even presented the latest sketch."
"But he will have it shortly. I intend to obtain it, and I will then send it to you. When I do, you will find and kill him."
Ivan snorted. "Or what? You'll kill me?"
"I know what you and your men look like. The High Priest is not the only one who can draw. Warrants for your arrest would
not be hard to obtain, and let's face it - my word against yours? You are a sloppy merc to put yourself in such a situation."
Ivan curled his hands into fists, wanting nothing more than to smash in Zholty's face. "Why couldn't you just stick to asking
me to commandeer ship cargo?"
"If you don't screw this up, perhaps I will."
"If you live that long," Ivan replied.
Zholty reached into a hidden pocket and withdrew a small, orange and gold feather. He twirled it idly. "I think we have
already established that my feathers are more effective than your sword, Vanya." His eyes glinted. "But perhaps you need
reminding." He held the feather and spoke a word Ivan couldn't catch, letting go of the feather. It burned bright, then was
gone. All in an instant, too fast - like last time - for Ivan to react. How did one fight words?
Then he nearly fell to his knees, overwhelmed by dizziness and nausea. A strong hand wrapped around his upper arm and
Ivan was gently hauled to his feet, dragged close against Ailill's side. "What was that?"
But no one seemed to have heard him, Ailill and Zholty focused entirely on each other. "Do not try that again, Earl, or you
will find yourself in more trouble than your country can smooth over."
The earl had gone pale with pain, hands gripping the armrests of his seat so hard his knuckles were white.
Ailill smirked. "It would appear we animals can do a bit more magic than you mere humans anticipated. We are going. Do
not bother us again or you will find out just how beastly I can be."
Zholty's glared at them, almost shaking with fury.
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"Good day, your lordship." Holding tightly to Ivan, Ailill led them out of the room and back downstairs, then out the front door
of the house. "Now let everyone wonder who we are and why they didn't see us go in earlier," he said with a chuckle in
Ivan's ear.
Ivan rolled his eyes. "I'm so sick of this. From now on, I do not accept jobs from anyone on the south side of the city." He
glared at Ailill. "And the next time I decide to consider a Highlander as a lover, remind me to rethink that."
"Next time?" Ailill asked. He abruptly ducked into a small alleyway as they left the richer side of town behind and dragged
Ivan close. Before Ivan could draw a breath, he was being kissed - hard, possessively, just like in the forest. Like Ailill knew
exactly what he wanted, knew how to take it, and expected no resistance.
Which worked fine, because Ivan had no interest in resisting. Every kiss they shared only made him hungrier for more,
desperate to ensure that he'd be alive to enjoy them. He wrapped his arms around Ailill's waist and held tight, kissing back
with equal fervor, wondering how he'd lived without this for all his life. "Bad idea," he finally gasped out. "To do this here."
Ailill sank fingers into his hair, held his head in place, and took another hard kiss, biting on Ivan's lower lip before finally
letting go. "I just barely avoided killing a peer of the realm, and used my magic. Getting in trouble for kissing you is hardly
worth worrying about." He brushed a soft kiss across Ivan's wet, swollen lips. "If that bastard tries that again, he'll find
himself suffering a lot worse that what I did to him."
"What did you do to him?" Ivan asked, almost idly smoothing his hands up and down the lines of Ailill's spine, loving that he
could touch, the slight rush that came with the knowledge they could be caught even though he knew it was stupid to be so
reckless.
"Turned his spell around," Ailill said, eyes hard with the remnants of his anger. "Once upon a time, wizards like that would
have been hunted down and killed." He sighed and brushed another soft kiss across Ivan's lips. "We had best go."
Ivan rolled his eyes. "I don't think I was the one that dragged us into the alleyway. I thought you only acted stupid after
changing."
"Stupid?" Ailill's eyes gleamed as they began to weave through the crowded streets, sticking to alleyways "After all this
ridiculous drama is over, I'll show you just how stupid I can be, Vanya."
"Why does everyone like to call me that? I'm a merc. I specialize in kidnapping spoiled sons and daughters." He glared at
Ailill. "I've been doing this for longer than I can remember. I know more ways to hurt or kill than I like to think about. With
Vlad out of the way, I'm the best merc in this country. My name is Ivan."
"Yes, Vanya."
"Shut up."
Chapter Twelve
Raz didn't like the sea. He never had. It wasn't a fear exactly, like Pechal had always teased him - and he had to stop
thinking about Pechal now before he fell apart again - just he didn't like the way it went on forever. The lack of land. The
excessive amount of wet. The only water he wanted any part of was the bathing kind.
So, okay, he sounded afraid. But he wasn't. Just…it wasn't his place. Shio and Shinju could have it. He just wanted Pozhar.
Which was why he was standing lost in the harbors, wishing more than anything that he could actually leave. They'd killed
Pechal. They would kill someone else. So many had already died.
A necessary evil for the good of Pozhar. Raz didn't care. He just wanted Pechal back. Or to leave it all behind. But Pechal
was dead and he couldn't stand the thought of leaving Pozhar.
Trapped.
"It isn't fair," he whispered.
He and Pechal had been nothing. There lives were the sort no one envied. Who would ever choose to be a thief? A poor
petty criminal with ties to nothing?
But they'd liked it. Loved it. It was the life they'd made their own. Free to go anywhere, a solid reputation and the ability to
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take practically whatever they wanted if they so desired. They were dirty thieves but they'd been good at it. Never hurt
anyone who didn't hurt them first.
And now Pechal was dead because he'd been born with a piece of some long-dead god inside him.
His eyes burned, but Raz was too tired to manage any more tears. It wasn't like they'd bring Pechal back anyway.
Nor would they ease his guilt. Raz's head jerked up as the sound of thunder, and he fastened his eyes on the clouds that
had seemed to come from nowhere, darkening the early evening sky to the point it seemed night had fallen hard and fast.
He shivered as the temperature dropped, hunching his shoulders and looking around desperately for refuge as rain began to
patter down, the prelude to what would soon be a full-blown storm.
He liked storms as much as he liked the ocean. As in he wanted no part of them. Stupid storms. Always up to no good.
Shaking off the strange thought, Raz scrambled to find shelter, ducking inside the first tavern he saw, huddling at the bar
and ordering an ale. He accepted it with a thanks, then frowned in concern at the barmaid as she hastily turned away,
coughing hard into a handkerchief which she then hastily tucked away. Her eyes caught Raz's, but hastily slid away as she
moved to tend another beckoning customer.
There'd been blood on the handkerchief. Raz frowned miserably at the counter, no longer able to drink the ale he'd ordered.
Hunching his shoulders, glaring around to send the message he wanted to be left alone. Outside the storm raged, driving
more and more people into the already crowded tavern, tripling the noise level - though as loud as it got, it could not drown
out the rumbling booms of thunder. Lightning flashed at the window, making the evening as bright as day for short bursts.
Someone jostled him but Raz ignored them, forcing himself to sip his ale. He lifted a hand and flagged down the sick
barmaid, shouting and miming for food, smiling when she nodded in understanding.
He looked around, frowning as he noticed than other than a couple of girls as young as the woman at the bar, there were
no other workers. No wonder the place was so chaotic. Raz bit back a curse as someone else jostled him hard enough to
nearly spill his ale.
The storm couldn't be over soon enough, and if it continued much longer he may just suffer a soaking. He should have
looked for a half decent tavern, not simply settled on the first one he saw. "Hey!" he snapped as the same man jostled him
a third time. "Watch it!"
He didn't hear what the man said, just heard the ugly tone. In no mood for a fight, he turned away and hunched over the
bowl of stew that was set down in front of him along with a hunk of hard, dark bread. "Thank you," he said to the girl,
smiling, somehow happy when she gave a weak but genuine smile back. He started to say something else, but a hard
knock rammed him forward - then chaos erupted.
Raz took one glance at the mess behind him - men fighting, chairs breaking, the sound of flesh smashing against flesh,
dishes breaking, people screaming, one of the girls shrieking in terror as they fled the floor. Raz reached out and snagged
her, then hefted her up and over the bar, sending her and the barmaid toppling - but safe.
He started to leap over it himself, in no mood whatsoever to join the chaos - but a last glance at the brutality, probably the
result of something stupid, set off a spark. Maybe he did want a fight. "Enough!" Raz shouted - and was stunned when the
entire room stopped. Everyone stared at him, and he realized they all looked frightened. "Why are you fighting?" he
demanded. "Why? Because somebody spilled an ale? Knocked into a chair?" He fought back fresh tears. "My friend just
died as the latest Candidate and this is how you treat him? Two Candidates! Two have died recently." He recalled
something Ailill had said recently. "Our King is dieing, and this is how you show your grief? That barmaid is dying of the
wasting disease but is here getting your food and drinks and you thank her by destroying her bar? Is that how you show
your gratitude? Your thanks that you're alive? Is this how you show appreciation for the lives you've been given?"
He barely noticed what he was saying anymore, words spilling faster than he could understand him. "You appreciate
nothing. You waste the lives you're given and make those around you suffer as well." Tears streamed down his face as he
spoke, but Raz didn't notice. Nor did he notice the fearful, almost awed expressions on the faces of the people staring at
him. "Looking at you pains me," he said, then paled as familiarity washed over him in the shape of brilliant green eyes.
Suddenly unable to bear the stifling tavern, the stench of sweat and smoke and ale, Raz made for the door, oblivious to the
way the crowd parted to let him pass. He stumbled into the empty street, shuddering as rain crashed down on his too-hot
skin. Continuing to half-walk, half-stumble, he moved as far as he could before finally collapsing in an alleyway behind a
stack of old, broken crates, grateful as darkness reached up and snatched him away.
You want to reprimand me again.
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Emi-
Spare me. I grow weary of them all. This very night I die so they might live, and you want me to show mercy to those who
hold life in such ill regard they take it away.
They only did it-
I don't care. Life is precious. They took a life that was not theirs to take. All because they let their emotions get the better of
them. Foolishness.
Please, Emi-
I have told you I don't care. We have had this argument before, we will no doubt have it again because you persist in
ignoring my orders. I do not care. They can rail against me all they like. Do you think I haven't heard what they say? Every
last one hates me, because I am cold. Unfeeling. Why should I care about those who would abuse the precious gift
bestowed upon them? Always I take care of my children, and this is how they repay me? Ungrateful children. Not a one is
worth the grief they inspire.
If you would just-
Get out. Looking at you pains me.
…Yes, Eminence.
Raz woke with a hoarse cry, arms flailing. "No! I didn't-" he stopped as he realized it wasn't a man with dark hair and jewel-
green eyes before him, but two very worried women. And if Shio and Shinju actually looked worried, he must look every bit
as wretched as he felt. "What?" he managed.
"You're in our room at the inn," Shio said.
Shinju continued. "Finally got worried, and came looking for you." The sisters exchanged a brief glance, and Raz was
puzzled by it. "We found you out cold in an alleyway. Looked like a nightmare was getting to you pretty hard."
"I'm all right now," Raz said quietly, feeling anything but. "I just…I'm okay." He forced the lingering shreds of his dream to
the back of his mind. "Food?" he asked hopefully.
The sisters nodded and helped him to his feet. "Bath first," Shio said, "then meet us downstairs. Ivan and Ailill need your
help with something. Everything is paid for, so take your time. You smell like someone dumped you in that filthy harbor."
Raz nodded with a grimace. "Sorry. Sort of…got into a bar fight. Then collapsed outside. I'll be all right now. Didn't meant to
worry you."
Shinju sat down on the bed again, reaching up to stroke his cheek, a deep frown on her face. "Are you all right, Raz? We
half expected you to just throw yourself into the water. I mean…" she drifted off, hand falling into her lap.
"Pechal, you mean?" Raz asked roughly. "I'll never be all right. He was my brother. But…he wouldn't want me to give up."
Life is precious. Each life has a purpose. Abuse it not. "There are things I have to do. Including, it seems," he grinned,
"helping Ivan. Now let me get clean, lovelies, unless you want to help me, and I'll join you shortly."
Smiling, the sisters departed and a moment later Raz followed, headed toward the bathhouses at the back, a change of
clothes set out for him bundled in one arm. Relieved to find the last of three bathhouses empty, he quickly scrubbed off all
the filth and grime, then slid into the hot water with a sigh.
In the quiet of the bathhouse, with noise from the inn nothing but a distant murmur, the cool evening air contrasting with the
hot bath water, it was all too easy for him to relax, for thoughts at the back of his mind to slip forward again, images of the
dream flickering as clear as day instead of fading away like dreams should.
Looking at you pains me.
Why does looking at you hurt?
Anguish and shame.
Is it really you?
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Why?
The door banged open to admit a group of men who definitely looked as though they'd prefer Raz vacated himself.
Scrambling out, dressing quickly, Raz raked a hand through his wet, dripping hair and made his way to the dining hall. His
eyes sought and quickly found his friends, tucked away back in the far right corner, and he weaved his way through the
crowd of tables and people, dropping down beside Shio. "So what's up?"
"You've returned to the land of the living with remarkable speed," Ivan said slowly, the concerned frown at odds with his 'evil
man' appearance.
Raz shrugged. "Not by choice. Things to do. Apparently you need my help. So what's up?" He paused with a tankard
halfway to his mouth and grinned briefly. "Don't think I'll do it for free."
"Perish the thought," Ivan muttered, but a smile twitched at his mouth. "We need you to break into the palace."
Raz started choking on his ale, setting his tankard down hard and struggling to breathe properly. "What?" He stared as they
filled him on all that he'd missed, shaking his head in bemusement as they finished. "Wow. I had no idea…" his voice
caught. "Pechal was worth that much trouble to a bunch of nobles." He frowned in thought. "What do we know about the
palace?" Attempting this was madness. One couldn't simply walk into the palace if they didn't belong there.
But he'd been planning to try anyway. He was tired of those green eyes stalking him. He wanted to know why. A spell? A
curse? Why would anyone curse him? Hopefully he'd find out.
"Your best bet would be to go in through the Cathedral," Shio said, thoughtfully chewing on a piece of red fish. "It's not
guarded as heavily as the rest of the palace. I don't think it's guarded at all, except by priest." Her tone said what she
thought of that.
"There's also a good bet that's where they keep the feathers," Shinju continued. "Though our good Earl might also be the
one to keep them, in which case you'll have to figure out where he works within the palace."
Raz rolled his eyes. "Because there aren't hundreds upon hundreds of rooms to search."
"Seduce a pretty little maid," Shio said. "Or footman. That's what we did to get information on the layout."
"So what did your pretty little maid or footman tell you?"
Smirking, Shio pulled out a small scroll of paper on which a rough map had been sketched. "The pretty little maid gave me
this," she said, and began to point out each room marked out on the map, adding what little snippets of information she had
on the inhabitants.
"The footman told us the High Priest keeps strange hours," Shinju said. "As do several other nobles, so don't' expect all the
hallways to be empty. "
"I'd have to worry about servants anyway," Raz said, studying the map thoughtfully. He eyed the twins in amusement. "You
seduced a maid?"
Shio and Shinju looked at him innocently. "Just because this country is so uptight about such things…"
Raz chuckled and shook his head, then sent a sly look at Ailill and Ivan. "I think perhaps we're all in good company." He
turned brisk. "All right. The sooner this is done, the better. Obviously. So I need to obtain a fire feather and then we should
best get out of town."
"We can go to Green Falls," Ivan said. "That's where my men are holing up."
"All right," Raz said. "What time is it?" He smiled at the serving woman as she set down a plate loaded with mutton and
salted potatoes, a hunk of soft, dark bread.
"Seven o'clock," the serving woman said. "Near enough anyway."
"Thank you," Raz said and dug into his food with relish. He waited until the woman was gone. "Plenty early enough, then."
Shio frowned. "Shouldn't you scout the area yourself first, Raz? I mean it's going to be hard enough getting by guards and
everyone else if you check it out a bit first. But attempting it completely cold?"
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Raz shrugged and swallowed a bite of potato. "No choice. 'Sides, if I think about it too much I figure out how stupid this is.
I'd rather just do it while I'm feeling reckless. If I get caught, hopefully it'll be before I get the fire feather." So they'd just
imprison him. Rather than kill him. "So I should sneak in via the Cathedral." That made him nervous for reasons he couldn't
explain - or didn't want to explain. "That doesn't tell me how to get past the gates and all."
"Carriage," Shinju said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, teeth tearing neatly into a last bit of the fish on her plate.
"What?" Raz stared blankly.
Shinju gave him a patient look. "Carriages go in and out of the palace all the time. I've seen them coming and going as late
as midnight. All you need to do is slip beneath one of those and ride it into the palace."
"That sounds like fun," Raz said with a grimace, "but I suppose it's better than attempting to scale a wall, which was all I
had." He sopped up the last of the juice from the mutton with his bread and looked at the other two at the table. "You're
being awfully quiet."
"Merely watching a peer work," Ivan said with a smile. "Usually I simply hire you."
"And leave out pertinent information," Raz said. "And try to underpay."
Ivan grinned. "It's so much fun getting your ire up, I can never resist. What do you want for this job?"
Raz stared at his empty plate and reached absently for his ale. "Nothing," he said after a moment. "Consider it repayment
for trying to help with Pechal." He swallowed the last of his ale, eyes burning. Slamming the empty tankard down, he looked
at each of his friends in turn. "This could go bad very easily. It usually takes us weeks to do a job. If anything happens to
me, just get out of town. They won't have any reason to suspect I'm anything but alone, but better safe than sorry."
"If anything happens," Ailill said quietly. "I will get you out myself."
"Don't," Raz said. "If they catch me before I get the feather, they'll just lock me up for a few days. If they get me after I've
got the feather, they'll just kill me. No reason to stick around either way."
"Raz…" Ivan said with a frown.
Raz stood up, shaking his head. "I have my own reason for going," he said quietly. "This is just a good excuse. Now come
on, I've got a carriage to catch. Thanks for dinner." He didn't anyone a chance to reply, but turned and strode from the inn
and out into the still-crowded streets.
He weaved and bobbed through the crowd, ducking into alleyways where he could, making his way steadily across town to
the south side. The scent of the ocean came up behind him, and Raz smiled fondly. "What say you, my lovelies?"
"That one," Shio said, pointing to a carriage coming up the road, still some distance away, eschewing one that was much
closer, nearly at the gates. "It comes often, and the coachman often stops to talk to the guards a moment. The trust will
work to our favor."
Raz nodded. "You noticed all of this in merely a day?"
"Of course," Shio said with an offended sniff. "Compared to what we usually do, this is easy."
"Right. All right, my beauties, distract the nice coachman for me then? And remind me why I'm doing this."
They each reached up to kiss his cheeks, lips soft and warm. "Because you don't want to lose anymore friends. It's a
challenge. And something is troubling you."
"As usual, the two of you know far too much," Raz grumbled good naturedly. "Here we go, then."
Nodding, exchanging smiles, the twins slipped from the alleyway clinging to each other and laughing up a storm.
Somewhere in their stumbling, they'd managed to open their shirts enough that they were less than modest.
They were eerily good at playing drunken maids.
