Assassins, p.1
Assassins, page 1
part #6 of Dark Servant Series
There’s an assassin in the pantry.
High priest S’Rak is a man beset by many problems. The king wants to crown him, the sun priests want to purify him, and the palace slave trainer just wants him. Captain Jisten stands at the heart of an ethical dilemma that continues to plague Rak, for either Jisten is an oathbreaker or Rak is a rapist, and neither result bodes wel for their future in the service of a God whose punishment for either crime is death. On top of al that, chaos-wielding assassins are trying to kil his brother.
What’s a high priest to do when the man of his dreams is under a vow of purity and assassins lurk around every corner?
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Assassins
Copyright © 2013 AC Elas
ISBN: 978-1-77111-462-2
Cover art by Angela Waters
Al rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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Assassins
The Dark Servant Book 6
By
AC Elas
To the one who left.
Prologue: A Few Days Earlier
Harday, the 32nd of Evphormon
Early afternoon seemed like such an odd time of day for a seduction, but Scorth had assured her this would be the best time, before Rak was entirely awake. Tebber was off like he was every afternoon, listening to the gossip and convincing Cook to give him trays for the dark ones. So no one saw her slip into Rak’s suite.
She made her way to the bedroom and slid in between Scorth and Rak. She hadn’t realized that her black-skinned friend would be so hot.
Heat radiated off of his bare skin like a furnace. But she wasn’t here for Scorth. She turned her attention to the black one’s partner.
Rak’s dreams, usualy troubled, took an unexpected turn. This was a pleasant dream, an erotic dream. Little hands, soft lips. “Ave,” he moaned in his sleep. How like her to surprise him like this. Of course this was a dream, for there was no pain as Ave enveloped him and rode him ever so gently. Rak roled with the sensuous dream, reveling in the ability to make love to his wife without pain, without ropes.
Scorth cracked an eyelid open. The mounting pleasure of his soul-bonded rider was hard to sleep through. Some dragons joked that their riders were so sexualy active because they, the dragons, were not. But Scorth knew better. Excessive sexual activity was endemic in the human type species, not just the Loftoni. He stil enjoyed sharing his rider’s pleasure. His yelow eye took in Essina. He smiled and closed the eye. He liked the bold little slave girl.
Essina knew to keep very, very quiet. She looked down at the handsome face of the high priest and prayed that he would not hate her for this.
Rak awoke as he climaxed. With a gasp of pleasure, he clutched her body to him, bubbling over with excitement of pain-free sex with his wife.
“Av—” he started to say, eyes opening. “Aaahh! ” he exclaimed at seeing a stranger atop him.
Essina made a noise of shock herself. She hadn’t expected him to wake up. To make matters worse, she was pinned by the priest’s strong arms. His arms tightened around her as his beryl eyes bored into her.
“Who are you?” he grated, “And what are you doing in my bed and on me?”
Essina trembled in his arms. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she whispered over and over. He let go of her, for which she was profoundly grateful. She roled off of him and sat up on the edge of the bed. “As ordered, my lord.”
“You were ordered to have sex me?” Rak asked as he gathered his wits.
“Ah, yes, my lord,” she stammered, flushing. She wondered if the black demon was stil her aly.
“It’s not her fault, Rak. You know that.” Scorth sat up, muscles rippling under skin so black and smooth that it reflected light. The demon had a remarkably beautiful body. Essina could see why the high priest took him for a lover.
Rak ignored Scorth. “By whom?”
Hesitantly, she reached for her clothes. “Lord Virien thought that you would like a change.” She puled her dress on over her head.
“Oh, did he, now.” Rak scowled. He sat up and stretched his back and wings. Unlike Scorth’s pitch black wings, Rak’s wings were vibrantly colored and as intricately patterned as the wings on a flutter-by.
“Wil there be anything else, my lord?” Essina smoothed down her dress, tied the ribbon-belt around her waist to give the dress its shape, and lifted her chin. “Scones and cream, perhaps?”
“Scones and cream are always welcome, Essina,” said Scorth.
Rak was more practical. “Café?”
Essina curtsied prettily. “Scones, cream, and café, coming right up.”
She scurried out.
“I wil bet you that she does not come back,” said Rak as he slid out of bed.
“I’l take that bet,” said Scorth. “Stakes?”
“Hmm. Loser does a ful wing treatment on the winner.”
“Agreed.”
Essina was waiting for them when they walked into the parlor. She had a tray laden with the promised items. Rak gave Scorth a rueful smile.
Tonight?
That is acceptable, Scorth replied. Or tomorrow, as events permit.
They sat down, and Essina served the café, though Rak waved off the scones with a shake of his head. “Ix, thank you. My stomach wakes up two hours after the rest of me. Al I desire this early is café.” He winked at her and was rewarded with a shy smile.
“Sit down,” Scorth commanded her once the café had been served. He placed the platter of scones that she had given him on the table and handed her a smal plate. Rak masked surprise as his usualy antisocial dragon socialized with her. Scorth had mentioned the slave girl, but Rak hadn’t realized that he cared for her.
