Blast him to the abyss!”
“Rapist is viaotys,” Asfalea said, proving that she knew some of the ancient tongue. “Si’Yeni’s deepest hell for rapists.”
“But why?” asked Rak. “Why would he do this to me?”
The old lady chewed her lip. “High Priest know. Murson not what look like. Monster wear sun robes.”
Rak focused on her again. “What do you mean? Evil can wear any color.”
“Sun priest no touch high priest of night, eh?”
Rak hissed out a breath.
“Ix.
Sun priests cannot touch me.”
Asfalea nodded and Jisten looked between the two. “How can he be an imposter? He works with Forael!” Jisten said. “He has to have some kind of power.”
“Chaos mage,” whispered Rak, remembering what he’d been forced to forget. “They excel at mimicry.”
“Chaos?! But…” Jisten fell silent. “There’s been too much of that lately. How long until you can kill him?”
“Three of your months,” said Rak. “Until then, Forael cannot know. He would be forced to act if he knew.”
Jisten took in a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then slowly blew it out. “I think he deserves a discreet warning, with the reason why he can’t kill Murson. He would delay revenge for your life, S’Rak. In the meantime, hecan take measures to limit Murson’s involvement in the Sun Temple. And… scorch it! Murson’s the Senior sun priest assigned to the palace!”
“You are right. I would do my cousin a disservice by keeping the truth from him. We will have to work harder to protect the prince from him. Thus far, we have not done very well.”
“High Priest, perform Zotien rites here, please after sunset rites? We honor you, Zotien, you feel better?” Asfalea asked and Rak found three sets of light eyes watching anxiously for his response.
“I would be honored,” said Rak, suddenly happy. He was delighted to find people here who actually wanted his rites.
“Ritsa help you!” Asfalea pointed her stick at her young apprentice still peeking in the window. “Get whatever high priest want.”
Rak sat up, looking around a little. “Where will I set the altar, Dhelion?” he asked politely.
“Across from hearth,” Asfalea said. “Unless cheeky enough to put next to!” Her eyes twinkled.
“Zotien does not stand opposite the Lady of Sunset,” Rak replied solemnly. “And there is just enough room beside that hearth.”
Asfalea smiled as he passed her test. “Yes, you true high priest.”
Elenna held out a flask of oil to Jisten. The captain uncapped the oil and the warm, reassuring scent of amber wafted over. Rak looked at the oil, and then at Jisten.
“May I?” Jisten asked humbly. “Wings?” Rak nodded and Jisten tipped the oil into his palm. He pocketed the vial and then warmed the oil with both hands. His palms touched Rak’s wingbases and spread outward.
Rak relaxed into Jisten bonelessly, submitting to the wing oiling with a deep feeling and a sigh of contentment. The warmth and adoration rolling off the captain into him was unreal, but Rak so desperately needed it that he didn’t question it.
Asfalea leaned against the back of her chair and closed her eyes. She was asleep in seconds. Rak was also feeling the drain of the healing but fighting it.
“Please, High Priest, you need rest,” Elenna said. “Jisten, put him in the guest room.” Jisten stood and carried Rak into the small room. He placed Rak in the bed by lying down with him, still stroking those marvelous wings. Elenna covered them with a black and tan quilt.
Rak stroked the quilt. “Beautiful,” he murmured. He was completely distracted by the geometric pattern and the feel of Jisten’s hands on his wings.
“It’s yours, High Priest. Sleep well and dream the best dreams of the Lord of Night,” she said, gave Jisten a significant glance, and slipped out, closing the door.
Rak whispered, “Hold me, please.” Jisten gathered Rak into his arms and the high priest fell asleep. Once Trelo returned with the confirmatory message from Sedrael in his distinctive scrawl, Jisten joined Rak in sleep.
Chapter Eighteen: Valer Square
Rumor flew faster than a scalded dragon. Within an hour, Despina learned that her Jisten had been claimed by the high priest Loftoni. Rumor said that the Loftoni was at Asfalea’s, and that the Loftoni had been horribly hurt somehow, but not by Jisten.
Despina made the chicken soup that had restorative properties and the pastina in its blandest form. She retrieved the precious hard cheese from the cheese cellar to increase flavor, if S’Rak could tolerate it. She whispered the proper prayers over both dishes, mentioning that the victim was Loftoni.
* * * *
As fas as Asflaea knew, Rak still slept in the small guest bedroom, curled beneath a black and tan patterned quilt. Elenna was teaching Ritsa weaving on the hand held apprentice loom, to keep the house quiet. When she'd gone outside to harvest herbs from her garden, she'd seen that the black dragon had relocated to the roof of her cottage to enjoy the late afternoon sun. Splayed out, with his wings spread, he made a very odd sight.
Visible from her kitchen window, a black equine lounged in her yard, pretending to be nothing but a horse and failing utterly. Two giggling Valer boys released a chicken into the yard. “Offering!” one said, and then they began pushing each other and laughing harder.
Vyld’s head lashed out. There was an explosion of feathers and a loud squawk. When the cloud settled, the avtappi could be seen holding the ex-chicken in his jaws. The boys made appreciative sounds and stared, stock still.
Vyld gracefully lowered his head and set the chicken on the ground. A forehoof pinned the corpse, the climbing claws hooking in. Then Vyld began to eat it rather messily. The boys began pushing each other again, and then ran off to fetch more friends and another chicken. Vyld was the greatest entertainment ever. Ten Valer boys gathered with the next chicken offering.
Asfalea chuckled to herself as she made bread. The house would be filled with the scent