Raz snickered as the coachmen stared, almost feeling sorry for him. On top of their quite feminine shapes and inarguable
beauty, the sisters also had an exotic card to play - he doubted even the coachman for a noble had seen very many
Kundouins, and certainly none like Shio and Shinju.
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The coachman was forced to stop as the girls tumbled into his path, laughing and shouting, clearly thoroughly drunk. Raz
double checked the street was clear, then slipped out of the alleyway and into the well-lit street, stalking over to the
carriage and rolling beneath it. He tested the undercarriage, making certain he had good hand and footholds, then listened
as Shio and Shinju wrapped up their charades, no doubt leaving the poor coachman with thoughts aplenty to help keep him
warm at night.
He heard the coachman once more settle into place, talking briefly with whomever was inside the carriage, then heard the
crack of a whip. Just in time he grabbed onto the undercarriage, settling himself in for a rough ride as the carriage continued
on its way to the palace.
Several minutes later, just as he was beginning to think his arms and legs could take no more, the carriage was at last left in
the dark of a carriage house. Stifling a groan, relieved that the hastily contrived plan had actually worked, Raz let go and hit
the floor with a soft oomph, then rolled out from under the carriage
Somewhere bells chimed eight o'clock. Still too early. He would have to wait until it was much, much later.
Shrugging, Raz opened the carriage he'd been hiding beneath and climbed inside. He had four hours to waste, might as
well take a nap.
Chapter Thirteen
The moon was full and bright in the sky as he slipped out of the carriage house, turning the darkest hour of the night into a
strange sort of midday. The faintest hint of the ocean was carried on the breeze, mixing with the smell of horses and
carriages, and a slightly…cleaner smell than would ever be found in the bustling city beyond the palace. Raking his hair into
some semblance of order so that it wouldn't get in his way, Raz rolled up his sleeves and made certain his breeches were
tucked into his boots, his shirt into pants. In his vest he could feel his lock picks. He'd never favored carrying a weapon.
The massive carriage house was some distance from the palace proper but close to the stable. Taking a deep breath, Raz
considered his options. The colorful spiraling towers of the Cathedral loomed, close but not close enough to make this easy.
Cutting straight across the open field would be the easiest route, sparing him the danger of the palace, running into
whatever servants or nobles might be about. But he wasn't certain there were other routes into the Cathedral - it was a part
of the palace, and it was entirely possible that as old as it was, the only way into it was via the palace. In which case he'd
trek across the field for nothing and have to risk himself trying to find a way in.
Though he couldn't imagine that would be too hard to do. The palace was enormous; there must be several routes inside…
but those routes would all be guarded. So he would be risking coming across people no matter what he did.
Best to take the path of least resistance, then. This late, and if he watched himself, no one would notice him running across
the field. More than likely they would only think him a wayward servant anyway. The carriage house was perfect for
assignations. Hopefully he wasn't the only to have noticed that.
Taking a deep breath, unable to fight the excitement that began to thrum through him, Raz left the carriage house and
made his way toward the Cathedral.
The snow-white stone of the Cathedral was surprisingly cool to the touch and as smooth as ice. Combined with the chill in
the air, the hint of coming autumn, it was enough to make Raz shiver. Keeping close to the wall he began to search for
doors into the place, loathe to venture toward the palace proper until he had no choice.
He finally found one around the back of the massive building, a door so old and neglected he doubted it had been opened
in several lifetimes. The rusted lock gave with effort and with a deep breath he pulled the door open - quickly, wincing at the
screech the ancient hinges gave, hoping no one had been around to hear it.
Slipping inside, Raz used shreds of moonlight to pick his way through the otherwise dark chamber…a hallway, he thought.
As he ventured further inside, the moonlight faded away, unable to reach so far into the old room. His steps were small,
arms extended to keep him from hitting something. With every breath he tasted dust and mold…and he swore he could
taste smoke, old and ancient, as if soaked into the place.
Frowning, shaking off the strange thought, wishing he'd thought to bring something to cover his mouth, Raz continued slowly
forward. Then his hands connected with something hard - wood, he thought. Splaying his hands, he began slowly and
carefully to explore the obstacle, drawing a sharp, delighted breath when his fingers found what could only be a door
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handle. Grasping the old, ancient iron ring, Raz tugged hard - locked. Of course. Just as well. Too much good luck only
foretold an ill end.
Kneeling on the dusty floor, trying not to think of what manner of creatures might be lurking there in the dark with him, Raz
examined the lock with his fingers before pulling out a lock pick. After a moment he shook his head and replaced it,
choosing another.
Several minutes later the old lock, not quite as rotted as the first one, gave way and he stood again. When he tugged this
time, the door opened easily - and soundlessly. Obviously this door had been cared for.
He closed it behind him before finally turning around to take in his surrounding, elation coursing through him that so far his
venture was proving successful. Looking around, he took in the Cathedral, feet moving of their own accord to the middle of
the room.
Raz wondered why his hands were shaking. Fisting them to force the trembling to stop, he took in the Cathedral. It was
even more beautiful than the one in the city, moonlight spilling through colored glass, making the room bright in a dreamlike
sort of way. Across the ceilings were elaborate paintings and he found he could not tear his eyes away.
One depicted three dragons twisting and writhing around and through each other - one as dark as midnight, one as blue as
the sky, the other so pale a blue it looked white. Behind them roiled water and clouds split with lightning.
Next was an image of a beautiful woman seated on a throne, surrounded by a great many white animals - a horse with a
horn on its head, another with wings like a birds, a massive bear, a wolf…so many animals surrounded the beautiful, smiling
woman. Raz wondered why he thought of her as a mother.
Eventually he moved on to the next painting, the image of the woman and her animals fading into what looked like dark
gray rock, which in turn became a sort of…throne, or perhaps just a dais. But he found as his eyes drew closer to the figure
sitting in the center of the stone, the harder it was to keep looking. Finally giving up, catching only a glimpse of something
that made him think of a snake though a moment before he'd been sure it was a man, Raz shifted to the final image on the
ceiling.
He caught only a glimpse of gold before the sound of footsteps had him whirling around, tensing to flee.
But his feet were rooted to the floor. He could not have moved if he'd wanted to.
"What are you doing here?" Dym asked softly.
He was still so achingly beautiful. Never had he seen anyone half so lovely as this man. The deep red and gold of his robes
didn't suit his brilliant green eyes…yet the ensemble didn't not suit him either. Had the sun ever touched that pale skin? Raz
could feel his nails digging into his palm, the pain all that kept him from giving in to the urge to touch that skin for himself.
This man had killed Pechal. He should hate him. Be trying to kill him. Have his revenge. It wasn't fair that Pechal had died
simply because this man had said he must, because the crown said all Candidates had to die.
But those green eyes were the saddest thing he'd ever seen. It hurt so much, looking at him. Why? Why did he care about
this man he didn't know? This man he should hate? "Why?" Raz finally asked aloud, voice hoarse. "Why does it hurt so
much every time I look at you? I don't even know you."
The High Priest flinched, and Raz swore he could feel how much pain he'd caused the man. "I don't know," Dym finally said.
"Why are you here?"
Raz scrambled to remember what he'd been doing, going cold as he realized he truly had forgotten. "Fire feather," he
gasped out, resisting the urge to stumble back as the High Priest drew close. "I need a fire feather."
Dym's brow furrowed slightly. "Why?"
"To save a friend," Raz said, looking anywhere but at the High Priest, desperate for the man to go away again, trembling
with the urge to do something though he didn't know what.
Shame
Grief
I'm so sorry.
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I never meant…
Please…
I don't deserve…
Forgive me…
"To save a friend?" Dym repeated softly, and Raz shuddered as gentle fingers turned his head, tilted his face up. They felt
cool against his skin, strangely refreshing. Like finding shade after being in the hot sun for too long. "Elaborate. Please."
Raz backed hastily away, unable to bear that cool, gentle touch. But the green eyes remained fastened on his, and he
didn't have the strength to look away. Slowly, haltingly, he explained what he was doing, knowing it was foolish to do so but
unable to help it. Something about this man…he would help…Raz just knew it.
If he hadn't already been so shaken, the look of sheer fury on the High Priest's fast would have had him running for the
door. "That bastard," Dym murmured softly, and Raz was struck at how shocked he was to hear the mild profanity fall from
the High Priest's lips. Like the man didn't normally use vulgarities. "I cannot believe…to think…" Shaking his head, Dym
moved past Raz and toward a door at the far end of the Cathedral.
Not knowing what else to do, weighed down by emotions he didn't understand, Raz followed him.
Beyond the first door Dym unlocked was a second that required three keys to unlock. As the door opened, Raz was struck
by a wave of heat .Like standing too close to a fireplace. Hesitantly, the High Priest giving no indication he shouldn't, Raz
followed him into the room from which the heat emanated.
The room was dark except for the thin beams of moonlight spilling through a small window set high in the wall opposite the
door. All along the two remaining walls were shelves, each one filled end to end with boxes carved from dark wood. Into
each box was carved swirls and whorls, and Raz wondered he could see such fine details so well in the dimly lit room. The
strange waves of heat seemed to pour from the boxes.
He watched from the doorway as the High Priest moved to a shelf and pulled another key from the ring at his waist, inserting
it into the nearest of the boxes at about waist level. Color seemed to spill from the box a moment, then it was closed and
locked again. Dym turned and Raz could see a small feather in his hand - it was orange, red and gold, and seemed almost
to glow, like a bright ember, in the dark room. As he continued to stare, knowing he was gawking like a kid watching a
street performer, the High Priest began to whisper softly over the feather, one hand cupping it, the other hovering over it.
His eyes widened as the feather rose to float between the High Priest's hands, and it was most definitely glowing now.
Finally the whispers ceased, and the feather drifted down to rest quietly, no longer glowing, in the palm of Dym's hand.
"Here," he said softly, holding the feather out.
Raz didn't move. "What did you just do?"
"A curse such as the one cast by the Earl is powerful indeed. No one should be capable of such magic anymore." He
looked briefly troubled, but it vanished with a minute shake of his head. "I have placed the counter charm in this feather.
You have only to press the feather to where the curse dwells within his body - his chest, it sounds like - and all will be well
again. I apologize profusely that your friend has been so ill-treated."
Still Raz didn't accept the feather. "At least he didn't die like Pechal."
Dym flinched again, as though he'd been slapped, and those green eyes dropped to the floor. "I am sorry."
Raz said nothing, merely reached out and finally took the feather. It felt soft - softer than the finest down, so soft it almost
felt as though he touched nothing at all. Except that it was warm, like pressing up against someone after being out in the
cold. Tucking it away, he started to turn away but hesitated. He'd come to solve the mystery surrounding the High Priest. He
could do this.
But it hurt so much to look at the man. Like was staring at something he'd lost long ago. Something he would never have
again. "Why?" he asked desperately. "I don't know you. I'm a stupid thief. Riff raff. Nothing. You're the High Priest. We have
nothing in common. You should mean nothing to me. Yet from the moment I saw you, all I've felt is pain. Why?"
"I don't know," Dym said quietly, voice taking on a rough edge. "Perhaps because I failed." He curled his arms across his
chest, as if hugging himself, and Raz realized suddenly that Dym fought not to touch him the same way he fought not to
touch Dym.
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An urge that was becoming more and more difficult to fight. Raz realized there were no answers forthcoming…or perhaps
he didn't want to hear them. Shame. Grief.
This is all my fault.
If only…
Not worthy…
I can't believe…
Can you ever forgive me?
With a rough sound, Raz turned away, stumbling back the way he'd come, desperate to get away, to escape the pain he
didn't understand. Escape the man who caused that pain.
"Will you come back?" Dym asked softly, moving so soundlessly Raz had not realized the man had followed him out, was
lurking so close.
Raz shook his head. "Why should I?"
Dym's shoulders seemed to sag slightly. "I hope you change your mind." Dym started to reach out, face tightening, eyes
dimming with pain, when Raz flinched away. "If I am what drives you away, then know that I need not stay once all is
finished. Please."
Unable to reply, the look in those green eyes too much to bear, wishing that he could express himself properly, Raz simply
shook his head in confusion - then turned and ran.
He thought he heard the High Priest call after him, but wasn't certain and didn't stop to find out. Crashing through the
hallway he'd entered by, fire feather warm where it was tucked between shirt and skin, he fell out of the old hallway and into
the cool field surrounding the palace.
Taking a deep breath, and then another, a third, Raz finally felt his wits well enough gathered to continue.
Back the way he came, he supposed. He hadn't given much thought to escape - part of him not believing he could actually
carry this off - but now that he had managed it, it seemed the best thing to do would be to go out as he'd come in.
Sneaking back across the field and slipping into the carriage house, Raz crept to and rolled under the carriage he'd used to
sneak inside. Hopefully the owner would be leaving come morning and not staying for several days. But it would be easy
enough to pick a different carriage, so the concern was a moot one.
That problem easily resolved, Raz found himself with entirely too much time to think.
He'd come with every intention of settling things with the High Priest. Instead he'd run away like a coward and had left
himself with more questions and no answers.
Because I failed.
What did that mean? Failed? Failed what?
Raz reached unconsciously to touch the fire feather hidden beneath his shirt, simultaneously soothed and tortured by the
strange heat.
The High Priest had cast the spell on it so easily…no one, he'd said, should know such spells. Yet it was obvious that the
Earl and the High Priest were quite familiar. Raz remembered the way his hands had cupped the feather, how gentle they'd
been when they'd touched his face.
A gentle touched that seared even as it cooled. Raz turned over on his stomach and buried his face in arms, fighting the
tears that threatened to overwhelm him.
"Why?" he asked softly, wishing that someone would answer him but dreading that they would.
Eventually he dozed, lacking the energy and will to stay fully conscious.
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The sound of voices woke him, and he tensed as he realized they were right beside the carriage. Taking a deep breath,
Raz strained to hear the low voices, bones melting in relief when he realized they were indeed getting ready to leave -
finally. How long had he been waiting? From the light on the floor, it was well into day.
Above him the carriage rocked, horses nickering, and the crack of a whip signaled him to grab ahold. He waited tensely as
they stopped an unknown noble was helped inside the carriage. Then they were off again and Raz nearly lost his grip, so
great was his relief to finally be free of the wretched palace.
He waited until they were well away from the palace, hanging on until his muscles burned with the effort and finally let go as
the carriage halted at an intersection, laughing as it rolled away. Climbing to his feet, ignoring the looks being sent his way,
checking that the feather was still secure inside his shirt, Raz took a moment to get his bearing and then threw himself into
the milling crowd, wending his way toward the pavilion.
They hadn't discussed where to meet, but he knew they'd be there.
Belatedly he realized that he was carrying magic. Cautiously he looked around, but no one around him seemed to notice
anything strange. Releasing the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Raz kept his head down and pushed on.
Several minutes later he finally reached the pavilion, looking longingly at the stalls and restaurants, stomach growling with
hunger now that his tension had eased. Fighting the need for food, Raz raked the crowd for his friends.
A moment later he saw them, Shio waving at him, everyone smiling. Dodging around and through the perpetual crowd, Raz
finally reached them and collapsed at the table with a sigh.
"So?" Ivan asked, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.
Raz grinned. "Here's where I extort you," he replied, patting his shirt and the feather beneath it.
Ivan made a face, but his steel blue eyes eased, and Raz was surprised that he hadn't notice until then how tense the man
had been. He shook his head, levity fading beneath concern. It had never truly struck him, until now, how awful it must have
been for Ivan. "I've got the feather, but I don't know what'll happen so we should probably take this inside." He gave them a
pleading look. "And could I have some food?"
Laughing, they all stood up and headed toward the inn they were rooming at. Shio broke away from the group as they
reached it. "I'll order food, Raz."
"Thanks, lovely." Raz followed the other three up the stairs and to their room, making sure the door and windows were
firmly closed before he finally reached into his shirt and withdrew the feather.
Ailill's eyes widened, and Raz could see the way his arm tightened around Ivan's waist. "By the Queen," he said softly,
almost reverently, "that thing carries enormous power. Nothing like the one the Earl had. Raz…how did you come by that?"
"Umm…" Raz bit his lip and dropped his head, then slowly, haltingly, explained how the High Priest had found him, and
somehow pried the story from him, leaving out his own strange problems. "He…did something to the feather and gave it to
me." He shook his head at the memory. "He was furious someone would cast a curse. I don't think I've ever seen anyone
that angry."
He looked up, meeting Ailill's eyes, skittering away from the Highlander's pensive gaze. Frowning, he stood up and did as
the High Priest had told him, pressing the feather to Ivan's chest.
It flared, shimmered, then vanished. Raz stared.
"Well?" Ailill asked.
"Gone," Ivan said softly, almost collapsing with relief against Ailill. "I may get killed on the job someday, but I won't die from
a scorching curse." Raz thought it was almost funny the way the somber man's cheeks flushed when Ailill kissed him.
He turned away as pain washed over him with so much force he sat down hard on the bed. He gulped, drawing an
unsteady breath.
What was wrong with him?
"Raz?" Shinju asked curiously. "Are you all right?"
"Just tired," Raz said, forcing a smile, reaching up to tug on a strand of her pale green hair. "I'll be fine." They all turned as
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the door opened, and Raz beamed at the food Shio held. "What would I do without either of my beauties?"
Shinju chuckled softly and ushered him to the small, rickety table in the corner. "I think you'd manage, Raz." She stroked his
cheek. "Now eat, then rest…then I guess we'll figure out what we want to do next."
Raz nodded agreeably and did as he was told, eating quickly and collapsing into bed, oblivious to what the others were
doing. He fell asleep almost instantly, not stirring a bit as Shio and Shinju eased his boots off and tucked him in, missing
completely the hushed conversation the others had over him as they left the room.
Chapter Fourteen
When his priests arrived, Dym finally realized how long he'd been brooding at his desk. He finally took in his surroundings,
noticing the way early morning sunlight had replaced moonlight, and the chill of night was slowly warming.
Standing slowly, stretching out muscles stiff from lack of movement, Dym motioned his head priest forward and spoke
quietly to the man, then turned and walked slowly from the Cathedral.
He discarded his clothes in his dressing room, absently grabbing a linen robe before washing off and slipping into his bath.
A soft sigh escaped as the hot water soothed him, reaching to his shoulders as he sat, lapping at his throat and neck, steam
curling up to dampen his hair. He leaned back against the edge, staring up at the ceiling, the gray morning sky beyond the
glass there. Beneath the water, he forced his hands to relax, lay easy at his sides.
Why does it hurt so much every time I look at you?
After all this time…
Dym shook his head back and forth, attempting futilely to shake free the thoughts that were tearing him apart. The
memories. He had come this far. He wouldn't falter now.
No matter the cost to himself.
He had promised. Vowed. Once, just once, he had broken that vow.
Get out. Looking at you pains me.
His thoughts were shattered by the sound of footsteps and Dym whirled around, staring fiercely at whomever had dared to
intrude. He was in no mood for anyone, not even the Princess.
A servant cowered at the edge of the bathing chamber, his hands clenching and unclenching nervously. "Her Highness
requests your presence, and says it is most urgent."
"Where might I find her?" Dym asked, getting a reign on his mood, quelling his temper, shrugging in to the white linen robe
before looking once more at the servant.
