“I want to know how to pray like you did,” he said. “I want to have that kind of faith. Your father was dead, and you still believed. I’ve tried, but people died. I feel hollow and fake. What is it you know? What is it you do? Please, tell me, Delysia. I need this. I need something to cling to, otherwise I’ll be lost forever. I’ll become what my father wishes me to be.”
Delysia blushed. She felt so young and foolish, and yet he was coming to her for help? She tried to think of all her father’s lectures. The memory of his kind words and warm smile only hurt her more.
“Give me your hands,” she said. There was one thing she remembered, one moment that nothing could ruin. It was the nightly prayers her father had said with her whenever she felt scared or lost. Tears in their eyes, she knelt, her fingers still interlocked with Haern’s. The boy knelt with her.
“Bow your head,” she told him.
“What now,” he asked.
“Close your eyes.” He did, and then he waited.
“Think of everything you love,” she said. “And pray it safe. Don’t think about to whom you pray. Don’t worry about whether it’ll be heard or not. Just pray.”
Haern opened his eyes and looked at her.
“What if I have nothing to love?” he asked.
The question pierced Delysia’s heart. She’d once asked that same question to her father after they’d had a bad fight. She gave Haern the same answer he had given. Never in her life had she missed her father so much.
“Then you can love me,” she said.
Her body lurched forward. Her mouth opened in shock. Blood seeped down the front of her dress as she fell, a small arrow shaft sticking out of her back.
“No!” Haern screamed, catching her in his arms. All around him men leapt to the roof. Two houses over, a man in a gray cloak lowered his handheld crossbow and approached.
“Stay away from me,” Haern screamed, holding Delysia in one arm and drawing his dagger with the other. Members of the Spider Guild surrounded him, their weapons drawn. None approached, all waiting for the man from afar who’d wielded the crossbow.
Haern glanced behind him, seeing his casual approach. He knew who it was. He begged it wasn’t, but he knew.
Thren leapt across the last gap and landed atop the house. He still held the small crossbow.
“You have disobeyed me for the last time,” Thren said. His voice was overwhelmed with rage. “Rooftop prayers? Hiding away with a priestess? What is the matter with you!”
“Stay back!” Haern screamed again, tears streaming down his covered face. Thren paid him no heed. He walked over and yanked the mask off Haern’s face, not at all worried by the dagger his son held.
“You disappoint me,” Thren said.
Something hard struck Haern from behind. His eyes rolled into his head, and then he collapsed atop Delysia’s body.
Kayla stood behind him, a rock wrapped in leather hanging limp from her hand. Thren nodded, thankful that she’d sapped the boy.
“Carry him,” Thren ordered his men. “Leave the girl.”
Two of them hoisted the boy onto their shoulders and made their way toward the edge of the house. A group of three waited in the street below, catching Aaron when they lowered him down.
“Where are we taking him?” Kayla dared ask.
“These foolish notions need curing,” Thren said as he put away the crossbow. “Ashhur is a disease infecting my son, and it seems I am incapable of removing it on my own.”
Kayla followed the logic to its horrific end.
“You’ll give him to the priests of Karak,” she said.
Thren glanced over to her.
“I do not like it either, but it must be done,” he said. “They’ll crush his faith in Ashhur, purify him. I’m taking back my heir.”
At that, he leapt off the roof to join the rest of his men. Kayla glanced back at the girl with red hair.
“Damn it, Aaron,” she said. “I didn’t know!”
Thren had ordered her to follow Aaron about. Once he’d stopped at the temple, she’d returned. Part of her had hoped he’d be gone by the time they returned, and he had, but not far enough. Thren had found him, and even worse, found him with the daughter of that idiot priest Kayla had killed. The blood spilling across the roof was her fault.
She knelt down and touched the girl’s neck, startled by the slow pulse she felt. The girl was alive.
“You owe me,” Kayla whispered as she hoisted the girl onto her shoulder.
She was being stupid. She knew she was being stupid. Her survival instincts screamed to keep her hands clean and let the girl die. But she couldn’t. Once Aaron found out she was the one who had followed him, she couldn’t imagine facing the sorrow and betrayal in his eyes.
“Stay with me,” she whispered. “If your god is real, then hopefully he’ll realize I’m down here needing all the help I can get.”
Carefully she climbed down to the street, Delysia’s body slung over her shoulders. The whole while she did her best to ignore whatever torture awaited Aaron within the temple of the dark god.
T hren was one of very few who knew the location of Karak’s temple. Once they were near, he took Aaron into his arms and ordered the rest to return home. The coming day and night would be the most important day in the past five years. His men needed to be fresh, and he was already straining them enough. All because of his son. All because of Ashhur.
“I see through your illusions,” said Thren when he stood before the thick iron gates surrounding what looked to be a luxurious but empty mansion. The image wavered. The fence opened on its own. Thren stepped through, walking along the smooth obsidian path leading up to an enormous pillared building of darkest black. The skull of a lion hung above the door, its teeth stained with blood.
The double-doors swung open. A young man stepped out, his hair tied behind his head in a long ponytail.
“I ask that you remain outside,” he said. “Pelarak knows of your arrival.”
Not waiting for an answer, the man shut the door. Thren leaned Aaron’s body against one of the pillars and waited. It had been many years since he’d come to someone for aid, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to act. He had no intention of bowing before the priests, nor would he plead like a commoner. Perhaps a trade.
The doors opened. Thren snapped to attention, his hands falling to his blades out of instinct too engrained to deny.
“It is a strange night that grants me a visitor such as you,” Pelarak said as he stepped outside and closed the doors behind him. “For you are Thren Felhorn, are you not? Master of the Spider Guild, puppet master of the thieves? To what do I owe this honor?”
His eyes glanced at Aaron but he kept his mouth shut.
“I need my son cured,” Thren said.
“We are not as skilled at the healing arts as our rivals,” Pelarak said. “Though I doubt they would aid you. I heard they ousted their former high priest after you killed one of their own.”
Thren frowned. That was a damn shame. He had spent many months slowly working on Calvin, bribing him with every possible vice in search of the man’s weakness. Once he discovered his love of crimleaf, the process had gone considerably easier. Must everything fall apart so close to the Kensgold?
“You misunderstand the healing I desire,” Thren said, forcing the subject back to the task at hand. “My son has taken foolish notions into his head that I want expunged.”
Pelarak scratched his chin.
“He’s fallen for the seductive grace of Ashhur?” he asked.
Thren nodded.
“This will require much time,” Pelarak said. “And more importantly, it will potentially ruin me. Maynard Gemcroft has threatened our very existence if I do not side with him against you, Thren. Tell me, what would you do in my place?”
“Destroy those who threaten me,” Thren said. “Never let a man keep a sword readied above your neck.”
