Page 12 of The Half King
“What?” she asked.
“You and Father Padron are going to get along beautifully.”
Whatever he meant by that, it didn’t sound like a compliment.
“Here we are.” Daerick flourished a hand at the last door along the eastern corridor. He opened it and gestured for her to precede him inside.
“Oh, stars,” she murmured as she entered her suite. She hadn’t expected anything this sprawling. Her quarters’ entryway opened to a sitting area furnished with a plush divan and two armchairs, beyond which stood a four-poster bed draped in white netting. A cool breeze wafted inside from the open doors to her private balcony. The air smelled of sugar vines, which she noticed grew wild along the balcony railings.
“It’s cruel, really,” Daerick mused with a grin. “Now you’re spoiled for any other kind of life.”
She laughed because he was right. Her former quarters had consisted of a single bed, a wardrobe, and a corner shrine for prayers. She didn’t know how long she would serve as an emissary or where life would take her afterward, but she doubted her rooms would ever be this luxurious again.
She crossed the suite until she reached the open balcony. Outside, the moon bathed the land in its glow, allowing her to see into the walled city beyond. At the heart of it lay the temple. From there, narrow streets wound outward among boxy structures of varying heights. She was too far away to see any activity, but the nearby rustle of fabric drew her attention to a garden below, where a young woman strolled among rows of exotic greenery. With her long, glossy hair and regal features, she was almost beautiful enough to pass for a Solon firstborn. But what really struck Cerise was the haste in the young woman’s steps. She seemed restless, pacing the garden instead of enjoying it.
Cerise waved Daerick over to the balcony and whispered, “Who’s that?”
As he peered down, he grinned. “Lady Delora Champlain. The king’s courtesan.”
“Oh, I heard about her, or at least I think I did,” Cerise said. “Does His Majesty have any other courtesans?”
Daerick muffled a laugh. “Believe me, one is enough. Even though Delora’s low-born, the king gave her a title and promised to marry her if she can conceive an heir. Let’s just say she’s highly motivated to be the next queen.”
Cerise turned away from the balcony. That was more information than she wanted to know. She would have to face the king in the morning, and the rumors about him had made her nervous enough as it was.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” she told Daerick. “I think I’ll rest now.”
“Of course.” He bowed after she walked him to the door. “Make sure you lock this after I leave. And close the balcony doors.”
“Why?” she asked. “With all the magic here, what could happen?”
“You would be surprised. Good night, my lady.”
4
Cerise slept fitfully, dreaming of heretics and demigods and living shadows. Twice she awoke to urgent whispers in her ear, only to find herself alone and panting for air. The voice had seemed so clear when it had called her name, but she convinced herself it was a trick of the mind and closed her eyes until she fell asleep again.
She finally rose for good with the sun and dressed in one of the gowns from the local temple. The frock was identical in style to her old gown but constructed from a light, gauzy material that made her feel exposed, even though she wasn’t. On her way to the first floor, she found the palace abuzz with nervous chatter. The staff was so consumed by gossip that the servants barely took notice of her. She caught snippets of conversation as she glided along the corridor, murmurs ofa horrible beastandin her bed. It wasn’t until she strode into the foyer and glanced through the open doors onto the lawn that she realized what had caused the stir.
An animal lay on its side in the grass. It looked like a desert panther with its limbs outstretched, rigid in death. She felt an odd mingling of regret and fascination as she eyed the panther’s hairless body and its long, hollow claws, known for drawing moisture from the ground. She had never seen anything so magnificent except in books at the temple library.
She descended the steps for a closer look and found Father Padron outside with several of his priests. He gave her a grim smile when their eyes met, as if apologizing for whatever had taken place during the night.
“What happened, Your Grace?” she asked him.
“Lady Champlain retired to her chambers at midnight and found this”—indicating the panther—“waiting for her. She owes her life to Father Bishop’s weakness for sweet cakes. He was halfway to the kitchen when he heard her screams and ran to help. After he killed the beast, it took three royal guards to drag the carcass outside.”
Cerise noticed there were no wounds on the animal’s leathery hide. The priest must have slain it with his magic. She had seen it done once before, when a badger had burrowed under the courtyard wall to attack the temple hens. With a wave of his hand, Father Diaz had stopped the creature’s heart, but then Father Diaz had collapsed and lost consciousness. It had taken a full day for him to awake. Nothing required more magical energy than dispatching death.
“Lady Champlain should send sweet cakes for his recovery,” Cerise said. She recalled what Daerick had told her about the woman. “Isn’t she the king’s—”
“Courtesan, yes,” Father Padron finished. “His Majesty is understandably upset. He insisted on accompanying the guards into the city for an investigation.” Using his shoe, he nudged the cat’s hindquarters, where a circular brand was singed into the flesh. “This is the mark of a local trader.”
Cerise doubted any trader would be careless enough to unleash a panther into the palace with his brand on display, but she supposed the investigation had to begin somewhere.
“Do you think His Majesty will return before sunset?” she asked. She had just worked up the nerve to meet the king, and delaying it for another day would have her stomach dancing again.
Father Padron shook his head. “Probably not. And he’s wasting his time. The trader didn’t do this, and I doubt the courtesan was the real target.”