The servant bowed, clearly still nervous "I-in the King's chambers, High Priest."
"Thank you. Tell her Highness I will join her shortly."
Shoving his private worries to the back of his mind, reminding himself sternly that personal matters were of the least amount
of importance and that he should not be letting them interfere in matters of true importance, Dym quickly dressed in robes
and gold chains, pulling on dark, brown leather boots before finally striding from his rooms.
As he walked, his worries fell back beneath the role of quiet, aloof High Priest.
It was not hard to determine why he was being so urgently summoned to the King's private chambers. He had been waiting
for it. So had the poor Princess. Nearly everyone else.
Dym nodded to the guards as they admitted him, but otherwise spared them no attention. He slipped inside and cross
through the parlor into the bed chamber, immediately seeking out Princes Sonya.
She sat next to the King's bed, one hand holding his, tears streaming down her face, her sobs audible only as he drew
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close. Without hesitating, Dym drew her into an embrace, soothing quietly with touches to her shoulders and back, petting
her hair, murmuring quietly.
"I don't want to be a Queen," Sonya finally managed, not releasing her hold on the priest.
Dym nodded and continued to soothe, hearing in the protest against being Queen the grief she felt at the loss of her
brother.
Slowly her sobs quieted, and at last Sonya sat back, wiping her face with a lace handkerchief. "Thank you, Dym"
"Of course, Princess," Dym said quietly.
"I don't know what to do," Sonya said, looking forlorn. "He looks like he's sleeping…but he's…I knew it would happen. I
knew it. He knew it. All these past few days we've been reminiscing." She smiled weakly. "About being children. How we
hated all that tutoring." Her gaze returned to the figure in the bed. "I wish I knew what to do. To say."
Dym knelt by her side and took her hands.
Sonya smiled weakly at him. "To everyone else, he was King. But to me…we used to shove each other into mud puddles.
Sneak into the kitchens together. Hide from our tutors. It feels inadequate, somehow, to say only that I will remember him
always. That I love him. Like my husband, my brother is now gone forever." Tears raced down her cheeks, but Sonya
fought for her composure. "I don't want them to be gone forever, Dym. Who else will I lose?"
Dym kissed the back of her hands softly. "No one vanishes forever, Princess. Sonya. A body is a temporary thing. They are
not meant to last. But the soul lasts forever, never wavering, never changing." He rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles and
smiled ever so faintly "The face may change a thousand times, but the soul remains the same. One day, Princess, when
you least expect it, you will look up and see a familiar smile, a light in the eyes that once you saw every day. Behind that
smile and those eyes will be a soul that calls to yours."
"How do you know these things, Dym? You are younger than me, yet oft times I feel like a mere child beside you." Sonya
stroked his hair fondly. "So wise. You always know just what to say."
Dym stood, tugging her up with him and released her hands, falling into a short bow. "Hardly wise, Princess. Were I to live
ten thousand years, I would still be only the greatest of fools."
"There is not a bit of you that is foolish, Dym," Sonya replied. She sighed softly and settled the folds of her dark red gown.
"Come with me? This is going to be a long day, and I would lean on your strength as selfish as it is to demand it of you."
"Never selfish, Princess," Dym said. "It takes a person of much wisdom and strength to know when he or she lacks either,
and to turn to others for help. I will stand by you for as long as you need me." He held out a hand.
Sonya accepted it and gave him a weak smile. "Thank you, Dym. I hope someday I can return all that you have done for
me."
"There is nothing to be repaid," Dym said calmly as he escorted her from the King's chambers, his presence and the
obvious misery on the Princess's face enough to forestall any questions. He escorted her to the throne room and waited as
everyone gathered, standing patient and still just behind her as the Princess declared that the King was dead, and
remained with her as she was taken away to begin make plans for her brother's funeral and her own coronation.
As he stood there, listening patiently, always ready should the Princess need him, Dym let his eyes fall occasionally upon
Duke Krasny and Earl Zholty. Especially the Earl. His fingers twitched with the urge to cast a curse the likes of which Zholty
had never seen. Or read about. A curse Zholty could not even begin to imagine.
Because how dare the man abuse his gift of magic so. Once upon a time Zhar Ptitka himself would have condemned the
man for daring to act with such cruelty.
Spare me. I grow weary of them all. This very night I die so they might live, and you want me to show mercy to those who
hold life in such ill regard they take it away for the most foolish of reasons.
Dym forced his face to remain blank, calm. Not here. He could not deal with these memories here, before everyone. What
was happening to him?
But he knew what was happening. To see that which he'd waited for so long was breaking him. Too much strain. So many
years.
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Why does looking at you hurt?
With effort he forced himself to focus, to pay attention to the present. The past didn't matter at the moment. He focused his
attention once more on the Earl, tamping down on the urge to put an end to the problem once and for all.
But there were too many pieces that didn't quit fit together yet, and he would make no move until the picture was complete.
Hastiness and ill thought action would only lead to greater problems…and grief. He was so tired of grief.
He slid his glance to the Duke, who was too busy frowning at the Princess to notice his attention. Another piece of the
problem, except he wasn't quite certain where Duke Krasny fit.
Someone - the Earl - was trying to keep the Candidates from reaching Dym. A wasted effort. No one could stop him. Stall,
perhaps, but never stop. He'd come too far, waited too long, for anyone to stop him now.
From what Pechal had said, it seemed there were two groups involved in keeping the Candidates from him. Why? To what
purpose? Why now?
Stranger still, why not simply kill him? Killing the High Priest when there was no suitable replacement would be much easier
than killing the Candidates. But the answer to that was obvious - it would be too much for Princess Sonya. Everyone knew
she was fond of him. If they killed him, there was no telling what she would do - especially in the face of losing her brother.
So kill the Candidates. To what end? If they had managed to kill Pechal, it would have merely delayed him a few years.
As to…Raz…
Any attempt to kill him would only result in the would-be murderers receiving a rather nasty surprise. Raz had taken the
enchanted fire feather and felt nothing. His power was already strong, and probably growing strong by the day.
In no time at all, he would be hot enough to burn.
The only question was - would he?
Dym stirred himself from his thoughts as the tension in the air thickened. He laid a hand on the Princess's shoulder. "You
look in need of a rest, Princess. Enough is enough, yes?"
Sonya looked as though she thought she should argue, but at last gave a weary nod. "Yes. Thank you, Dym." She motioned
to the gathered nobles and attendants. "That will be all for now, you're all dismissed." She placed her hand in the one Dym
offered and allowed the High Priest to escort her from the room.
"Would you like to go to your rooms, Princess?"
"I won't be Princess for much longer, will I?" Sonya's shoulders drooped slightly. "I had hoped to end my days as a very
minor noble. Ah, well." She shook her head. "I'd rather not go back to my room. Someone will find me there."
Dym laughed softly. "You could take a bath."
Sonya burst into laughter, then immediately stifled it, looking guilty. But her eyes were brighter as she looked at Dym. "I'm
not so certain that would work."
"Perhaps not," Dym said with a faint smile. "Your gardens then?"
"No…" Sonya said, frowning over her shoulder at the people lingering in the halls, the few who looked as though they were
about to approach. "Would I be imposing on you at all if I asked to hide away in your Cathedral for a bit?"
"Of course not," Dym said. "You are always most welcome, Princess."
Sonya nodded. "I haven't been there since I was child, not for more than a moment or two. Guilt, I suppose…"
Dym said nothing, merely escorted her in silence through the halls and to the Royal Cathedral. He remained silent as he
spied two men waiting for them there.
"Kolya," Sonya greeted her cousin. Then her eyes shifted to Zholty. "Earl. What are you doing here?"
The Duke moved forward, and he gently took up her free hand, pointedly ignoring Dym. "I wanted to make sure you were
all right, Sonya. We disagree, cousin, but that doesn't mean I don't care. I grew up alongside you both…"
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Sonya softened. "I know, Kolya." She let go of Dym to embrace her cousin. "Of course I know that.
Dym left them, looking briefly at Earl Zholty before summoning the nearest of his priests with a brief gesture. "Dismiss
everyone. See that no one comes into the Cathedral until her Highness is gone."
"Yes, High Priest," the priest said and bowed, then darted off to convey Dym's orders. In minutes, the Cathedral was empty
save for the High Priest and three nobles.
Zholty grimaced as he looked around the Cathedral. "This place always chills me. I do not understand how you can bear to
dwell here every single day, High Priest."
"Once, it was said, when Zhar Ptitka's power still flowed here, no murderer or abuser of life could pass the threshold. They
were repulsed by the power of the Firebird burning brightly from within."
"An old wives' tale," Zholty replied contemptuously.
"Zholty," Sonya said with a frown, "there's no call-"
Dym's soft laughter interrupted her. "He is quite correct. It was a story created for scaring children into behaving. Anyone
can enter the Cathedral who has the desire to do so. All are welcome here."
Zholty sneered and dropped the matter, his eyes roaming across the paintings and colored glass. "So those are the Storm
Bringers that have returned to the world," he said, pointing to the painting of three dragons on the ceiling.
"You do not sound terribly impressed," Dym said in his level voice, "for one who strives to prevent the next part of the
prophecy."
"Gods do not impress me," Zholty said contemptuously. "Look at how easily they were all killed. They can be killed again. I
do not see why I should fear dragons when we are so close to killing the Firebird once and for all. Then what will the
prophecies say?"
Dym lifted his eyes to look at the dragons - one so dark a blue it almost looked black, one the blue of the ocean on a clear
day, the last so pale the blue was nearly white. They twisted and spun through and around each other amidst a whirl of dark
clouds split by lightning, water crashing against them from all sides. "The Dragons of the Three Storms," he said, voice
almost idle, as if reciting a lesson he had given so often he did not have to think about. "To us, the Sacred Storm Bringers.
Of all the five sacred kingdoms, the nation of Kundou is the smallest - nothing but three small islands. Yet never, since the
fall of the Gods, has any other nation tried to take them. Why is that, do you suppose?"
Zholty snorted. "Nothing to make it worth while. Silk, perhaps, pearls, but it's easier to trade for those than try and conquer."
"Wrong," Dym said softly. "It is because they control the seas. The full strength of the power they stole from the gods was
never brought out, but had anyone ever been foolish enough to try and attack Kundou, that nation would have found its
armies swallowed by the seas, torn apart by storms. Kundou is a small nation because its true home is the sea. The Sacred
Storm Bringers claim a kingdom far greater in size than any other - the oceans and sky. A wise man would fear them, or at
least respect them."
"As I said before, they were killed once, they can be killed again," Zholty said contemptuously. "As can you, High Priest, if
we ever feel you are too knowledgeable about such things."
"Enough," Sonya said sharply. "My brother is dead only hours and you are speaking of killing others. Is this your idea of
honoring the dead?"
Zholty bowed his head, looking contrite. "My apologies, Princess. As I said earlier, I do not like this place. It discomforts me.
Those which we struggle against are honored here, and that upsets me."
"You should not look at it so," Sonya said. "It was once meant as a place of comfort, nothing more. Perhaps it can be again,
one day."
"A fine idea, Princess," Dym said quietly.
Krasny snorted. "If you ask me, the whole thing should be torn down. The one in the city too. If we're seeking to rid
ourselves of the Firebird, there's little point in clinging to things which bear his taint."
"That would b a pity," Sonya said. "I've always avoided this place, but looking at it now…perhaps we can simply find a
different use. The Cathedrals have survived this long, it seems a pity to tear them down."
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Zholty and Krasny both snorted in contempt but did not argue. Sonya ignored them and began to wander the perimeter of
the Cathedral, eyes fastened to the windows of colored glass, the images they depicted. "More of your stories, Dym? What
is this one?"
Dym looked almost sad as he looked at the window she indicated, an image of a man who was clearly a prince by the
circlet on his head and the finery he wore. He stood with a sword in one hand, his other buried in the fur of a large gray
wolf. "Surely your Highness knows that story? Half the sons of Pozhar are named after him, though most of their mothers
do not recall the story."
"Prince Ivan and the Great Wolf," Zholty said contemptuously. "My nurse new the story, and told it to me often while I was
trapped in the nursery. She was discharged when my father discovered what she was putting in my head."
Sonya frowned. "I do not know the story."
"Consider yourself fortunate," Zholty replied. "It's nothing but nonsense. A humble servant left home to track down a thief
who had stolen valuables from his Master's house. During his journey he saved a wolf…I forget from what…and in return
the wolf helped him along his journey. By the end, humble Ivan had so impressed the Sacred Firebird that he was declared
the first King of Pozhar, and so touched was Zhar Ptitka by the bond between Ivan and the Great Wolf that he bound their
souls forever. In every life, they find each other, no matter what. As I said, it's a stupid story."
Dym looked at him, green eyes dark. "You believe in gods enough to want to kill them, but you disregard the stories shaped
around those very gods? How is such hypocrisy possible? Either you believe in something or you do not."
Zholty regarded him coldly, eyes flashing with anger, monocle catching the sunlight pouring through the colorful windows.
"You sound rather pious for a murderer, High Priest."
"Of course I'm pious," Dym replied, voice level but as hard as steel. "How many times have you killed a piece of a god,
Earl? How many times have you said the words and the prayers? Watched innocent people die because they have a piece
of a god's soul in them? Do you not feel anything, charged with overseeing all matters pertaining to magic?"
"I believe gods are a thing of the past," Zholty replied. "That to dwell on them now is foolishness. What good did they ever
do that we have not managed ourselves? That is the credo of Pozhar, and if you are a threat to that, as I believe you are
High Priest, I will not hesitate to have you removed."
Sonya clapped her hands hard to get their attention. "Enough. We should be comrades, not bickering like children. None
but the crown can remove the High Priest from his station, Earl. That same crown can remove you as well, and I will not
hesitate to remove anyone I feel is failing in their duties or abusing their authority." Her eyes were hard, knowing, as she
stared down the Earl. "Which of course reminds me we have not settled the matter of the missing fire feathers. They are
directly under the charge of the High Priest, Zholty, but you are my voice in all matters pertaining to magic. How is it
possible that an entire box of fire feathers was taken?"
"For one," Zholty said slowly, wiping his monocle with his kerchief, obviously holding back his temper, "the thief did not
simply walk off with one whole box. He merely took the equivalent of one box."
Dym nodded, agreeing. "Which is why it took us awhile to notice. One feather here and there would not go too terribly
remiss until the total was discovered. But I and the Earl are the only ones with keys to both doors. Someone has either
managed to duplicate our keys, or has found other means."
"Magic, you mean," Sonya said, making it a statement, not a question. "There are precious few of us who can use magic.
The most likely culprits are those of us standing in this room. I will figure this out, make no mistake, gentleman. If either of
you," she eyed Nikolai and Zholty, "has something you want to tell me, I am retiring to my rooms for the evening." She
clapped her hands once, signaling the end of the discussion. "Dym, could I impose upon you to escort me?"
"Of course, Princess," Dym said and offered his arm, leading the Princess away, leaving the Duke and Earl to glare as they
departed.
Chapter Fifteen
"Fire and ash," Luka said over his tankard with a smirk "They'll let just about anything into respectable places these days."
Ivan rolled his eyes as he shoved Luka's feet from the table and snagged a chair from an empty table. "By 'lay low' I didn't
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mean seat yourself at the first tavern and drink yourselves into a stupor."
"Ale's too watered down for a stupor. We're just sorta mellow. Hey, Ai. Thanks for keeping the boss man alive." Luka's levity
and the chuckles of the rest of the men died as they counted heads and realized there was one missing. "Boss?" he asked.
"Pechal is dead," Raz answered before anyone else could, voice strained but more stable than it had been before. "We
were too late."
Maksim stood up and stole more chairs, glaring down those who tried to protest, and urged the others to sit. Beside him the
much smaller Gleb rose to get more ale. "He'll get the good stuff."
"Getting drunk is not the solution," Shinju said as she sat down next to Isidor and snagged a piece of roasted fish from his
plate.
Karp chuckled from across the table, most of his face hidden by floppy brown bangs and his tankard. "Good start though,
lass."
"I've got years on you," Shinju said tartly. "Do not call me lass."
Ivan snickered. "Surely you don't expect us to call you Lady."
Shio rolled her eyes. "Children."
Raz smiled faintly but otherwise didn't react to the noise surrounding him, sipping slowly at the ale - nice and strong, not
watered down a bit - set in front of him. He didn't notice the lull that fell, the voices that turned hushed as Ivan's group was
updated on all that had happened. He stared at the table, seeing only his encounter in the Royal Cathedral.
Those eyes. More than anything those eyes drew him. Greener than the finest esmeralda he'd ever stolen - and he'd stolen
several in his career. Those eyes haunted him, warring with the ache of not being able to turn and just look at Pechal,
knowing the man would draw a smile out of him.
"So what are we going to do now, boss?" Luka asked.
"Stay low for a little while longer. Zholty would love to separate our heads from our shoulders and I'd much rather he not.
Then…" Ivan frowned. "I don't know." He shifted in his seat to look at Ailill. "What are your plans? I know you can't stay
here."
"I wish I could," Ailill said with a grimace. "Unfortunately, duty is a hard mistress. The comb Raz stole for me is only one of
five pieces. I have located three, two still elude me. I believe one has made its way to Kundou, so that is where I'm headed
next. After that…" Ailill shrugged.
Gleb leaned forward, arms folded across the back of the chair he was sitting backwards in. "What's a nobleman doing
hunting for jewelry all over the world? Poor way to make a profit, you ask me."
Ailill laughed. "A very poor way, I assure you. It's a mission I'm not at liberty to relate, at least not yet. I…if you're amenable,
I could use some assistance - and the company. If you've not particular reason to linger in Pozhar for a few years…" He
looked at Ivan. "Though I realize it's not fair of me to ask. I am selfish."
Maksim laughed, his entire body shaking with it. "We won't be worth much as mercs without our reputation, but I can't see
the boss telling you no."
"I wouldn't force my men to follow me just-" Ivan cut himself off, looking abruptly away.
"Just because you're taken with your pretty cat?" Karp finished for him, grinning as Ivan glared at him.
Luka rolled his eyes. "You said it yourself, boss, Zholty is probably out for our blood. We're not safe here and…" he looked
briefly at Raz, who sat quietly, watching them but not really paying attention. "We could all use a break, yeah? Not just
hiding out at the end of the world waiting for things to cool down. Unless you think we'd get in your way, I'm all for seeing
the land these beauties come from." He pointed a thumb at Shio and Shinju. "Though maybe we can find some nicer ones."
"Are nice, soft women all that you're up to handling then?" Shio asked tauntingly, leaning forward over the table, hair falling
over her shoulders. "Pretty little ladies all you can take?"
Setting down his ale, Luka leaned forward and smirked. "I can take whatever you can give, sweetheart."
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Shio sat back, chuckling. "We shall see, perhaps."
Luka grinned and went back to his ale. "I won't let you forget."
"I won't forget."
Raz almost smiled, watching the byplay. "You should be flattered, Luka."
"Oh, I'm definitely flattered."
Shinju rolled her eyes and looked at Raz. "Hungry, Raz? Want something to eat?"
Raz shrugged and sipped his ale. All the talk of Ivan and his band leaving the country brought his own troubles to the fore.