“Mm, much better than meat cakes,” Essina said as she bit into a cream-soaked scone. “And café that’s stil hot! What a treat!”
Rak sipped his café. “Now, Essina, is it?”
She nodded, mouth now ful of scone.
“How do you want to proceed here?” asked Rak. “Do you want freedom? Or would you rather Scorth and I made a big fuss and pretend to toss you out?”
“I want freedom, my lord. Perhaps I won’t disappear like the slaves who bed Prince Jethain.”
“Do they all disappear?” Rak was skeptical.
“Al of them,” Essina affirmed. “Our poor prince says that they run. I find that hard to believe, but I’m not contradicting royalty!”
“Al of them,” repeated Rak, shaking his head. “That is hard to fathom.”
“Even so, the thought of freedom is too tempting to give up.”
See why I like her? She has spirit, Scorth told Rak.
“Of course,” Rak answered them both. He pushed away from the table and paced.
“Perhaps Hasaviz tels them to leave,” said Essina.
“Unlikely. He is a typical Zothian slave trainer, which means he would rather die than release a slave. What wil you do with your freedom, Essina?” Rak knew most slaves had a dream, rarely realized, but a source of hope nonetheless.
“When I’m free, I’m setting up a scribe’s shop. I have a good hand, the Librarian says, and I’m learning to make ink and bind books.”
“Good for you.” Rak was pleased by the practicality of her dream. He continued to pace as Essina ate another scone and drank more of the novel hot café. Two transits later, he asked, “What happens if you are with child?”
“Freedom again,” said Essina. “And His Majesty has a new heir if it’s a boy. If it’s a girl, he has a princess. But the child wil be free regardless.
Our poor prince, I hope they don’t kil him slowly.” She looked at Scorth, who cocked his head at the reference to their first conversation.
“If you are pregnant, come to me first. I wil make sure that the prince leaves Koilatha alive.”
Essina looked happy. “Oh, thank you! No slave wishes il of our prince.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They say that when he was younger, he was whipped for speaking out against slavery after one of the Ylion’s sermons.”
“I see,” said Rak, wondering why she was whispering in this private parlor. Did she think the wals had ears? He turned his attention to the wals and found nothing but a few mice and the cat hunting them. He puled back into his own head as Essina continued to speak.
“And he talks of eliminating slavery once he ascends the throne. As if he would live long enough.” She sighed. “It is a nice dream.”
“Ix dream,” Rak assured her. “There are no slaves in A’filozenoi, and we get by just fine. So it can be done.”
Essina gave him an odd look and ate another
“None. It is against the laws of Zotien, the Lord of Night.”
Essina offered the last scone to Scorth. Scorth declined so she offered it to Rak. Rak shook his head and indicated that she could have it.
“It’s said that he’s the god of escaped slaves. Another fairy tale, I thought.” She took the scone and dumped the rest of the cream on it.
“He helped me escape,” Rak told her. “He removed my colar Himself.” He paused his pacing to refil his café. He could pace and drink café at the same time without spiling a drop of the hot liquid.
“I wish that He would help me escape, then,” Essina said, and took a bite of cream soaked scone.
“Perhaps he wil.”
Essina had the look of one stifling laughter, and once she swalowed, she said, “Oh yes, a dragon wil come out of the sky and pluck me up!”
“Like in the song?” Rak asked. He stopped again and tucked an oval cut nightstone as big as her thumb into her breast pocket.
“It has a pretty melody, even if the verses are sily,” she said. She patted the nightstone.
“The event actualy happened. Not as it was in the song, but ai, it did happen,” said Rak.
Chapter One: Niele
Seaday, the 34th of Evphormon
Påndåra Atålio, Tålyssa Fångari
5th day, 2nd week, Telyssa’s moon
Tebber had been attending the rites since Rak had freed him, earnest in his desire to learn his superior’s religion. Tonight, Essina sat beside him, and the two young people were holding hands. Rak smiled to himself and winked at Tebber. The other surprise of the night was Kennit’s presence.
The stable boy should have been sleeping, yet he was sitting on the edge of the bench with bright eyes and an alert expression.
Rak didn’t have time to speak to the youth. He turned to the altar without a moment to spare and began to chant. Immediately he felt at ease, at peace within himself. This was his proper place, before the altar of his Lord, celebrating the God’s rites, and while he was in this sacred space, nothing of the outside world could touch him.
The hymns roled from his lips without hesitation as did the night’s passages from the heavy black tome. Rak turned towards his audience and offered the goblet. “Drink.”
Each of them sipped of the sweet, strong wine in turn before Rak took a sip himself. He poured the rest onto a plate and black fire roared on the altar as the offering was accepted, the power filing Rak with ecstasy.
Even those who observed the rites felt some of the pleasure. Not as intense, but more than could be brushed off as imagination. Rak turned again and blessed each of them in turn, the tradition for those who witnessed, and partook of, the midnight offering.
