Page 13 of The Half King
“Do you mean His Majesty was the target?” Cerise asked. “How could anyone kill him after sunset? He disappears into the shadows.”
“And awakes at sunrise wherever his spirit is drawn, which at the moment is to Lady Champlain’s bedside.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” Cerise had always assumed that the king’s mortal body appeared in a place of significance, not in the presence of a particular person. For his body to follow the pull of his spirit was an oddly romantic element of his curse that she hadn’t anticipated. “Is it the same when he loses daytime hours? Does he reappear beside Lady Champlain then, too?”
“For the time being, yes,” Father Padron said. “Like all young people, his feelings have been known to change.”
A king with a wandering eye? That was no surprise. “But who would want him to die any sooner than he has to? An empty throne would mean war. That’s everyone’s greatest fear.”
Father Padron shifted his focus to the foyer, where the noise of approaching boots grew louder. His gaze tightened. “Not everyone’s greatest fear.”
The moment Cerise turned to regard the owner of those boots, she took an instinctive step backward. Storming toward them was the largest man she had ever seen, at least two heads taller than Father Padron and twice as broad. Tattooed flames covered the skin on the man’s shaven scalp, and his chest stretched the limits of his guard uniform. But it was his expression that turned Cerise cold. His lips were hard as slate, his eyes wild with fury.
If violence had a face, his would be it.
Father Padron rested a hand on her forearm. No words passed between them, but his touch held a promise of protection. “General Petros,” he greeted coolly.
Now Cerise understood Father Padron’s comment about war. It was a Petros who had forged the weapon to slay the goddess during the Great Betrayal. As punishment, Petros firstborns carried the curse of bloodlust. A man like General Petros would love nothing more than a battle for the throne. Scarier still, his dynasty would probably win.
“Your Grace,” the general rumbled through clenched teeth. “I just received word of another incident, this time in southern Calatris.” He looked from one priest to another, glaring at them hard enough to engorge the veins at his temples. “I swear by the blood of Shiera that if you don’t get your—”
His voice went mute, and his body froze. Cerise tasted the coppery tang of energy and glanced at Father Padron, who hadn’t moved a muscle. He stood calm and relaxed, as though paralyzing a mountain of a man caused him no strain at all.
“You will not threaten me,” Father Padron said smoothly. “Or anyone in my care. As much as His Majesty values your tactical advice, he values the Order more. You will remember your place, or I will continue to remind you of it.”
He released the enchantment and freed the general, whose body trembled with rage. For a moment, the general curled his hands into fists and held still. Then he gave a throaty roar and punched the ground hard enough for Cerise to feel a tremor beneath her shoes. His bones cracked. When he stood up, his hand swung limp and mangled by his side. He didn’t seem to notice. He simply turned toward the gatehouse and stalked away.
“Don’t worry about his hand,” Father Padron said as he watched the general enter the gatehouse. “He’s on his way to the temple to visit his mistress. She will heal it.” He added darkly, “He thinks I don’t know. It’s a disgrace.”
“You know of the affair?” Cerise whispered. “And you…”haven’t stopped it?She caught herself before she rudely questioned his judgment, choosing instead to file away the information for later. At this rate, she wouldn’t have any space left inside her head.
“Some battles are best saved for the future,” he said.
She held her tongue because there was nothing more she could add. Temple Seers, even those with the added gift of healing, weren’t magically bound to celibacy like members of the Order were. Priests couldn’t engage in physical intimacy. They didn’t even desire it. That was the price they paid for their gift. But while the act of love wasn’t expressly denied to Seers in the sacred scrolls, it dimmed the Sight. Most Seers refused romantic company for that very reason. Those who took a lover were encouraged to repent or else sent away to parts unknown until they atoned. Cerise had never seen it happen. She had only heard stories.
“I’m sure I don’t have to worry about your virtue,” Father Padron added, but in a questioning tone that negated his words.
“You don’t,” Cerise told him. Her inner eye was sightless enough without inviting a lover to muddy her vision.
He lifted an apologetic hand. “I don’t mean to offend you. It’s just that I’ve lived at court long enough to know how laymen think. They’ll consider you a prize. You’re special, so they think that winning you will make them special, too. But they care nothing about your future or what a dalliance will cost you. Do you understand?”
Cerise nodded, trying to look somber while her lips begged to smile. The high priest of Shiera thought she was special. She couldn’t imagine a greater compliment than that.
“The goddess will test you,” he said. “I only want you to be prepared.” He offered his elbow. “Let’s put it behind us. Will you join me for morning prayer?”
By way of answer, she took his arm and let him lead her to the sanctuary. The small, domed building stood slightly apart from the palace, connected by a long, covered, open-air corridor that bordered one of the palace gardens. The sanctuary earned its name the moment she stepped across the threshold. There were no silken carpets or magical embellishments in the prayer room, only the familiar black and white floor tiles to symbolize balance between darkness and light. As she lowered onto a floor cushion and closed her eyes, she felt something no enchantment could provide.
Peace.
She spent most of the day there, praying for guidance, and at his invitation, she enjoyed lunch with Father Padron in his sitting room. He listened without judgment as she told him the truth about her lack of Sight. He didn’t even flinch when she asked about the elderly woman who had touched her skirts the day before.
“I thought you would be angry,” she confessed, “that I brought it up.”
“Angry?” His face softened into a smile. “The fact that you want to save the fallen is a testament to your purity of heart. How could I feel anything but admiration for you, Cerise?”
A blush crept into her cheeks. “Then the woman hasn’t been…dispatched?”
“Dispatched?” He drew back. “My goodness, is that what you think happens under my watch? Abuse? Murder?”