He wasn't certain he had the heart to steal anymore. Not without Pechal. Shio and Shinju were great but they weren't
Pechal. Without his friend, his brother, he didn't want to do it anymore.
Ivan seemed to sense his thoughts. "You should come with us when we leave, Raz. We could use a thief of your skill."
"Maybe," Raz said, and part of him badly wanted to go, leave it all behind, forget the way he hadn't been able to save the
one person he cared about more than anything else in the world. How he'd let Pechal get taken, let him burn. His eyes
began to burn and Raz chugged the last of his ale, hoping to banish the tears he'd thought had finally dried up.
Part of his wanted to run away, but most of him wanted to stay. Most of him recoiled at the thought of ever leaving Pozhar.
Even with the shadow that loomed over it because of the sacrifices, the several hundred who had had died simply because
they'd dared to be born with a piece of a god no one actually remembered, he didn't want to leave. Pozhar was home. He
and Pechal loved it, had traveled miles of it while building their reputation or running from the authorities.
He couldn't leave. Wouldn't leave.
And there were still those green eyes to figure out. The ache in his chest that flared up every time he thought of the High
Priest. A mystery he wanted to solve. So many things he wanted to say…yet he wasn't sure what those things were.
"Raz?" Shio asked, and set the bowl of stew she'd had brought in front of him. "Are you all right?"
"I'm not leaving," Raz said. "I can't."
Ivan frowned. "Raz…staying in Pozhar will just cause you more pain. Don't you think you should get away for at least a bit?"
"Why do you suddenly care?" Raz asked, then immediately regretted the words. "Sorry," he muttered to his ale. "I don't
think I'm myself anymore."
"I'd imagine not," Ivan said calmly. Raz didn't see the glance he exchanged with the others at the table. "Don't discount the
idea of leaving entirely, Raz. Think about it, yeah?"
Raz nodded, but his mind was already made up. He'd wait until the others left, a thought that was surprisingly painful, and
then go back to the palace. Finally figure out why the High Priest haunted him, why every thought of the man made him feel
like he was being torn apart. He stared at his stew a moment, then lifted his spoon and began slowly to eat. "So what do we
do until it's time for you to leave?" he asked. "I'm not going to make much of a living if I have to lay low for weeks on end.
Some of us don't have fancy foreign lovers to lean on."
"I'd say he's still himself," Maksim said, roaring with laughter. "So what does that make us, as we're the men leaning on the
man with the rich, pretty lover?"
"Children or servants," Raz answered with a grin.
"Children," Ivan said, cuffing a laughing Luka upside the head. "Definitely children. Who need to finish their ale and go to
bed or something, before I beat you senseless."
"Aw, dad," Isidor and Ferapont chorused together, "can't we stay up with you and mom?"
Ivan glared.
His men scrambled, chugging back their ales and rapidly finding somewhere else to be. Ivan chuckled.
"They are fond of you," Ailill said with a laugh of his own. "I've never encountered a band quite like yours. Generally it is
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only money that keeps such men together."
Ivan snorted. "Yeah, I started in a group like that. When the rest of them were hauled off to appointments with the chopping
block, I took command of the six left. We tried not to repeat the mistakes of our predecessors. Discipline might be lacking,
but we have each other's backs."
Ailill smiled, and the expression coaxed a return smile from Ivan.
Watching them hurt. Raz looked away, staring into the fire. After a moment, he stood up, shaking his head when the twins
moved to follow, and left the inn to go for a walk, letting his feet wander at will. Eventually he wound up in the center of
town, and leaned against the well, looking around at the lit houses, the shadows moving around inside.
Something in him warmed at the sight, something else still felt cold.
Perhaps because I failed.
What did that mean, exactly? Failed at what? The High Priest hadn't seemed the type to fail at anything. If he'd been
chosen as High Priest, obviously failure wasn't something he faced very often.
Raz slid down to sit on the ground and curled up into himself, blocking out the worst of the evening chill. To judge by it, they
were probably in for a long, bitter winter. He and Pechal should probably stay-
Pain sliced through him, and Raz shuddered as he fought sobs. Scorching idiot. Pechal was dead. Ivan and the others were
planning to leave. There was no guarantee Shio and Shinju would stay around forever. Maybe he should leave, start a new
life somewhere, a place that wouldn't constantly dredge up now-painful memories.
And where he wouldn't be constantly chased by the memory of pain-dark green eyes. Fire and ash, he was tired of those
green eyes!
Looking at you pains me.
Raz tilted his head back and stared up at the stars, recalling all the nights he and Pechal had spent just watching them, a
fire burning nearby to ward off any animals, jewels and coin burning holes in their packs, the excitement of a job well done
making sleep impossible. Pechal had used to wonder what stars were. Raz had never cared. He wondered if Pechal could
still see the stars.
Come winter, stars would be a rare sight. Clouds never left the sky when the cold descended. Usually he and Pechal found
a large town and holed up for the winter, doing small, easy jobs to keep their funds up but mostly using the snow as an
excuse to take a break, have fun. Raz wasn't sure what he'd do now. He had Shinju and Shio, but it wasn't the same. He
was alone now. He didn't want to be alone.
Get out. Looking at you pains me.
Biting back a scream of frustration, Raz climbed to his feet and stomped his way back to the in, footsteps softening only as
he slipped inside. The tavern was silent now, everyone having gone off to bed. Which reminded him he didn't know where
his room was.
"Raz," Shio said softly, and Raz looked up to see her sitting halfway up the stairs. "We were starting to worry." Now Raz
could see Shinju sitting all the way at the top of the stairs. "Come on, you look like you could use some rest."
Raz nodded and allowed them to carry him off, sitting meekly as they wrestled his boots off, feeling much like a child who
had misbehaved, and settled into a bed which smelled of rough soap and sweat, but otherwise clean. He was surprised at
how exhausted he suddenly felt, and could feel himself dropping away, smiling faintly at the touch of soft lips to his cheek
before sleep took him completely.
"So how many more days of this, boss?" Karp asked, making a face at his ale. "I'm all for the getting drunk night after night,
but we could use work or a change of scenery. Money isn't hurting a bit, but I don't like this being idle."
Ivan grunted. "I know. But let's not forget we've managed to scorch an Earl. I don't think he's the type of man to just forget
something like that."
Isidor made vague, impatient motions in the air. "Yeah, but he must think you're dead by now, boss. Didn't he say there was
no way anyone could break the curse? So you're worrying over nothing."
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"A bad feeling is a bad feeling," Ivan said with finality.
"Yes, boss," his men chorused, and Maksim signaled for another round of ale.
"So, Raz," Luka said, "tell us what your hard-" His words were cut off by the slamming of the front door against the wall,
and the entire tavern fell into a dead silence as a dozen men spilled inside, crowding the already packed room.
"Fire and ash," Ivan swore.
Raz silently agreed. The men all wore the red and black uniforms of the royal army, and he didn't like the look of the papers
clutched by the leader - to judge from the tassels, he was holding warrants. The man's eyes searched the room, and landed
heavily on their table, eyes looking at each of them in turn.
"Clear out," the leader, a Sergeant, barked. "Everyone has two minutes to get out of here or you will face arrest right
alongside the criminals." He strode over to their table, the click of his boots against the wooden floor loud even amongst the
scrambling of people desperate to get away. He slammed his hand down on the table, shaking the tankards and plates of
food. "Except you lot. One of you moves and your flesh will taste steel."
Ivan eyed the Sergeant, unmoved. "We're just sitting here drinking. Is that a crime now?"
"You're all under arrest for the illegal use of magic, breaking and entering, and attacking a noble without provocation."
Karp snorted. "Oh, there's always provocation. Breathing, for instance." He ducked as a soldier tried to punch him, catching
the man's wrist and shoving him back. "Don't touch me, you scorching redcoat."
"What proof do you have we've done anything?" Ivan pressed, shooting Karp a warning look.
"That is not my concern," the Sergeant replied. "By order of his Lordship the Earl Vladimir Zholty, Advisor of Magic, you are
all under arrest. Anyone who attempts to resist will be dealt with accordingly."
Ivan snorted. "Attempt to resist? Don't be stupid. We're not going to attempt anything. We fully intend to succeed." Even as
he finished speaking Ivan was moving, throwing his ale into the face of the Sergeant, swinging around to smash the empty
tankard into the face of the soldier behind him, hearing as the man's nose was crushed, then slammed it down on his head.
Dropping the ruined tankard, he drew his sword and went for the next soldier as everyone exploded into action.
Tables and chairs were scattered, broken, glass and ale going everywhere as the soldiers and mercenaries fought. Raz
dodged a sword thrust and grabbed a chair, swinging around and slamming it into the side of the soldier nearest him, then
stumbled backwards, away from another sword.
He looked frantically around, wondering at why there seemed to be a lot more than the initial dozen soldiers now, finally
catching sight of Shio and Shinju, dismayed to see that they were barely managing to keep ahead of their assailants. He
cried out as a hand grabbed him, threw him into a wall. Groaning, Raz struggled to his feet just in time to avoid the sword
thrust aimed at his gut. "Don't touch me!" he roared as the soldier again lunged. Raz ducked, then surged forward and
shoved the soldier back, eyes widening in horror as he screamed in pain and collapsed.
"Magic user! Kill him!" The Sergeant bellowed, and Raz's head jerked up. He stared in dismay as a group of soldiers gave
up on the mercs and came toward him. Raz stared. Why?
"Kill that one," the Sergeant repeated. "And the Highlander. Capture the rest."
"No!" Raz could Ivan's snarl over the cacophony of the fight, and he was so busy watching how efficiently and ruthlessly
Ivan cut through the soldiers to reach him - not Ailill, who was doing fine on his own - that he barely avoided the soldier that
had snuck up behind him.
Ivan stabbed the soldier in question, then dragged Raz close. "We'll get out of this. Stay close, I doubt you're used to this
level of fighting, street kid or no."
"No," Raz said. "Nothing like this. Why-" His words were cut off by screams of pain, and Raz watched dumbfounded as
everyone but Ivan and Ailill dropped to the ground, unconscious. And Ivan, taken by surprise, froze a moment too long, and
Raz could only cry out as a soldier came up from behind and clubbed him upside the head. "What?"
"Not used to magic," the Sergeant said shortly. "Kill that one!" he snapped, and Raz watched in horror as all the remaining
soldiers went for Ailill, watching as the man fought them off, paling as they swarmed him. Then he had no more time to
watch, realizing too late that he'd let his guard down. The Sergeant was choking him, the leather of his gloves hot, sticking
to his skin, grip hard enough there would be bruises if he lived. Whatever he'd done to the other man didn't seem to be
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working now.
"Let me go," Raz said.
"You reek of magic, boy, and I don't have the time or patience to burn it out. Killing you will suffice," the Sergeant replied.
"What?" Raz choked the word out, then felt nothing but white hot pain. "Why?"
"I do as the Earl commands," the Sergeant answered. "For the sake of Pozhar, and in the Queen's name." He let Raz go
and let him drop to the floor, then spun sharply around and started barking orders. "Kill the Highlander. You men, get the
rest of these vagabonds out of here. Chain them, make sure they can't get free."
Raz fought to stay conscious, but his eyes were so heavy…he heard a scream of pain, and thought it sounded like Ailill…
then nothing.
Chapter Sixteen
Raz woke with a groan that turned into a hiss of pain as he clutched his stomach, and fell back on the bed.
Bed.
Awake.
What?
Raz tried sitting up again, groaning but enduring the pain, and forced his eyes to focus.
He was in what looked like an inn room…one that his practiced eye immediately noted was far more than he could afford,
especially as he was relatively certain he should be dead. The room was simple, but the furniture was well-crafted, details
and carvings in the wood that no peasant or simple traveler's inn could afford to buy or make. He could tell the sheets were
linen, not rough, homespun cotton, and there was more good linen for curtains. A glass lamp was on one table, another on
the small bedside table. Rugs on the floor, which were themselves made of smooth, polished wood. Not the place he
thought he'd died, definitely. Where was he? How did he get here?
"You're finally awake," a cool voice said.
Raz snapped his head around. Stared.
Every last bit of the man screamed nobility. Even sitting down he was tall, making the chair look to small. He was dressed
severely in black jacket and breeches, boots polished to a mirror shine. His hair was dark red, brushed neatly back away
from his severe-looking face. The eyes so coolly watching Raz were a dark, rich amber, with all the sharpness of a hawk
examining its prey.
"Who are you?" Raz asked, licking his lips, swallowing to ease his dry throat. "What's going on?"
The man motioned to a glass and pitcher of water on the table, and Raz slowly helped himself, spilling only some of the
water as he poured it out. He lifted the glass and drank half of it in one gulp, then forced himself to sip the rest. "I did not
think I would get here in time. That stupid Earl always manages to get one step ahead of me, the bastard. If I had arrived
any later, you and the Beast would both be dead. And what a Beast is doing here, obviously in secret, I would dearly love to
know."
"Beast?" Raz asked. "Ailill? Where is he? He's all right?"
"Over there," the man said, gesturing past Raz's shoulder.
Ignoring the throbbing pain in his gut, Raz turned and saw that Ailill was slowly sitting up, holding his head. Ailill looked
about how Raz felt, pale hair disheveled and tangled, face tight with weariness even though they must have been sleeping
hard for a day at least, pale eyes hard as they lighted on their rescuer. "You're all right!" He turned back to the stranger.
"Where are the others?"
"Long gone," the man said shortly, "and not my concern. You are my concern."
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"Who are you?" Raz asked. "You still haven't told me that - or what's going on here."
"You are…" Ailil's voice held a cautious tone to it, "Duke Krasny, if memory serves. We met once, briefly."
"Nikolai will suffice for the time being," Nikolai said. He sat back in the faded blue armchair he had claimed, arms folded idly
across his chest. "You are a Beast of the Faerie Queen. Your friend here called you Ailill-"
Raz flushed and ducked his head. "Sorry."
"Which means you must be the Marquis Ailill le Blanc, the White Panther. I vaguely recall our encounter."
Ailill inclined his head. "I prefer Ailill."
"The only name we're missing is yours, then," Nikolai said, looking at Raz.
"Raz." He looked between them. "Just Raz."
"That makes you the lucky one," Ailill said, rising from his own bed and settling down next to Raz, resting a hand briefly on
his shoulder. His expression hardened as he looked at Nikolai. "Stop playing games."
Nikolai snorted. "I am not the one playing games - or at least, I did not start this one. Subtlety is not one of my strong suits."
He fell silent a moment, as if lost to some memory. "Zholty started this game," he said finally. "I am merely trying to end it. In
a matter of days I will do so."
"Stop him from doing what?" Ailill asked. "You are remarkably good at not explaining."
"You are remarkably rude. I could have left you to die."
Ailill shrugged. "You didn't. That was your decision."
Nikolai grimaced. "Zholty and I have no love for the current arrangement of things in the palace. I chose one route to
change things, he chose another. I chased after him thinking he was trying to kill the last Candidate before the High Priest
could…it would seem, however, that Zholty is merely settling a personal vendetta." His eyes gleamed with smug satisfaction
as he eyed Raz. "Which means I am once again ahead of the game."
"How so?" Ailill asked slowly. "What have we to do with any of this? I would think leaving us to die would have proven more
useful. No one knows I'm here."
"Do not insult my intelligence. As if the Queen wouldn't know if one of her precious Beasts were slain," Nikolai said, brushing
the words aside impatiently. "It would not have taken her long to find out where you were when you died, especially as the
villagers here would be sure to talk about how they buried a giant white cat."
Ailill nodded. "As you say. Why your interest in Raz, then?"
"That is not information I am willing to divulge quite yet."
Raz frowned. "Then why should I scorching cooperate with you? Because that's obviously what you're expecting. Nobles
don't trek halfway across the country to save riff raff for no reason."
"And they say you street urchins have no brains," Nikolai replied. "If you don't cooperate, your friends are going to die. I
need you to help me stop that fool Zholty once and for all." His dark eyes flicked to Ailill. "Any testimony you can offer would
be appreciated."
"My word alone is enough to stop whatever Zholty is planning," Ailill said.
"Hardly," Nikolai said. "You can stop whatever he is doing with his prisoners, certainly, but that is just a little side venture for
our good Earl. His ultimate goal is something quite different, and that can only be stopped by our young friend here."
Raz recoiled. "I'm no friend of yours. I'm no one. How can I stop an Earl?"
"Why, by getting to the High Priest before Zholty gets to you. As I said, I was vastly amused upon my arrival to learn that he
was settling a personal vendetta, and not chasing after you as I thought. No wonder he learned your location so quickly…he
didn't even know." Nikolai threw his head back and laughed. "Ah, it is good to finally be a step ahead of that bastard."
Raz felt a sudden chill. "Why would the Earl be chasing after me?"
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"Judging from the sudden pallor of your face, I would hazard to say you have already figured out the answer."
Raz nodded, gaze dropping to the floor, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm the last Candidate."
Nikolai lowered his head and shoulders in a graceful half bow. "You're the last Candidate."
Ailill hissed. "That can't be. Pechal…what are the chances of two Candidates being such close friends?"
"Ask the High Priest," Nikolai said. "I know only what I see in his drawings, and his latest - yet to be publicly released due to
mourning for the late King - is most certainly of our young friend here." He shifted his attention to Raz. "If you do not come
with me, I promise the Earl will spare no expense or torture to see that you are found and killed before the High Priest can
do the deed. Should he ever learn those prisoners were companions of yours, he will use them to get to you. Certainly you
can run and hide, if you like; no one would blame you - though I promise that even with the Beast getting away from me will
not be an easy task. But if you do run, your friends will most certainly die, and many more will suffer attempting to hunt you
down."
Raz didn't lift his gaze from the floor. He wasn't sure he could move. His body felt stiff. Frozen. Was this how Pechal had felt
when he'd first learned he was the Candidate? No wonder he'd been so panicked that first night. Raz wondered if he'd
offered any comfort to his friend. He wished he had Pechal now.
He could run. Ailill would help him, and he suspected Ailill could also rescue Ivan and the others with very little problem.
The last Candidate. Raz fisted his hands to still their trembling. Why hadn't learning that surprised him? Fire and ash he'd
just wanted to be a thief. Steal and run and play until they were finally caught.
At least this way Pechal wouldn't be alone. Maybe he could finally figure out why the High Priest haunted him. "All right,"
Raz said finally. "What do you want from me?"
"Raz!" Ailill protested. "You don't have to do this."
Raz smiled faintly, sadly. "I want to. And I'll be saving my country, right? A heroic thief…" He shook his head when Ailill tried
to protest further. "Look at what happened when Pechal tried to escape. Those men took him, he wound up killing them,
and Ivan's men were nearly killed trying to protect him. I don't want that. No one should die because of me."
Pain sliced through him as his own words, so deep Raz gasped with it.
I'm so sorry…
I don't deserve…
Can you ever forgive me?
"Those men he killed were mine, ironically enough, and I'd sent them to take the last Candidate from Zholty's men." Nikolai
stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his coat and pants. "Rest for the evening. Come morning we must move out.