Rak stifled his disappointment as the rite ended and he felt the corresponding depression as the divine departed, returning him to the cold, mundane world. Tonight he was in an even colder part of the world where he had returned to the nightmare of his past. He had only an injured half brother and a naïve Valer for companions, neither of whom knew the entire truth, nor could be alowed to know it.
Rak hated the echoing absence of the rite’s end, and at home, he often joined the Movai in their continuous devotions to avoid the feeling. Since there were no rites to join here in this cold, sun drenched land, he spent the time in the stable, and tonight was no exception.
Rak touched Kennit’s shoulder as Tebber and Essina slipped out together. “Come, Kennit,” he said. “Let us check on my avtappi. Did you enjoy the rite?”
“Oh, yessir,” said Kennit. The boy had a thoughtful look on his face, one that Rak knew wel. The youth had felt the presence of a God for the first time, and it had affected him deeply. Time will tell, thought Rak, but he remained silent and left Kennit to his thoughts.
The silence lasted until they reached the stable, which was lit brightly for such a late hour. People were miling about and taking turns depositing items so they could look into a particular stal before moving off. Rak wondered how many blankets, towels, and buckets a single horse could need. There appeared to be enough supplies for an entire cavalry unit.
“It’s th’ high priest!” Dahser jabbed another stable boy hard.
“Ya! He’l help!” replied Hino.
“This is the prince’s breeding,” said Norr, voice muffled by his load of towels. “He should be here!”
“Priest’l save the foal,” Dahser said sagely.
“Priest’l save the mare!” countered Hino.
“What is going on?” asked Rak, looking from one boy to the next.
“It’s Niele, she’s foalin’! Th’ Prince bred her to his Saber last spring, he’s been lookin’ forward to this foal fer a whole year.”
Rak kept a hand on Kennit’s shoulder and led him to the stal door.
The stable boys opened a path for him with respectful nods that Rak answered in the same manner. The courtiers and nobles might spurn him and degrade him, but these were his sort of people, and he felt welcomed, safe, and at home here.
Niele was a fine black mare who wouldn’t look out of place in any racing stable, not even Rak’s. The mare’s neck was foamed with sweat, her nostrils flaring with effort. Her swolen bely rippled, but something wasn’t right. The mare was straining too hard. Rak opened the stal door and slipped in.
Bharis was at her side, feeling for the foal’s position. “I think he be breech,” said the stable master in greeting.
Rak knelt beside him and stroked the mare’s bely as he concentrated.
“Aí, you are correct.” He chanted, not strictly required, but it helped him focus. He pressed, and urged, and used power to try to turn the foal, but in vain. The infant equine’s rear was stuck in the birth canal and the mare’s body was intent on expeling it. He cursed softly and changed positions. Al he could do now was ease the foal out and pray for the best, but the rear legs… “I cannot turn him,” he murmured to Bharis.
“And if I pul him out, his legs may break.”
“She can’t take much more o’ this,” said Bharis. “What the Gods wil, wil be. If we c’n save her, we c’n try again in a year or two.” His eyes met Rak’s, the mutual understanding of two horsemen flowing between them. If Rak couldn’t save them both, and he didn’t think that he’d have enough strength for that, the mare’s life was the more important of the two, both for the prince and the stable as a whole. She was a known quantity, a proven winner.
Rak stroked the mare’s flank and whispered an apology for what he was about to do. He roled up his sleeves, reached in and found the foal.
He pushed the roundness of the haunches forward with one hand and found a leg with the other. He puled the leg towards him, wincing as he felt the dul snap of bone, but holding it as he groped for its mate. He sensed that the mare had torn but did not stop, for he had to get the foal out before he could heal her.
He snagged the left hind leg and puled it to join the right, breaking it in the process as wel. He puled the foal out in a smooth motion that left him covered in fluids, sitting on the straw with a limp, weakly struggling foal on his lap. Rak passed the foal to the nearest pair of hands and surged up to his knees, the power coming at his cal, focused into the mare. The tear wasn’t as bad as he’d feared, and he had strength to spare when he finished. He turned to the stil struggling foal, amazed at the stubborn tenacity of life.
Rak stroked both hind legs, healing the simple breaks that he’d caused.
The foal settled down as the pain eased and then vanished. As Rak slumped against the wooden wal in exhaustion, the foal wobbled to his feet. “A fine colt,” murmured Rak.
“Fine, at that. The prince be owin’ ye for savin’ him and the dam,”
Bharis said. Then he snapped orders. The mare was cleaned, the straw replaced, the foal rubbed down and acclimated to humans. Rak was covered with blankets and given a tin cup of honey sweetened cider.
“Where’s th’ prince?” Dahser asked.
“He is il,” said Rak, sipping the cider.
“Too il ta see his foal born?” Hino scoffed.
Dahser jabbed him. “Must be real sick.”
Rak frowned at the boy and glanced at the foal.
“Prince gave us al silver pennies when Saber covered Niele,” Hino grieved.
“Word is prince’l die,” Norr said.
Kennit scowled at his stable mates. “Yer talkin’ nonsense!”