Zholty's men have a three day start on us and we'll have to move quickly if we're to reach the palace as they do." Bowing
his head and shoulders, Nikolai then turned and left, and the locking of the door had a finality to it.
Ailill reached out and tugged Raz close, embracing him. "Raz. Are you certain? We could get away, and rescue them
ourselves. There's no reason to do this."
"I have my reasons." Jewel green eyes and an ache in his chest that wouldn't ease. He laughed, the sound weak, unsteady.
"It sort of feels like I knew it all along. Does that make any sense?"
"It does," Ailill said quietly. "In Verde, we do not change until we begin to enter adulthood and until we change there is no
guarantee of what our Form will be - though of course children tend to take after their parents. My mother was an owl, my
father a hawk…yet I knew, deep inside, that when I changed I would be neither. I was not surprised to find I was a White
Panther."
Raz nodded. "Why is that so special?"
"Verde was once ruled by three gods - the Faerie Queen and the Guardians. But she is also protected and served by
twelve White Beasts. We are…what our Queen has in lieu of priests and such. Our magic is the most powerful in the
country, our Forms stronger than all the rests…we live to serve our Queen." Ailill sighed. "We also die for her, whenever the
tragedy begins to play itself out again. But there is enough gloom in this room, my friend, do not make me drag out my own
woes."
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"Ivan's going to have a fit that you're a Marquis."
Ailill chuckled. "I can assure you I was more upset about the situation than anyone. I liked my parents' little mountain cabin,
and I was sorely disappointed when I knew I was a cat and not a bird. No feathers for me, alas," Ailill shrugged.
"Cat seems pretty scorching to me," Raz said with a grin.
"It could certainly be worse," Ailill agreed.
They lapsed into silence. Raz let his mind wander, but forcefully yanked his thoughts away when they tried to dwell on what
was in his near future. He played back over the fight, all that had happened. "How did they get the better of you?"
Ailill winced. "A good question. My magic did not work quite as well as it should have, and I was reluctant to use my Form in
such close quarters. Ultimately, I was sloppy. I will not underestimate them again." He sighed. "I hope Ivan and the others
are still alive. The Duke's words do not fill me with confidence." Standing, he gripped Raz's shoulder in a comforting gesture
before moving back to his own bed. "We should get some rest. Tomorrow, I feel, is going to be very long."
"Long and unbearable," Raz agreed and lay back down, not realizing until then how tired he still was. He buried his head in
his pillow, dreading the dreams that would plague him, but within seconds he was asleep, and slept too deeply to dream.
"I hate horses," Raz complained. "Why can't we walk?"
Nikolai ignored him.
Ailill smiled briefly, but his amusement faded as he turned to Nikolai. "So why are you here? Why not send more men?"
"Because the last men I sent were killed - quite brutally, or so I read in the High Priest's reports. I did not feel like losing
more men."
"Surely your absence will have been noted."
Nikolai shrugged. "Doubtless. My return will also be noted, however, and quite overshadow my disappearance. And
wondering where I have gone will keep Zholty too busy to hunt properly for the Candidate himself." He smiled coldly. "The
bastard should not have tried to outsmart me."
Raz rolled his eyes and cast his attention elsewhere. He rode a black mare, a horse he knew probably cost as much as
some of the items he'd stolen. She was sweet, gentle for a horse, and did not show any sign that the hours of traveling
bothered her.
They definitely bothered Raz, though most of that was probably because he was trying to avoid thinking about what would
happen when they reached their destination.
Will you come back?
Why should I?
I hope you change your mind.
Raz sighed, tired of his own head. Why did he keep dwelling on a man he knew nothing about?
He stilled. Perhaps he didn't know anything. He turned to Nikolai. "What's the High Priest like?"
Nikolai looked at him, annoyed and impatient. "Why do you ask?"
"It would be nice to know the man who's going to sacrifice me isn't a scorching bastard."
"He's arrogant, insufferable, and far too quiet for my liking. Nor do I like the way he affects my cousin. Once his job is done,
I plan to have that man uprooted from the palace and buried deep in the countryside."
Raz frowned. Arrogant? Insufferable? Quiet - that he could see. The High Priest he'd seen for those few, brief minutes had
never seemed to be someone given to a great deal of talking. But arrogant and insufferable? No…those words didn't suit.
"He always seemed sad to me."
"I'm certain he does his best to appear so," Nikolai replied. "Everyone in Pozhar has a hand in the murdering of a god, but
it's his hands which are bloodiest right now."
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"Yet without the High Priest," Ailill said, "you would have a hard time destroying the pieces. Or am I mistaken in thinking the
task of burning the pieces is a difficult one?"
"It takes years of training, or so I am told. The details do not matter to me." Nikolai shifted impatiently in his saddle. "My duty
is to advise her Majesty and serve Pozhar. I will do whatever is necessary to do my duty, including rescuing riff raff and
escorting it across the country."
Ailill lifted a brow. "It would seem to me that Raz is a trifle more than 'riff raff,' my good Duke."
Nikolai shrugged. "Being a Candidate does not change his station."
"Station is not necessarily indicative of how much respect one is due," Ailill said sharply. "I think you and the good Earl are
proof of that. Certainly I have all the respect in the world for Raz and none for you."
"I do not want to hear such words coming from a man whose country squabbles over whether or not a lion should have to
obey a pig, or a snake follow a mouse," Nikolai replied with a sneer. "Honestly, even when you're human it's patently
obvious you've an animal side."
Ailill's hands tightened on his reins, his horse fretting for a moment before Ailill calmed him. "At least Verde is not a country
full of murders."
Nikolai sniffed. "No, just rulers who kill each other."
"I will not tolerate such words from you!" Ailill snarled, moving very much like a cat as he grabbed Nikolai by the throat.
"Your hands are as bloody as the High Priest's, you pompous little prick. Do not think because I go along with this scheme
of yours that I won't hesitate to show you how much of a Beast I can be. Verde works to save their Gods; we are not
murderers like you Firelanders."
"Unhand me," Nikolai said coldly, "or I will show you how fire feathers are properly used. I promise I am easily a match for
your Highland magic."
Ailill ignored him. "I doubt it, Duke."
"Try me," Nikolai replied, eyes flashing. "Only one man ever got the better of me, and I doubt you have the nasty little trick
he used."
"I have nasty tricks of my own," Ailill said, eyes just as hard.
"That's enough!" Raz snapped. "Is that all you nobles do? Fight? Kill? Even Ivan's never gone so low as to commit murder,
and when he picks a fight he's smart enough to charge someone for putting him to so much trouble! Why does anyone need
him or I when you're obviously willing to do all the dirty work yourself? Fire and ash, I can't think why any god would want to
be anything but dead, to be surrounded by people who only want to fight and kill."
Ailill and Nikolai fell silent. Raz shifted uncomfortably on his horse, ducking his head and hunching his shoulders as the
silence grew heavy.
"The Sacred Firebird was killed because of his arrogance," Nikolai said slowly, breaking the silence. "They said he was cold
and contemptuous, and had no love for his people."
Raz shrugged irritably, feeling hot and awkward, and wishing very much to be anywhere else. "When we reach the palace, I
have to die because people decided a god was arrogant. Pechal had to die because more people decided to make certain
that god stayed dead. I don't want to spend my last few days listening to the two of you threatening to kill each other, and I
definitely don't want to see you try to kill each other."
Silence fell again as he finished speaking, and this time no one broke it.
Chapter Seventeen
Ivan gave up struggling against his chains, the blood slicking his wrists all the warning he needed that he was doing himself
more harm than good. All around him in the cart his men slept, covered in grime and blood and who knew what else. Fire
and ash, how had they gone from planning a new life away from Pozhar to being carted off like goods bound for market?
The sweltering heat was the final touch; he'd be swimming in his own sweat soon.
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He struggled to sit up properly, unable to take the pain in his lower back from his hunched position, and glared back at the
men who eyed him.
A sound reached his ears as he finally began to focus more on his surroundings, and he was so surprised by the sound he
felt for sure hew as imagining it. But one look confirmed that he wasn't.
Shio and Shinju were crying.
Why that surprised him, he didn't know. Of course they were crying. Even girls as tough as these two wouldn't be able to
take losing two friends, one right after the other.
Which reawakened his own pain, but Ivan refused to believe for one second that Ailill was actually dead. That Raz was
dead. They just couldn't be.
No. He refused. Ailill and Raz weren't dead. It wasn't allowed. Ailill…Ivan drew a breath and forced himself to calm. There
was nothing he could do about it at the moment. "Why the tears, beauties?" he asked quietly. "Come on, there's no reason
to cry. Everything will work out."
Shinju wiped the tears from her cheeks and just shook her head. "We messed up," she said, voice raw from tears.
"Because of us, everything's been ruined. Now our sisters-" she dissolved into tears again, curling up against her sister.
"Now we'll never be forgiven," Shio continued, her own tears a bit more under control. "We were supposed to keep him safe
until it was time, and now he's dead. Our fathers will never forgive us."
Ivan stared, completely lost. "I'm not following you, beauties. Perhaps you should explain everything to me. What do you
mean failed? Keep who safe? I find it hard to believe there's a man alive who can resist forgiving you anything." Something
Ailill had said came to mind. "Ailill said you were mermaids."
Shio nodded, tucking a strand of pale lavender hair behind one ear. "Yes, we're mermaids. Our behavior over the past
several centuries has angered our fathers, recently returned to the world."
"Fathers…you mean the Storm Bringers."
"Yes," Shinju said, sniffling. "They're mad at us, though all we did was miss them all the years they were gone." She wiped
her tears away. "They sent us here to keep the Candidate safe."
"Which Candidate? There's been hundreds. Pechal?"
Shio shook her head. "No. Pechal was a Candidate, but he wasn't the Candidate. The final and most important one."
A cold feeling began to spread through Ivan's body. "You mean Raz. How could you know that? Why didn't you say
anything? How could you do that to him! He trusted you! This whole time you were keeping him alive until he could be
burned by the High Priest?" He stared at them in disgust. "I would certainly not forgive that."
Shio and Shinju began to cry again, clinging to each other. "We-we didn't want to, once we met him. And Pechal. We didn't
want them to be burned." The words were ragged, hard to understand, as the tears turned into racking sobs. "But now he's
dead, but not burned, and everything has gone completely wrong. If we'd just taken him to the High Priest…"
"You don't know he's dead," Ivan said. "These scorchers could be lying." He hoped. Fire and ash he hoped he was right.
"Why does it matter, anyway?" Ivan asked coolly, anger returned. "You were just going to send him to die anyway."
"It's what we were told to do!" Shio half-shouted, drawing the looks of the nearby guards. "As penance for our wrongs, our
fathers bid us protect the Candidate until such time as he could burn. Now we've failed completely, and our fathers will hate
us forever, and we will never be forgiven." They tried to say more, but the tears overtook them and the sisters huddled
together, sobbing into one another's arms.
Ivan sighed, unable to bring himself to yell at them further. They were obviously as miserable as two people could be.
Raz was the last Candidate. Once Raz burned, the sacrifices would cease and Pozhar would finally be safe, be at peace.
No longer would they live in fear of an angry god descending to raze the land, killing everyone and everything.
Somehow he didn't really care. He also wondered when he'd started caring about a damnable thief who liked to overcharge
for his services. But there was something about Raz that just made him want to help.
Ivan sighed and tried to force his thoughts elsewhere. Anywhere but the crying girls, Raz, and the possibility that Raz and
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Ailill were dead. Which they weren't. He refused to believe it. He'd waited his entire scorching life for Ailill. Fire and ash his
lover was not dead.
He looked up as the temperature suddenly dropped, a breeze springing up to cool the sweat dripping down his face and
soaking his clothes.
Clouds. Dark clouds.
Thunder rumbled, and Ivan heard the twins gasp as they heard it, finally noticed the change in the weather. Then the
thunder roared, clapped hard enough to shake the world, and lightning lit the suddenly dark world before rain poured down
like the sky was falling.
Ivan laughed as his men woke up, sputtering and struggling, cursing and shouting. All around them the soldiers scrambled
to find shelter - but they were in an empty valley, not more than a few scrubs of trees anywhere in sight.
The sisters were still crying, Ivan thought, though it was hard to really see or hear anything in the fierce downpour, but it
was obvious this time the tears were of joy. He heard them cry out, saw them point, clinging to each other, and followed the
direction of their pointing fingers.
Narrowed his eyes.
There was something in the clouds, though how he could see anything he didn't know. Rain should be getting into his eyes,
blinding him, but he definitely see there was something in the clouds.
It was blindingly white, long and sinuous, like a massive snake winding in and around the clouds.
Ivan drew a sharp breath, and immediately began coughing and choking on rainwater. When he looked back up, the white
thing was gone. What? There was no way…
Thunder roared again, and everything seemed to go still, as if recovering from the sheer force of it. It roared again, the
power of the thunder this time matched by lightning so brilliant that for a moment the world was lit more brightly than even
the sun could manage.
Then the rain stopped, and the clouds vanished. Nothing but a cool breeze and the water that soaked everything, half
flooding the cart they were in, remained to give evidence to the storm that had consumed the sky.
"What was that?" Luka asked, voice full of awe.
"Never seen a storm like that," Gleb said. "Did you see that thing?"
Ivan nodded, barely hearing as his men began to talk.. He looked at Shio and Shinju, who were smiling and looked happier
than he'd ever seen anyone look. "What just happened?"
"We're forgiven," Shio said, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the beads of water still clinging to her skin.
Skin which shimmered oddly, and as Ivan looked he realized there was something different about it. Mermaids…scales, he
realized suddenly. Their skin looked like the scales of the fish he saw at the market, slick with water, shining where the sun
caught it.
This was all too much for him.
"Stupid dragons try to drown us and that means you're not in trouble?"
Shinju laughed. "That was to help us. If we'd gone much longer without water, we would have died."
"Fish out of water?" Ivan asked.
"Yes," Shio replied. "But it also meant we're forgiven. For everything. Our fathers are no longer angry with their daughters. It
also means that Raz is alive."
Ivan nodded and began to feel the stirrings of real hope. "I don't suppose your gods said anything about Ailill?"
"If a White Beast of Verde had been slain, you would know it, mercenary." Shio laughed softly. "If this stupid Earl of yours
had any brains about him, he would never have told his men to try and kill Ailill."
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Ivan frowned. "What aren't you telling me?"
"It is not our place to tell you about Ailill, but suffice to say that if the Earl had known who Ailill was, he would not have let
these idiot soldiers try to kill him."
"Why did I have to wind up with a lover who's so obviously important?" Ivan sighed and slumped back in the carriage,
grimacing at the water that was rapidly turning warm and even more uncomfortable than it already was. "Hey!" he shouted,
drawing the attention of the soldiers. "Are you going to make us swim around in this? Empty the water out, you scorching
idiots."
"Shut up," the nearest soldier said. "You're lucky to be alive, and if you don't shut it I may just have to tell the Earl that a few
of you drowned in your own piss on the journey back."
Ivan rolled his eyes, but subsided. Just wait until he was able to get loose. Then they'd see who died in their own filth. Zholty
was on the top of his list.
"You're looking far from well, my dear Vanya."
Ivan looked around the room, face confused. He looked back at Zholty. "Who are you talking to? Because I doubt anyone in
here wants to be thought of as 'dear' to you. I doubt your own mother liked you." He grunted as a guard punched him,
reeling back, but gave no other indication the blow had hurt. "What do you want, you scorching bastard? Was all this really
necessary?"
"Oh, yes," Zholty said polishing his monocle and looking over them all slowly as he replaced it over his right eye. He
grimaced. "Though perhaps I should have ordered you all bathed first; you reek."
"Just for you," Ivan said with a cold smile. "I always look forward to these little meetings. Fire and ash, Zholty, what do you
want?"
Zholty leaned against a large table, arms braced on either side of him. They were in what looked like a small meeting hall, a
large table spread with papers obviously serving as Zholty's desk. The room was well appointed in green, yellow and gold,
far too gaudy for Ivan's tastes but no doubt the height of fashion. Two large windows spilled in what remained of the
daylight, and servants were slipping quietly through to light various lamps before slipping out again, leaving Ivan and the
others alone with Zholty and two guards. "Dear, dear Vanya, certain little annoyances have cropped up and I've decided
that you're the perfect person to take the blame."
Ivan mulled over that. "Someone else figure out you've been casting curses?"
"Don't be absurd."
Not so absurd. Ivan knew Raz had told the whole story to the High Priest. If the Earl hadn't been accused of anything, either
the High Priest was a comrade or he couldn't yet accuse the Earl of anything. Or it could be something else altogether.
There was no way for Ivan to know.
"But a large number of fire feathers has gone missing, and I rather think you stole them, Vanya."
"Why would I steal fire feathers? I can't use them, don't even know how."
"Don't be stupid," Zholty replied calmly. "All Pozharians can use magic, it's just most never waken that ability in themselves.
We only burn it from those that dare to. But if you've managed to hide your magical ability all these years, then of course
you'd seek out fire feathers to increase your power. My men, of course, followed reports of your odd abilities, hunted you
down and caught you in the act of trying to use the feathers."
"That's the dumbest story I've ever heard," Gleb said from behind Ivan. "How would we have even gotten into the palace?
Never mind into wherever you keep those stupid feathers. Noble are so stupid." Like Ivan, he took the punch a guard gave
him in almost complete silence, doing nothing more than hunching over a bit.
Zholty sniffed. "Not nearly as stupid as you scum. Of course you stole the key from me when you stole the other items from
my house."
Ivan rolled his eyes, and almost laughed at the sheer irony of it all. "We're mercs, not thieves. Do I look like a sneak thief to
you?"
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"So long as someone is blamed, the details hardly matter," Zholty replied.
"Fire and ash!" Ivan struggled to stand, shoving away the guard that came after him, kicking the other one in the groin. He
strode toward Zholty, shoving against the man, pinning him against the table. "What's your problem, Earl? Huh? Are things
falling apart all around you, is that why you're doing this? We worked hard for you that first time, did the job nice and tight
just as you asked. Then you backstab us by cursing me, now this? That's a poor way to do business. If you think I'll let you
get away with this, you're sorely mistaken. I don't know how or when, my dearest Earl, but one day I'll slit that throat of yours
and watch you choke on your own blood."
Zholty chuckled and shoved Ivan back, then kicked out, sending Ivan crashing hard to the floor. "Don't make me laugh, you
pathetic little criminal." He reached inside his plum-colored velvet jacket and pulled out a fire feather, holding it out and
murmuring too quietly for Ivan to hear the words. Then the feather flared, vanished-
-Ivan felt warmth wash over him, like waves of heat from a fire that was just close enough to warm without overheating. The
same thing that had happened before, backing in the inn. It was gentle, comforting. Zholty stared at Ivan in disbelief that
quickly turned into a horrific rage. "How did you do that?" He yanked Ivan up by the scruff of his neck. "Fire and ash, you
pathetic little worm, how did you do that? Even I can't cast protective spells like that, and I am the best magician in this
palace. Such powerful magic should no longer exist!" He shook Ivan hard, then dropped him and placed a booted foot on
his chest, pressing hard. "Where did you learn that spell?"
"No idea," Ivan said once Zholty removed enough weight to let him speak. "I didn't know I had a spell on me. I guess when
we got rid of the curse, we did something a little extra." Fire and ash, what exactly had Raz left out of his story? If the man
was still alive, and Ivan hoped he was, he was going to kill the scorching bastard.
Zholty pressed down harder on Ivan's chest. "You lie."
"I speak the truth!" Ivan snapped. "There was another man, a friend, who managed to break the curse."
"The Highlander?"
"He helped," Ivan lied. "But your guards killed them both - for having magic. So whatever they did, I can't tell you. You want
to get angry at someone, find that scorching Sergeant and stomp on his chest."
Zholty grunted and with a last kick to Ivan's side, moved to his seat behind the table. "That will be all for now," he said.
"Lock them, put each one in a different cell, make sure they're far enough apart that communication is impossible. Make
sure they're fed and all, I don't want them dead quite yet." He dropped his eyes to the papers in front of him, dismissing
them entirely.
"Earl," Shinju said, her voice oddly sweet - but Ivan could hear the venom behind it. "I can tell you something about the
Highlander, and how he managed to help."
"What?" Zholty snapped, signaling a guard to shut her up. "I have no time for your games, woman."
"No game," Shinju replied, voice still sticky-sweet. "I just thought you might like to know that the Highlander your men killed
was a White Beast. That's why he was able to help."
"You lie!" Zholty shouted, slamming his hands down. "There is no way my men could have killed a Beast of Verde. Guards,
take them away."
Shinju and Shio laughed, the sound cold and chilling, as they were dragged away. When a guard moved to backhand them
into silence, he faltered and finally lowered his hand. The sisters' laughter ceased only when they were well away from
Zholty's office.
Ivan shook his head at the looks from his men, indicating they should just go along and stay down for now. If they fought
back now, things would not go well at all. An opportunity would present itself. "I don't suppose we could get those baths
first?" he asked the guard manhandling him. "I'm starting to offend myself, sadly."
"Shut up," the guard said curtly.
"Fine, fine," Ivan said, and subsided. They were dragged down beneath the palace to cells that were dank, damp, and so
filthy Ivan cringed. At least there were a few torches. He grunted as his chains were finally removed, and walked into his cell
before he could be shoved. One by one he watched as his men and the girls were locked in various cells, keeping them all
apart, preventing whatever mischief they might otherwise cause.
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Ivan snorted and waited until the guards finally left, then waited another hour before moving to the bars of his cage and
rapping on one with his knuckles in a pattern of short and long knocks. Somewhere else, one of his men heard it and
passed it along. Several minutes later Ivan heard a new pattern, and sat back with a smile.
Raz was a master thief, but Ivan would have made a poor merc if he didn't keep a lock-picker of his own on hand. Gleb
could have them all out in a few minutes, as soon as Ivan gave the order. Rapping out a command to wait, Ivan then laid
down to try and get some sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
Dym paused as he saw that Sonya was not at her desk, but a turn of his head showed her to be sitting in a window seat,
morning sunlight spilling through the glass and across her face and pale pink gown. Her hands were folded neatly in her
lap, expression blank as she stared out the window, though there were lines in her face that hadn't been there a few weeks,
or even a few days, ago. "Blessing of the morning, Queen."
"I liked it better when you called me Princess," Sonya said, and finally turned from the window to smile sadly at Dym. "How
are you, Dym? I am so busy these days, I hardly have time to sit and think, never mind see those persons I would like to
see."
"I am well. You look in need of rest, Queen."
Sonya waved the words away. "A cup of tea and I will be fine. Has Zholty spoken with you, yet?"
"He sent me a message saying he has located the culprits responsible for the theft of the fire feathers," Dym answered, a
trace of annoyance slipping into his level voice. "I find it hard to believe. No mere mercenaries could simply go in and take a
box of fire feathers."
"What do you suspect, Dym?"
Dym did not immediately reply, pondering his words. "I suspect Earl Zholty and Duke Krasny. Both are permitted to have
what they require, up to a certain amount. They are both close to that limit. I do not know why they would require more, yet I
sense at least one of them is behind the thefts." He bowed his head. "Not to malign your Majesty's cousin."
"Malign all you like," Sonya said. "I intend to do much worse than that to both of them the very moment I figure out what
they're up to - and why my scorching cousin has vanished! Where could he have possibly gone? Where? I don't suppose
you have some idea? What manner of advisor vanishes without even a note? I will skin that man alive, I vow it."
Dym smiled faintly. "I am certain the Duke is well aware that his disappearance has incurred your wrath." He fell silent a
moment. "The Duke and I do not get along, but it is my opinion, Queen, that he would not simply vanish as he has without
very good reason. Such drastic behavior speaks of importance, at least to my mind."
"Yes, but are those very good reasons the kind with which I will agree? Or will I be forced to remove my advisor from his
post?"
"I doubt you will be forced to such drastic measure, Queen."
"Let us hope I am not," Sonya said with a sigh. "Speaking of things I do not like, we will soon be able to begin the search for
the last Candidate." She sighed again. "We have been doing this for so long, Dym, I wonder what Pozhar will do when it is
finally free of the miserable duty."
"Perhaps with the prophecy fulfilled, Pozhar will being to move out of the shadows and into the sunlight," Dym answered.
"The Land of Fire is not meant to be so weighed down by dark things."
"Hmm…" Sonya murmured noncommittally, lost to her own thoughts. "I will be glad when it is all finally over. Are you going
to speak with Zholty's prisoners yourself?"
Dym bowed his head. "Yes, Queen. I have arranged to do so later this morning, after Zholty finishes his morning duties."
"Let me know your opinion, then, after your meeting. I do not trust him in regards to this, though I cannot say why." She
sighed, a long, tired sound. "Perhaps I am merely still on edge from my brother's death. He died from illness, but there are
moments where I am certain he was poisoned…yet it took him months to die. Would someone really kill a man that slowly?"
Sonya shook her head. "My brother was harmless. No one had good reason to kill him. He was making no radical changes,
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no drastic arrangements with foreign nations other than the strict prohibition on magic…" She rubbed her forehead wearily.
"Who knows? Illness or murder, knowing for certain will not bring him back." She started to say more, but a knock at the
door interrupted, and Sonya called for the knocker to enter. A handful of advisors and stewards spilled into the room, and
barely hiding a grimace Sonya set to work, dismissing Dym with an apologetic smile.
Bowing low, murmuring a farewell he did not think she heard, Dym turned and slowly made his way back to the Cathedral.
Inside the Cathedral, his priests weren't bent over their tables, working diligently at drawings and painting of the latest
Candidate. Dym murmured words of praise and encouragement, but did not linger long enough that he had to see the
sketches.
His only concern now was if Raz would choose to return - because force would not bring the last piece back. Only choice
Will you come back?
Why should I?
Had nothing changed? Would things still be the same? Just thinking it made Dym feel so weary he could barely stand it. He
touched fingers to his chest, feeling the heat of the greater fire feather hidden within. The warmth was comforting and
troubling all at once, blessed relief tainted by the method of obtainment. Life and death were inextricably bound, that had
been his first lesson.
Even after all these years, it was a hard and painful one.
Dym sat down behind his desk and stared unseeing at the paperwork before him, mind wandering to the continuing dilemma
of the missing fire feathers and the Earl Zholty.
Whatever the man said, the prisoners he had were not responsible for the stolen fire feathers. More than ever, he was
convinced Zholty had stolen them or at least knew who had. He only lacked proof, and he would need unquestionable
evidence to stand against the Earl and Duke, who would challenge him simply because they disliked him.
But why would the Earl need so many fire feathers? It would not take more than he could obtain legally to cast the curse of
which Raz had spoken. Why would anyone need so many fire feathers?
To give them to others, perhaps. Like the men Pechal had accidentally killed. Men with the ability to use fire feathers would
fall under command of the Duke and Earl, though if they were teaching magic to men not approved to have it, all sorts of
problems arose.
Magic seemed to be at the center of this. Dym frowned in thought. What, precisely, did he know?
Zholty had hired men to kill a Candidate. He had gone so far as to curse one man in order to see that goal accomplished.
Someone had given mercenaries fire feathers, and taught them to use magic, in order to kidnap the Candidate.
Zholty? But why would he curse one man and then give magic to another? That seemed to imply two different parties were
at work here.
An entire box of fire feathers was missing.
There was no reason to think the missing feathers had anything to do with attempts to kill the Candidate, yet Dym couldn't
help but sense the two things had something in common. Perhaps it was only that fire feathers could only be obtained
through the death of the Candidates that made him connect them.
Of course, it likely wouldn't matter at all before too long. With the death of the last Candidate, there would be no more fire
feathers. He bet that had those few who could use magic in a frenzy.
Cold sliced up Dym's spine as he completed the thought.
Was that what was going on? Did those who could use magic fear losing it? The death of the Firebird would put an end to
all magic in Pozhar. While its use had been declared illegal except by those who used it to enforce that very law, there were
several - like the Earl - who highly prized their ability to use magic.
And it put them on equal standing with the authorities of the other nations. In Verde and Piedre, all people could use magic.
In Kundou only royalty could use magic. In Pozhar, only royalty and certain nobles and other approved officials could use it.
If the Firebird were to die, no one in Pozhar would be able to use magic. That would, in the eyes of many, put them a grade
below the leaders of other nations. It would lower Pozhar's standing.
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Except the King had never thought so. He'd never had any love of magic, and forbade it as much as possible. The Queen
was slightly more tolerant, but she too would not miss magic were it to vanish forever from Pozhar.
Was that the answer to the riddle? Something so painfully obvious? Standing right before him the entire time? Had he been
so caught up in his own selfish ambition he had missed it? Dym stroked the wood of his desk as he continued to ponder,
oblivious to all the activity around him, the noise and soft chatter, the sunlight warming his back.
If he were a greedy fool desperate not to lose his magic, how would he go about ensuring it was not lost?
Two obstacles would stand in his way: the King, who was staunchly against magic, and the sacrifice of the Candidates.
In the past few months two Candidates had died, and there was only one left. No one but Dym knew the last Candidate
might very well find a way to avoid his fate - in this lifetime and perhaps others. So a greedy, panicked fool would seek to
kill the Candidates before the High Priest could. That would secure magic use for years, if not decades.
But what was the point of having magic if you must always use as little as possible? Especially in the face of all other
nations having much stronger magic and the ability to use it as they pleased? Pozhar, by comparison, was notably lacking.
On more than one occasion it had caused tension between Pozhar and her neighbors. To that end, getting rid of the
primary obstacle would be the obvious thing to do. Kill the King.
Why had it taken them so long to do so?
Of course. Sonya. No point in killing the King when the heir to the throne was married to a mere baron who had become fast
friends with his wife's brother. Killing the King would have only moved his greatest supporter into the position of power.
Things were perfect now. All anyone aching for power need do was either win Sonya's support or simply marry her, which
many would be pushing her to do despite her age and the love she still held for her deceased husband.
It was fortunate for him that no one seemed to know Sonya had offered Dym the place at her side. Though the Duke and
Earl both considered him a threat of that nature.
Foolish, of course.
Dym's shoulders sagged. If his suppositions were correct, then he and everyone else had completely missed the slow
poisoning of the Bright King. Had he been that consumed with his own plans? So selfish he had watched as a good man
died?
One more stain on his bloody hands.
There was some comfort, though it tasted foul and bitter, in the fact that everyone, including the King himself, had not
realized he was being poisoned. Still, Dym, more than anyone, should have been able to tell there was something amiss. Of
late, though, he'd been too consumed with his own plans and ambitions. So close, so very, very close.
In the distance, bells tolled the hour and Dym realized it was time for his appointment with the Earl and his prisoners. He
stood, feeling heavy and weary, achy and tired. Someday, he reminded himself, it would all be over. Hopefully that day was
close.
Dym regarded the assembled prisoners in surprise. Specifically, the man who, even bound in chains and covered in filth and
grime, seemed to radiate leadership. Beneath the dirt was a stern, handsome, face, the short goatee adding a somewhat
menacing air. His eyes were steel blue, as sharp and piercing as a sword as the man stared back at him.
That wasn't what caught Dym by surprise, however. What startled him was that the man was the one Raz had mentioned,
the one who had been cursed. Dym had placed the counter spell in a fire feather…he'd also added a spell of protection.
Something he probably shouldn't have done, but he'd rather risk exposure than see a pathetic excuse for a sorcerer kill a
man with spells that had been forbidden for very good reasons. Never would he tolerate such a thing.
"These are the thieves who stole the fire feathers?" he asked, keeping his voice level, calm. He looked at Zholty, gratified by
the way the man seemed to lose his thoughts for a moment, startled by the anger Dym knew was in his eyes. "How did they
do it?"
Zholty recovered, assuming his usual cold, condescending manner. "I suspect they were the ones who broke into my home.
Obviously they stole the jewels to try and distract from the fact they were after my key."
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"Why did you not point out the theft of the key earlier."
"I did not want to admit I'd been foolish enough to leave it out," Zholty said, shifting restlessly with embarrassment. "How
was I to know they had any idea what the key really was? At first I merely thought they grabbed it randomly."
Dym kept his face blank, wondering how Zholty expected anyone to believe his story.
Then again, if not for his own knowledge, the story would not be wholly implausible.
"What have the prisoners to say?" Dym asked, but did not wait for Zholty to reply. He turned to the one who bore Dym's
protection spell. "Explain your reasons for stealing the fire feathers."
"You're awfully pretty to be a priest," the man said instead, steel blue eyes flashing in amusement, as if his current situation
did not bother him at all.
Dym almost smiled. "I hear that a lot."
"I bet," the man said. "Though I guess I don't really know what makes a good priest. It's not like Pozhar has much use for
them."
"No, it does not," Dym said softly. "What is your name?"
"Ivan."
Zholty stepped forward. "I warned you about watching what you say, prisoner. The High Priest has better things to do than
listen to your idiotic ramblings."
"On the contrary," Dym said, staring calmly at Zholty, who started to recoil before he caught himself. "I came to hear
whatever they might have to say, or what they may not say. That reminds me of a question I have not put to you - how did
you find them?"
"They were stupid enough to play with magic where others could see, and responsible citizens of Pozhar reported them."
Dym flicked his eyes over the assembled group, which was quite a diverse collection. A mercenary group, Zholty had said,
and they certainly seemed to be, despite their filthy, bedraggled state. "Yet I sense no magical ability on them." A blatant lie.
Every last one of them had latent ability - and any fool with real ability would be able to sense the protection spell cast on
him. It was a mark against Zholty's ability, of which the Earl was inordinately proud, that he could not sense it. If he could,
he would have mentioned it, for such a strong spell would scorch Ivan completely.
"Because they no longer have fire feathers. Obviously they are worthless without the feathers, as any ignorant, magic-
hungry peasant would be."
"Indeed," Dym murmured. These men might be guilty of a great many crimes, but they were nothing more than victims at
present. Zholty was pathetic. Dym remained still and silent until he was certain his temper was under control. Nothing had
tested his patience like this man in a long time. Would that he could just put Zholty in his place once and for all. "Another
question, Earl."
Zholty motioned impatiently. "Of course, High Priest, by all means."
"Your initial report said that you had captured nine people. I see only seven here."
"The other two are being held back so that these seven do not try to do something stupid."
Ivan sneered. "Yes, how very clever and capable of you to hold two women prisoner. When we are finally free, my dear,
dear Earl, I will laugh when they tear your throat out. I admit I was hoping to do that myself, but I think I will more enjoy
seeing your body torn apart by mermaids."
Dym hissed, taken completely by surprise. "Mermaids? What are mermaids doing in Pozhar?"
No one answered his question.
"You are holding the daughters of the Storm Bringers captive?" Dym pressed. "That is a dangerous thing to do, Earl Zholty.
If you are not careful, they will do to you what they have been doing to men in the centuries since the Storm Bringers were
killed. What they have probably stopped only at the bidding of their Sacred Fathers."
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Zholty looked bored. "What is that? Kill me slowly? Flay me alive?"
"Oh, yes, they will kill you slowly - and they'll let you watch while they eat you."
The room fell into a startled silence.
"What?" Ivan croaked. "They wouldn't do that."
"Mermaids eat those they hate, those they kill," Dym said quietly. "When humans killed the Storm Bringers, they joined the
list of those mermaids considered prey. If they have stopped, it is only because the Sacred Storm Bringers have made
them. But I do not think even that will be enough to stop them if they are pressed too far…"
Zholty backed away from Dym, dropping his gaze. "Absurdity," he declared.
Dym started to speak, but he was interrupted as the door was thrown open. He faltered.
Duke Nikolai Krasny strode into the room as though he owned it, as severe and arrogant as he always was despite the
travel dust covering him and the exhaustion apparent in his face. "Zholty, I've some friends I'd like you to meet."
It wasn't the Duke that caught Dym's eye however, and the sputtering of Zholty and Krasny's smug replies faded into the
distance as he stared at who walked in with him.
"You came back," he said softly, green eyes locking with gray.
"I didn't have a choice," Raz replied, drawing close but stopping short of touching distance.
Dym nodded, ending the conversation for the time being, and forced his attention to the last figure who had entered with the
Duke. His brows lifted in surprise. "What an interesting day this is becoming," he said. "Mercenaries who purportedly know
how to use fire feathers, mermaids in the dungeon, the last Candidate arrives, and he is accompanied by a White Beast of
Verde."
"I should be surprised you realized that immediately, yet somehow I am not. There's an air about you…I am Marquis Ailill le
Blanc, White Panther of her Majesty the Queen of Verde."
"I am Dym, High Priest of Pozhar."
"Ailill. You're alive."
"Ivan," Ailill said, striding over and dropping to his knees, embracing the blue-eyed mercenary, seemingly oblivious to the
grime and stench that covered him. "I was worried you might already be dead."
"What in the world is going on here?" A voice demanded sharply from the still-open doorway. As one, every last man jerked
his head up or around, and all cowered at the look of blazing fury on the Queen's face.
Chapter Nineteen
"Someone had better start explaining all this to me right now," the angry woman said, eyeing Nikolai and Zholty where they
were locked in argument, Raz and Dym, Ailill embracing Ivan.
Raz almost wished he'd chosen to run away, because from this moment on there was no going back. Whatever the
outcome, he was going to die. But he could feel those green eyes on him, dark and haunted but so calm, and somehow
they made him feel better for all that they still caused him so much pain.
"Dym," the woman said, voice more level but still full of anger. "Explain, please. You are perhaps the only man here that I
both know and do not want to strang…" her words faded as her gaze landed on Ailill again. "You-I know you. What are you
doing here?"
Ailill stood up, brushing what dirt he could from his clothes. "Princess. Queen, pardon me. I was here on a secret mission to
track down something that was stolen. I had intended to keep my presence quiet, so as to cause as little trouble as
possible."
Queen? Fire and ash, this was too much for him.
"I see," the Queen said, sounding not at all pleased.
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"They said the Beast was dead," Zholty's cold voice cut across the room.
Ivan laughed, smug and gloating. "They lied. Maybe they were hoping to shake you into doing something stupid, like
admitting that you knew your men had killed someone important."
"Nearly," Ailill said. "If not for Duke Krasny I probably would be dead."
"And we would have much to answer for to Verde," the Queen said grimly. "Zholty, what is this about you knowing?"
"I can explain that, Majesty," Ailill said. "I can explain a great deal of everything."
"Then explain."
Slowly Ailill began to tell all that he knew, from hiring Raz to steal the comb to helping Ivan with the curse, on through to the
end, where he'd nearly been killed by soldiers sent on Zholty's orders.
Silence fell as he finished, heavy and oppressive.
"You say Raz managed to obtain a feather that broke this curse," the Queen finally said. "I do not see how that is possible."
"I gave it to him," Dym said quietly. "He ran into me sneaking around the Cathedral, and I persuaded him to tell me his
purpose. I cast the spell that broke the curse."
"Then you-" Zholty abruptly cut himself off.
"Then I what?" Dym challenged. "Cast the protective barrier that has probably kept you from harming him again? Is that
what you were going to say?"
"Fire and ash!" Zholty roared, face flooding with red as his temper finally snapped. "How did you do that? Not even I can
manage such spells! It's impossible! I possess every book that still exists on the matter and those spells are not in them!
What manner of traitor are you?"
"I am no traitor," Dym said, voice hard, green eyes blazing as he stared down Zholty until the Earl dropped his gaze. "I am
not the one who has been trying to hunt down Candidates and murder them in the streets."
"The location of a murder does not change the fact that it is murder," Zholty countered.
"By doing so you are preventing the sacrifices," Dym said. "That is treason. Nor do I use illegal magic to force men to do my
bidding."
"But you obviously use illegal magic."
Dym shook his head. "There is nothing illegal about a protective spell, Earl. It is merely the fact that I can cast it and you
cannot that has you vexed. Even had you succeeded in making magic legal in this country, in increasing your magical
prowess, you would never have mastered the harder spells. You are cruel and cowardly, hardly the makings of a true
sorcerer."
"I am no coward, you pompous little-"
"Only a coward would use poison and curses, Earl."
"Poison?" Zholty repeated. "When did I ever use poison?"
The Queen gasped. "Dym, please don't say…"
"It's possible," Nikolai said slowly, clearly startled, and he looked at Zholty as though he'd never seen the man before.
"Zholty and I have long believed this country holds itself in a position of weakness by eschewing magic."
"Yes," the Queen said. "You've hardly spoken of anything else for months on end. What has that to do with this?"
"As you say," Krasny said dryly, "I have hardly shut up about it. Zholty is not so patient, nor so clever. It is, after all, his job
which will be at stake when the Sacred Firebird is finally dead. He has been taking matters into his own hands, trying to kill
the Candidates before the High Priest could to ensure magic stayed around for several more years, ideally for several more
decades."
The Queen crossed the room and stopped in front of Nikolai - then in a flash of movement reached up and slapped him
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across the face. "Why did you mention none of this before?"
"Because then he would have to admit that he once tried to do the same thing himself." Zholty sneered. "Then his blood
turned cold and he lost his nerve."
Nikolai gave no indication that he'd felt the hard slap to his face. "I should have said something, you're right. I am sorry. But
I was trying to stop him."
"You should have said something, Kolya." Sonya turned away and faced Zholty. "You deny none of this?"
Zholty shrugged and removed his monocle to polish it, not replying until it was once more in place over his eye. "There
seems to be very little point in doing so now."
"My brother?" Sonya asked tightly.
"Was a threat to this country," Zholty said.
"Vlad…" Sonya whispered, staring wide-eyed at the Earl as tears began to trail down her cheeks.
"You scorching bastard," Nikolai roared, and launched himself at Zholty, only to cry out in pain and fall to the floor
unconscious, a hole burned through the fabric of his jacket where Zholty had touched him.
"Kolya!" Sonya screamed, dropping down before her cousin, tugging him close.
Dym turned to face Zholty. "I've had enough of you."
"Try and stop me," Zholty said. "That's the least of my power, and I guarantee your scorching barriers won't be able to
protect everyone."
"Those are not the only spells I know," Dym said softly, voice as calm as his eyes were blazing, "and I do not need fire
feathers to cast them. In my eyes, Earl, you are nothing but a foolish little boy playing with things best left to adults." Dym
held up one hand even as Zholty made to cast a spell of his own. "Nichevo."
Zholty screamed in pain, holding his head as though it were being torn apart, dropping to his knees. He was trembling,
shaking so hard that he finally had to let go of his head to brace his hands on the floor. He looked at Dym. "What did you do
to me?"
"Stripped you of your magic. A bit of information for you - using a fire feather to banish magic from people really only puts it
to sleep. With effort, it can be awakened again. You, however, will never be able to use magic again."
Raz shuddered, wishing he was anywhere else in the world, away from the hate and fear and hurt that filled this room.
Shaking himself, he forced his limbs to work and pulled a lock pick from his boot, then moved to start freeing Ivan and the
others. They were loose within minutes.
None of the nobles seemed to have noticed. "You need a bath," he told Ivan. "Honestly, the alleyway behind the
whorehouse in the pavilion smells better than you lot."
"Well now, Raz, I didn't think you'd be the sort to know what a whorehouse smelled like. Nevermind the alleyway behind
one."
Raz grimaced. "I had to steal a pearl broach once. Now be quiet before they figure out you're free. Make a break for it as
soon as you think you can. Where are my girls?"
"In the dungeon. Ransom in case we tried to scorch the Earl. Pointless, now. We'll get them out." Ivan frowned suddenly.
"Why are you here? You shouldn't be here, Raz… don't you know…"
"That I'm the last Candidate?" Raz said with a weak smile. "I know. How did you?"
Ivan shook his head. "Doesn't matter."
He said something else but Raz didn't hear him, eyes locked on the way Dym knelt before Nikolai, pressing fingers gently to
his chest, murmuring softly, a gentle warmth washing through the room like a warm summer breeze.
Sonya gasped. "I've never…" She didn't seem to notice the tears still streaming down her face. "I've never seen magic like
I've seen today. How do you three know so much of what no one should know? Has everyone played me for a fool?"
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Dym took her hand and squeezed it, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to her cheek. "Never, Queen. Earl Zholty played us
all for fools, but I think the Duke and I were unwittingly united in wanting only to protect you."
"You're all fools," Zholty said.
"Be silent," Sonya snapped. "It is only because I think death too easy for you that I have not ordered your head removed."
"It's against the law to kill me without a trial," Zholty sneered.
"The law is what I say it is," Sonya replied, voice so frigid that Zholty fell silent. She crossed the room and yanked the door
open. "Guards!" Raz heard her snap, and a second later four soldiers strode into the room. Sonya motioned to two of them.
"Take him away," she said. "Make certain he is securely chained and locked up where he can cause no trouble. He is to
receive no special treatment, and is marked as a criminal of the highest order."
"Queen," Dym interrupted. "There are still two prisoners down there, arrested by Zholty in your name. Two women, natives
of Kundou."
Sonya nodded and motioned to the guards. "After you have seen to the former Earl, free the two women who should be
locked up down there. Escort them here at once."
"Yes, Majesty!" the Guards snapped sharp salutes, and though obviously confused and curious, they obeyed without
question, using discarded by Ivan's group to bind Zholty and carry him away.
Sonya motioned to the remaining two, then to Nikolai, who still lay unconscious on the floor. "Take him to his room, see that
he is well-tended. Fetch me the moment he wakes up."
"Yes, Majesty," the Guards bowed and quickly obeyed, gently lifting Nikolai and carrying him away.
Dym crossed the room and took Sonya's hand, then led her to a seat. "All will be well, Queen."
"I sincerely doubt that," Sonya said sadly. "Will Kolya be all right?"
"He will be fine," Dym said. "Zholty hit him hard, but I've repaired whatever damage was done."
Sonya nodded. "I want very badly to know how you and Zholty, and likely my cousin, know so much complicated magic. Yet
I do not think I could bear to hear the answers right now. It will keep." She finally looked towards Raz and the others. "You
are all free to go. Whatever crimes you may have committed, I am clearing all charges. I apologize profusely that men who
are meant to serve Pozhar, and who have been doing so in my name, would treat you so callously." Her eyes flicked to
Ailill, who had been standing close to Ivan, speaking quietly. "I don't quite know what to do with you, yet, my dear Marquis."
"Simply let me be on my way? I arrived here intending to cause as few problems as possible, I promise you. We were
planning to leave right when Zholty attacked us."
"Very well," Sonya said tiredly. "Though I hope you are the last foreigner of great importance I see in my country for awhile."
She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the chair.
Raz felt a sick knot of dread begin to form in his stomach. He finally made himself look up, and gray eyes met with green
and could not look away. "I guess this is it, then."
"If that is the course you have chosen to take," Dym said softly, leaving the Queen's side to stand before Raz, stopping just
short of being able to touch him. "If you wanted to leave, I would not stop you."
As though from far away, Raz could hear his friends talking, murmuring, and he saw from the corner of his eye as the
Queen moved, looked at them. Distant. The only thing he could really see was Dym. "I want to know why looking at you
hurts. I think this is the only way I'll know."
"Yes," was Dym's soft reply.
"Dym…" Sonya's voice broke the strange spell that had fallen over them. "Is he…I thought his face was familiar, but I was
so angry…"
"Yes, Queen," Dym said, and turned to face her. "This is Raz, the last Candidate."
"Fire and ash," Sonya whispered. "How can so much happen in one day?"
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Ivan grunted as the others lapsed into silence. "I hate to point out the obvious, but the day is far from over. In my
experience, the sooner trouble starts, the longer it lasts." He slid a look at Raz. "Are you sure, Raz?"
"Yes," Raz said. He turned to Dym, the Queen. "I have a request."
"Granted," Sonya said promptly. "I do not care what it is, you are entitled to it."
Before Raz could speak, the doors opened and two lithe figures, one with lavender hair, the other with green, spilled into the
room and ran straight for Raz, clinging to him as though their lives depended on it. Shio and Shinju began sobbing, choking
out apologies and exclamations, words so jumbled that no one could really make them out.
"It's all right, my lovelies," Raz said with a smile, giving each of them a kiss. "Cause plenty of trouble for me, all right?" He
kissed them again, then once more addressed the Queen. "If they're willing, I want all my friends with me when I die."
Sonya nodded. "As I said, whatever you want is yours for the asking. Dym?"
"Of course, Highness, though it's never been done before." Dym smiled faintly, briefly. "Might I at least ask the concession
that everyone be clean for the ceremony?"
Raz laughed softly, but stopped when he realized no one else found it funny.
Sonya stood. "I am going to go clear my schedule, for I have been cowardly long enough. If Raz is the last, then I should be
there. We meet in the Cathedral in an hour." She crossed the room and stopped in front of Raz, and after a moment of
hesitation reached and embraced him. "I…" She held him tighter for a moment, then let go and all but ran from the room.
"She seems too nice to be a Queen," Raz said.
"All roses appear fragile until you go to pick one and find your fingers bloodied," Dym answered. "Come," he said,
beckoning to them all, "I will take you to get cleaned up."
Raz barely heard the exclamations of the others, too absorbed by his own awe.
The room was the most magnificent thing he'd ever seen. Like a living spell. Carved entirely from black marble - the walls,
the floor, even the enormous altar at the far end. All of it covered with what looked like calligraphy, so intricate and
complicated, scrolling along the walls and floor, around the edge of the altar. Yet despite the marble, which Raz had always
thought of as cold, the room positively radiated warmth. The scent of fire, smoke, and ash permeated it, as though he had
stepped into the heart of a black flame.
Yet looking around at it, Raz couldn't help the niggling sense that black wasn't right. That it should be some other color. Like
he wasn't accustomed to black. But he knew he'd never been in this room before. What had Dym called it?
The Chamber of Night.
"Raz…" Shio said, voice still rough from all the crying she'd done before. So strange, to see his beautiful ladies cry. He
hoped when all was said and done they went back to their ocean, to a world that made sense to them. They didn't belong
on land, he knew that now. Reaching out, he tugged them close and kissed each one on the lips, a soft goodbye. "Thank
you," he said. Letting them go, Raz moved on before they could say anything more. "Thank you," he said again, this time to
Ivan and his men. "None of this would have been possible without you."
"I wish we'd made something else possible," Ivan said, looking more miserable than Raz could ever remember seeing him.
Lastly Raz managed an awkward bow to the Queen, and when she again hugged him he kissed her cheek.
It was strange. The longer he was in this room, the calmer he felt. The more at peace. Almost, he thought, as if he were
right where he was supposed to be. Shaking his head at himself, Raz let go of the Queen and finally moved toward Dym,
who waited silently halfway toward the altar. Raz locked gazes with eyes so green they made his breath catch every time he
saw them.
Why does looking at you hurt?
He wanted to know why. That's why he was here. He didn't care about saving the country, he didn't care if he killed a god or
whatever. What he wanted to know was why those green eyes wouldn't leave his mind, why his heart ached every time he
thought of the sadness that made them so dark. The High Priest mattered, and he wanted to know why. Raz drew close,
holding out a hand, not quite sure what he wanted to do with it - then cool, calloused fingers wrapped around his own much
warmer hand, holding it close. Raz could feel his heart beat, could feel a burning heat beneath the red robes.
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Finally Dym let his hand go, and reached into his robe. The feather he pulled out was beautiful - blazing, like Dym had
somehow managed to capture a flame. "Are you certain?"
"Yes," Raz said, and took the feather from him. He wouldn't make the High Priest kill him. This was his choice, he'd do it
himself. He hesitated, feeling he should say something, but in the end settled for only shaking his head. Holding the feather
tight, he strode toward the alter and vaulted onto it. Not quite certain what to do, he clutched the feather close.
There was a brief flash of pain.
With a wave of heat, a burst of light that were flames flaring to life, Raz was consumed. In the span of what seemed no
more than second, but must have been several, nothing remained of him but ashes.
Only Dym seemed unaffected, having done nothing but stand stone still and watch once Raz vaulted onto the altar. Even
now he was unmoving, and even had the others felt capable of moving, his absolute stillness kept them in place.
Just as the Queen started to speak, drawing a ragged breath, throat choked with sobs she would not let out, heat began to
fill the room in almost unbearable amounts.
Then light, and everyone realized it was the walls and the floor and the altar which were glowing - rather, the scrollwork, the
gold writing. It flared ever brighter, until they were so blinded they had to look away.
Ivan heard startled gasps, shouts of surprise, and knew one of them was his own. All around them the black marble had
changed - here red, there turning orange, shifting and sliding between brilliant shades, making it look as though they stood
inside a flickering flame. Soft, gentle, familiar laughter captured his attention, and he looked towards the altar.
Raz sat upon the altar, one knee drawn up, an arm hooked lazily around it, the other leg dangling. Yet…it wasn't quite Raz
either. His hair was different, the ends lighter, golden, the length a bit longer.
And the eyes. They glowed like a banked fire, shifting from gold to orange to red, hints of blue and violet and whites, flames
hot enough to melt anything. He was still dressed in the simple brown breeches and white shirt that had been provided to
him, his same old knee-high brown boots.
But the way he held his head was different. There was a level of confidence, of awareness, there that Raz had never
possessed. "Who are you?" Ivan asked, not able to make his voice speak much above a whisper.
The man that was and wasn't Raz laughed again, and slid gracefully from the altar. "Do my children not recognize their
father?"
Chapter Twenty
"But-" Sonya spoke up. "You-Dym was-you're supposed to be dead. How are you alive?" She looked at Dym, who still stood
facing Raz and would not look at anyone else. "You betrayed us? Why Dym?" Her tears began to fall anew as she again
looked at Raz. "You're going to kill us all."
Raz shook his head, smiling sadly, and it grew sadder still when they all looked away. "I'm Zhar Ptitka, a god of life. I'd no
more burn my people down than I would sell an esmeralda for less than twice what it's worth." He grinned briefly.
Sonya dropped her head, and said nothing more.
"I don't understand," Ivan said. "The prophecy said you would destroy us, should you ever return. And we've been killing you
this whole time."
Raz laughed, but it was hard to tell if he was laughing or crying. "It's pretty sad everyone believed such an obvious lie so
easily." He motioned to Dym. "It was the best way to do things, however…"
"Yes, Eminence," Dym said into the silence that fell. "At the time, I had no other way to ensure that all the pieces would be
brought back together. Everyone feared you. If they feared you more, I could get them to do what I wanted." Though his
expression remained composed, it was obvious his own words distressed him.
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Raz finally shattered, oblivious to the gawking onlookers as he drew close to his Priest of Ashes. "Dym," Raz whispered,
drawing close to the High Priest and reaching out a hand - but he let it fall before he could touch the High Priest. "Dearest
Dym, how are you still alive after all this time?"
Dym's voice, when he spoke, sounded strange. Unsteady, thick with pain. "We fought, Eminence. I wanted to make
amends."
"Dym…" With a faint, almost soundless cry, Raz reached out and held fast to Dym's robes, comprehension flooding him as
he realized what must have passed the night he'd been slain. "Dym, dearest, beloved Dym, can you ever forgive me?" He
slid to his knees, hands and face buried in Dym's robes, ignoring the gasps of the others as they watched a god kneel
before a mortal. But Dym, more than anyone, had every right to hate him.
"W-what?" Dym asked, voice trembling, and the longing and hope were so plain in his tone that it tore Raz's heart anew.
"Eminence?"
Raz's voice was hoarse. "The sigh of you has never pained me, Dym, not the way you think. I was angry over the murders.
Furious. But not with you. I shouldn't have said the things I did. My beautiful Priest of Ashes, I don't deserve you. Can you
ever forgive me for the way I treated you? My last thought was that my cruelty towards you had probably spelled your death
that night. I never thought to see you again."
"If I had not let anger drive me from my post, Eminence, I would have been there to protect you," Dym said, falling to his
knees and into Raz's arms. "If I had not neglected my duty…"
"No, Dym," Raz said quietly, holding the High Priest close. "It was my fault. I accused my children of acting foolishly, cruelly,
without thought, and the whole scorching time I was guilty of the same. I cannot believe you are still alive…"
"I could not die. I live to serve you, Eminence. It was my duty to protect you and, failing that, to see to your return."
"Dym," Raz breathed his name, and tilted his head up to kiss him softly, as he should have long ago, instead of constantly
ignoring what Dym had always tried to offer.
Around him he could hear the others growing restless, their confusion and unhappiness thick in the air, almost making him
smile. Only minutes ago he'd been a thief, now he had more children than he could count to attend, especially the group
gathered before him. "I suppose an explanation is in order," he said at last, standing up and drawing Dym up to stand
beside him. "Noble Queen, I assure you the High Priest never once meant to betray you."
Sonya remained silent, but managed a weak nod, obviously awaiting more of an explanation.
"Roughly a thousand years ago," Raz said, "the fall of my Storm brothers inspired my children to rebel. I deserved it. I was
bitter, angry, spiteful, and had very little patience left for the children I felt had lost all love and appreciation for the things
which I had given them. I refused to see that I was just as guilty." He squeezed Dym's hand. "One person tried to tell me,
but as usual I didn't listen. In his absence, my children managed to gain the upper hand and nearly killed me. Actually killing
a god, however, is scorching harder than that. Dym knew this, and managed to trick an entire country to bring me back."
Ivan shook his head, looking at Dym. "Who are you?"
"He is my Priest of Ashes," Raz answered. "It was his duty to protect my ashes until I was reborn, and to oversee the
Cathedrals. He is also the most powerful sorcerers in the world; only the gods, I suspect, would be able to best him. Not
even the White Beasts of Verde," Raz's gaze landed briefly on Ailill, "could do more than almost come equal."
"But the prophecy," Sonya said, "I don't understand…"
"A lie," Raz said. "One that worked. Dym, tell them the true prophecy."
"Flames will rise across the world, filling all with warmth, and thus will the Sacred Firebird reclaim dominion over fire."
Raz nodded. "As I said, I am a god of life. I don't like vengeance. It's a waste of energy." Letting go of Dym, Raz strode over
to Sonya, who had sunk to her knees, and urged her back to her feet. "In the course of your existence you have been a
stern priest, a gentle peasant woman, a playful cat, a pale, perfect rose, and a diligent farmer. Now your soul has been
born into the life of a Queen. Part reward, part price, but in every life your strength shines. Don't falter now, you're a fine
Queen." Raz smiled and lifted her hand, dusting a soft kiss across the knuckles before leaning forward to press a gentle
kiss to one fine cheekbone. "You will live a long time, my Queen, for as I said - my children need one such as you. Be
brave, be strong, and one day you'll look across a crowded room and see a familiar smile."
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Ivan stilled as Raz approached. "Are you still Raz at all?" he asked. "You do and don't look like him…and you act and don't
like act him. Is anything of our Raz left?"
"I still remember how you tried to cheat me out of my pay, if that's what you're worried about," Raz said with a smirk. "That
Raz was merely the last piece. So yes, I'm still that Raz. Just now it's much easier to get away with things. And I seem to
have a great deal more to do than simply wonder where the next job will come from."
"So I see," Ivan said with a smile, shaking his head. "And you were the one overcharging."
Raz chuckled. "In all your lives, you never really change. Now you're a mercenary, rather than a king or lord or wealthy
merchant, but always a fighter, always a leader." His brilliant eyes flicked to Ailill. "My blessing upon you both remains,
though one has found his way to the country of Verde in this life."
Ailill gave a deep bow. "Eminence. Seeing you gives me hope for my own land."
"You're already one step ahead of Pozhar," Raz said. "Your entire country wants the gods to return." He winked.
"That is true," Ailill said. "Might I ask what has become of the other pieces that were sacrificed to bring you back?"
Raz smiled. "Pieces of them were, of course, me. Those pieces have all come together. But the rest of the soul will be
reborn. If you mean Pechal…" Raz smiled sadly, missing his friend though he knew very well that all would be well. "I do
not control the lives of my children, but I can see them, sense them, and I believe my brother will find himself with a much
more stable life when he's born again." Raz looked past Ivan and Ailill to the six men still standing quietly, unable - or
unwilling - to speak. "Luka. Karp. Ferapont. Gleb. Maksim. Isidor. Thank you." Raz went to each one in turn, touching his
fingertips gently to their foreheads, smiling gently. "You'll need my magic if you're to travel with Ailill and your troublemaking
boss."
At his words, the men chuckled, still looking terribly uncertain but unable to resist a jest made at Ivan's expense. They
ignored the glares sent their way. "That's true," Luka said. "We've never let him out of Pozhar before."
"Precisely," Raz said, grinning. "Use my magic to keep him in line. I also bestow upon you the blessing I once bestowed
upon a king and his wolf - that no matter what your situation in any life, always you six will find each other, your souls
forever bound, and I sense that even a god could not keep you from finding Ivan again."
"What of Nikolai?" Sonya asked when Raz had finished speaking. "I know there are precious few who like my cousin, but he
does what he thinks is best, in his own way. He did try to save you…"
Raz's mouth curved in an amused smile that seemed to say he knew something no one else did. "Nikolai will be fine, and
get all that he has earned and deserves. You need not worry on that count. Only when he says that he is leaving, do not
stop him."
Sonya opened her mouth, to either protest or ask a question, but settled on closing it, words unspoken, and simply nodded.
"Yes…Eminence."
"Stop calling me that," Raz said, shaking his head. "I like Raz better."
"Raz!" Shio and Shinju cried together as he finally reached the mermaids. "We're so sorry."
Raz kissed them. "There is nothing to be sorry for, my lovelies. I'm sorry those scorching dragons placed such a terrible
burden on you, but I am not sorry it meant I got to meet you." He kissed them again, tenderly, on the forehead, and where
his lips had touched lingered a mark like a small, tattooed feather that soon faded into their skin. "Never fear being away
from water too long, my beauties. By my blessing, you will be as able to live on land as on water. I'll tell my idiotic brothers
never to treat you so harshly again."
The sisters smiled, laughed.
Smiling with them, Raz embraced them one last time and then let them go, wandering back over to Dym, who stood silent
and still, as if patiently waiting for something.
"Dym," Sonya asked, "Is this what you meant, when you said that there are some things you can't help, no matter what the
cost?"
"Yes," Dym said, and moved to Sonya, "but I regret that I've hurt you. In a thousand years, I've never regretted anything as
much as that."
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Sonya leaned up and kissed his cheek. "If I could have done anything to save my husband, I would have done it. You're
leaving, aren't you? Won't you come and visit me?"
"Of course, my Queen. I am ever a priest of Pozhar."
"You are the High Priest of Pozhar," Sonya corrected.
Dym smiled - not faintly or briefly, but a real smile that made him look suddenly boyish, and made his eyes as brilliant as an
esmeralda caught in the sunlight. "As you say, my Queen."
"We are leaving," Raz said once Dym had returned to his side, "but I will always be nearby. If you need me, I will be here,
Queen. Always you can call upon your High Priest. So may any of you," he nodded to Ivan and the others. "Stay alert on
your travels." With nothing more than a wave of warmth and a whispered word, Raz and Dym vanished from the room.
"Fire and ash, boss," Luka said. "The next time you make us save a thief, I'm going to quit."
Ivan glowered. "I seem to recall, you scorching idiot, that I was the one against it."
"You're the boss," Maksim said, "so it's all your fault no matter whose idea it was."
"You're all fired," Ivan retorted.
The bickering was interrupted by Sonya's laughter. "Are any of you hungry? I'm sure you'd like to be going, but I would like
to offer you a good meal to send you on our way."
"Majesty," Ailill answered, "we will gladly accept that offer. Especially if that meal includes wine."
"Definitely," Sonya said fervently. "There will most definitely be wine and possibly a good bit of brandy."
Ivan's men cheered, and even Shio and Shinju could not help but laugh, as they followed the Queen from the Chamber of
Day, through the Cathedral and into the palace proper.
*~*~*~*
Ivan wondered how long they had before they were thrown overboard, but he found it hard to really care while Ailill was
kissing him. "Are we allowed to do this?" he asked when Ailill finally broke the kiss.
"I don't recall anyone telling us we couldn't," Ailill said, leaning in to nip playfully at his nose before dropping another kiss on
his mouth.
Ivan rolled his eyes. "I doubt anyone tells you no very often, my fine Marquis."
Ailill laughed. "You might be surprised. I was certain you were going to tell me no."
"It's hard to tell a giant cat no when it's lying on top of you," Ivan said. "As a matter of fact, it's hard to say anything in that
situation. Breathing was difficult enough, as I recall."
Ailill nipped his ear, chuckling low. "But I like lying on top of you."
"So long as you're not a cat when you do it," Ivan groused, fighting a smile. Truly, he was hard pressed to be upset about
anything these days. He wasn't under arrest, Ailill was alive, Raz was alive - and Pechal? Sort of? His men were safe, and if
he wanted to express that happiness by leaning up to kiss Ailill, and maybe indicate they should find their quarters, no one
in the world could stop him.
Someone coughed. "Could you two please take that below deck? You're starting to embarrass the fish," Luka complained.
"No, no," Shio said. "The fish don't mind at all."
Ivan broke the kiss with a muttered curse and glared at his men. "Don't think I won't shove you miscreants overboard."
"That's all right," Isidor said with a grin. "The girls will save us."
"Maybe," Shinju murmured. "Though on that note, it is time for us to be going. We need to go home."
"We'll miss you," Luka said. "Are you sure you don't want to stay with us for a while?"
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Shio laughed. "Silly boy, you're going to be traveling on the sea for months to reach Kundou - at least three, possibly more if
you hit any storms along the way, or go dead in the water. We're mermaids. You'll see us again. We just need to return to
the sea, and our sisters, for a little while. You'll see for yourself, soon, how hard it is to be away from home for so long." She
reached out and jerked him close, kissing him hard, not letting go until everyone else was howling.
Shinju rolled her eyes at her sister, laughing softly.
"I suppose we'll finally figure out what you're always talking about," Ivan said with a laugh. "Sharks and starfish, guppies and
lightning eels." He shook his head. "You women are strange."
Shio smirked. "At least we do not take animals for lovers."
"Hey!" Ivan said, cheeks burning as his men roared with laughter. He reached out and kicked Gleb's feet out from under
him, which sent the smaller man crashing into Isidor, who then knocked over Karp, who took out Luka - Ferapont and
Maksim just barely got out of the way in time.
Ailill laughed and draped an arm over Ivan's shoulders. "Have fun, ladies, we will look forward to your visits."
"Farewell!" the sisters chorused, then leaped off the ship they were all on, diving into the water and almost immediately
vanishing from sight.
"So what do we do now?" Ferapont complained. "I don't like this being surrounded by water."
"I like it," Luka argued. "Look at all that water. It's like the entire world had vanished."
"I think you just miss the mermaid," Karp replied. "How are we going to make any money trapped like this?"
Ailill chuckled. "It's not as bad as it seems."
"Yes, it is," Maksim said, looking distinctly green. As the ship heaved over a choppy wave, he abruptly ran for the side of the
ship and leaned over it.
"Yuck," Isidor said. "Better him than me." He turned to Ailill. "So what's Kundou like?"
Ailill grinned. "I hope you like fish."
All around him, seven men heaved one great sigh.
"You'll learn to like it," he said. "Or you can always be like me and avoid any sort of meat."
"Fish it is," Luka declared. He looked around the ship as if searching for something. "Please tell me I can find an ale on this
ship - good, bad, or highly questionable. I'm not picky."
A loud laugh cut off any forthcoming reply, and all eight men turned toward the source.
The man was tall, taller even than Ailill, and looked like he belonged in some exotic tale told by storytellers and old wives
when winter locked everyone indoors. His hair was a rich, dark, blue, falling to his shoulders and kept out of his face by a
brightly colored green and yellow bandana. His ears were pierced, three jewel studs in each, every one a different color. His
clothes were as colorful as the bandana, long jewel-green robes held shut by a sash of green and yellow stripes. He winked
at the group. "There is always ale, and more besides, available on my ships. Only a fool would travel without appropriate
means of keeping his crew and passengers happy." He swept them a graceful bow. "My name is Raiden, I am the owner of
this vessel. Welcome aboard the Fuujin, gentlemen."
Epilogue
"Ah, Dym, always so well-prepared. The house is beautiful."
"Thank you, Eminence. I worked on it whenever I had to vanish for a little while, between my times as High Priest."
Beautiful was too simple a word for the house. It was made of stone that seemed to flash in the sunlight, as if jewels
sparkled from deep within. Windows were lined with more of the same, the front yard an array of trees and flowers, a
winding path leading to the front door, eventually vanishing into the road that would eventually lead down the mountain. The
roof was dark gold, a perfect compliment to the stones that built the house itself. So very much like the home that had once
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been his place to relax when life in the Cathedral grew taxing. Raz did not doubt there was a walled a garden behind it, filled
with every plant and flower he had ever loved.
Save one, which had probably been burned to the ground, not even a seed left from which to create a new tree. He could
recreate it in time, of course…but if it was gone, it was probably best left that way. Raz shook his head, clearing his
thoughts. "Come, my priest, I've a meeting to attend." He smiled fondly and took Dym's hand to yank his quiet priest close,
then dropped his hand to wrap an arm around Dym's waist. They were not quite equal in height, for he liked too much being
able to rest his head against Dym's shoulder.
How had he gone all those years without admitting, even to himself - until too late - how much this boy, this man, meant to
him? Raz leaned against his priest, breathing in the scent of mint that clung to the smoke-colored robes his priest now
wore. He smiled as Dym hesitantly brought an arm up to rest across Raz's shoulders.
Raz guided them to a large field, one so deep in the mountains, and close to the border between Pozhar and Schatten. As
they reached the center of the field, Raz tilted his head up to the sky and waited.
Slowly the clear sky began to fill with clouds - white at first, but they rapidly turned dark, nearly black, and thunder broke the
deep silence of the mountains.
"Show offs," Raz muttered, rolling his eyes. But the thunder never broke into a storm, merely crashed once more as
lightning split the sky, raced toward the earth, and in a blinding flash of light three men stood before Raz and Dym.
One looked like an exotic pirate, or perhaps a merchant with a penchant for showing off his wealth, dressed in brilliant
greens and yellows, and he grinned like he was quietly laughing at some grand, private joke. The second man was far more
slender than either of the other two, startlingly beautiful, with hair that fell past his waist, the very color of the sea, threaded
with a rainbow of jeweled beads. The last man was rougher looking than his companions and remarkably plain next to their
flamboyance. His skin and hair were so pale as to be nearly white, and he was dressed in the simple clothes of a sailor. A
large black pearl in his right ear and a jeweled dagger in his sash were the only bits of flash he wore.
"I see the centuries have not changed the nature of the Storms much," Raz said dryly, but he looked sad as he continued.
"Though I can see the souls of two of my brothers have changed. What happened to Typhoon and Arashi?"
Raiden shook his head. "Dead. All that is left of them resides in me, in what I have dispersed to my new brothers -
Nankyokukai and Kindan. And I prefer to go by Raiden these days."
"Brothers new and old," Raz said softly, and embraced each dragon in turn. "How do things go?"
"Kundou is stable, the new Queen growing more confident by the day," Nankyokukai replied. "We keep the seas and sky as
free of the taint of Schatten as we can. It is up to you to keep the barrier of the Jagged Mountains in place."
"I will," Raz said firmly. "It has weakened only slightly in my absence; I will begin to strengthen it immediately."
Raiden's eyes flicked to Dym. "You are…the same Priest who once watched over Zhar Ptitka before his fall." He tilted his
head. "How is it that you're still alive?"
"That's our secret, my brothers," Raz said.
Kindan sighed. "These two cause enough trouble. I was rather hoping your return would provide another level head."
"So you don't want any more trouble?" Kyo asked, tilting his head up to look at Kindan, smirking.
"I don't recall that falling under the heading of trouble," Kindan retorted, pinching him hard. "Behave."
"No fun at all."
Raz laughed. "If you want a level head, you'll have to wait until the Basilisk returns to us."
Kindan grunted. "If he returns. The Basilisk killed himself."
"To save his people, or so we hope. Have faith. If I can be reborn after being broken into a thousand pieces…if three
dragons can be restored after two were lost forever, then our stone brother will return."
"You are, as ever, the most optimistic," Raiden said with a smile. "Enjoy the peace while it lasts." He winked. "We'll be sure
to harass you as often as possible. See to the barrier. Now if you don't mind, I have left my treasure alone too long.
Farewell." With a rumble of thunder and a flicker of lightning, Raiden vanished.
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"It's good to have you back," Kyo said. "Don't die again."
"Take your own advice," Raz replied. Thunder rippled once more through the sky, and with a breeze that smelled of the sea,
Kyo and Kindan vanished. Within seconds, the dark clouds had cleared from the sky, nothing but a hint of the coming
autumn on the air.
Laughing in delight, Raz spun around in the field and then collapsed beneath a large tree, beckoning Dym close. "You've
been so quiet, Dym. Is something wrong?"
"No…" Dym said, but still he hesitated. "I…have a gift for you."
Raz blinked. "A gift? Dym…I have you. That's more than I deserve."
"I live for you, Eminence," Dym said softly. "When you said it hurt to look at me, I thought you hated me for failing to protect
you."
Pain ripped through Raz. "Never, Dym. It hurt because I thought I'd lost you." Raz smiled. "I love you, my priest, that's why it
hurt."
Dym smiled, green eyes more stunning to Raz than even the splendor of the forest around them. Even as a mortal, with no
memories, those eyes had drawn him. He reached into his robes and pulled something out, smile widening as he presented
his gift. "For you, Eminence."
Raz could only stare, eventually shifting his stunned gaze to Dym. "But - they must have burned it down."
"Did I not eat one to gain immortality, Eminence? There were seeds, and though it took me three hundred years, I managed
to grow a new tree for you." His smile faltered as Raz only continued to gape. "Eminence?"
Raz reached up, but instead of taking the golden apple, he grabbed Dym's slender wrist and yanked hard, bringing Dym
down to sprawl across his lap, catching the apple before it could fall.
"Eminence!" Dym said, twisting around to glare up at him.
Raz chuckled and ducked his head to brush Dym's lips softly with his own. "You're always so flawlessly dignified, I like
seeing you flustered. It was much easier to shake you when you were a little boy."
"I am your priest, Eminence, my behavior should reflect that." Dym attempted to maintain his glare, but it crumbled against
the kiss.
"Not when we're alone," Raz said, and winked. He bit into his golden apple, humming in pleasure. "Tell me, Dym, did you
ever figure out what spell I placed around my apple tree?"
"No, Eminence." Dym's expression said this was still a point of frustration.
"Apples of life, my brothers would be, hmmm…something very much like livid if they knew I kept them after all this time…
No one who wanted immortality would have ever been able to cross the barrier I placed around the tree." Raz stroked
Dym's cheekbone, brushed his lower lip. He bit into his apple again, relishing the taste - it was never quite the same twice,
sometimes sweet or sour, salty or tangy, cool and sharp, warm and mellow. He held the apple to Dym's lips. "A bite?"
Dym shook his head, and tried once more to twist away and sit up, failing miserably as Raz held him in place. Giving up, he
finally settled more comfortably across Raz's lap. "It's your apple, Eminence. I only ever wanted to give them to you, and
listen to you sing."
"The more time passed, the less I did that…" Raz sighed softly and bit into his apple. After a moment he smiled. "If you will
not share the apple, dearest Dym, then how about a kiss? Then I shall sing for as long as you like."
"Yes, Eminence," Dym said, and wrapped his arms around Raz's neck as Raz leaned down to kiss him, the sweet tang of
golden apple mingling with the traces of mint that ever lingered on his priest.
"Beautiful Dym, I do not deserve you," Raz whispered against his mouth.
"You shall have to get used to me, anyway," Dym said with a laugh, eyes sparking with rare mischief. "I waited a thousand
years, Eminence, I'm not going to leave unless that's what you really want."
Raz shook his head and stroked Dym's short, dark hair. "You are mine, Dym. When I was at my darkest, when I finally fell,
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you were there. You kept my fire burning bright. None shall ever have you but me."
"Yes, Eminence," Dym said, and relaxed in Raz's arms, closing his eyes and resting as Raz began softly to sing.
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