Diomere's Exile

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

The morning after the ball found Gregor arriving at Asha’s temple with a bounce in his step and memories of one of the best dreams he’d ever had warming his thoughts. He waited for a group of priests to leave the second level garden terrace of the three-story temple, leaving him unobserved below in the colorful oasis the priests had created for the goddess’ statue. Muted beyond the square’s walls, carriages clattered and horses clomped along the busy main avenue which stretched from the palace, through the center of Volos, and down to the harbor. Thick vines climbed the stone walls and towers, stretching out from the tops of the walls several feet toward the wide-canopied trees lining the inside of the square. The vines, covered in large bunches of purple, pink, and white wisteria flowers, created a natural shaded walkway around the square’s perimeter that perfumed the warm, moist air with their fragrance. Birds flitted and twittered among the branches while the water pouring from the goddess’ hands created a harmonious accompaniment.

Knowing others could appear at any moment, he crossed the small bridge over the fountain’s pool to Asha’s statue in the square’s center and laid a seedling in a tiny pot at the goddess’ feet. “I offer praise to Asha, goddess of life-giving earth.” He untied a shell pouch, revealing a tiny glowing ember from his home fire and placed it next to the potted seedling. Digging a hole in the pot’s dirt, he placed a dead butterfly in the hole. “I offer praise to Naar, god of heat-producing fire.” He blew on the ember. “And to Soira, goddess of the air we breathe.” He covered the butterfly’s corpse with the dirt. “I offer praise to Druj, god of death and master of the afterlife.” He poured water from a flask onto the dirt. “And to mighty Meren, god of water and the deep depths of the sea. I thank you all for the care you show, for your blessings and your many gifts to the Sa’i.”

Hooves clattered on the cobbled paving stones of the square’s main entrance. Gregor quickly dug another hole in the potted seedling’s dirt and covered the ember. He kissed his fingers then moved past the statue toward the gates of the temple. He didn’t bother looking back. Had any of his fellow Thunoans seen him praising all the gods they would have been appalled and probably would have alerted those inside the temple.

He’d been raised on his family lands in the north where the old ways weren’t forgotten, despite the best efforts of the Order. The sect had come into power in Thuno when the previous king had ruled. Before the old king had died, the priests controlled all of Thuno’s major cities with an iron grip. Dieuroi Mavros’ illness had only made it worse.

But they hadn’t been so successful in the north. Though they didn’t dare worship openly, northerners still worshiped all the gods. And they still passed down stories of Saimond’s true history with Mondami and the A’mi. As with all peoples, Gregor knew there were good and bad.

He entered the temple into a cavernous entrance hall of the same gray stone as the outside lit by the sun shining through the circular window above the front doors. Three sets of double doors, one on each of the three other walls, led farther into the temple. Above the doors, directly across from the entrance, hung a gigantic painting of Asha’s hands cupping a mound of earth from which a wide-canopied tree grew. Crossing the echoing foyer, he pulled the doors under the painting open and entered a stone hall lined with tapestries depicting scenes of Asha’s blessings. A mother bird feeding her babies a wriggling worm, a rose unfurling its petals, the sun shining down onto a field of golden wheat. He stopped before a set of double doors halfway down and entered the Order’s main library.

A priest looked up from a table near the door. “Good morn, my lord. Can I help you find something?”

“I have an appointment with Father Marco.”

The priest nodded and stood. “This way.”

They wound through packed book shelves and long tables surrounded by clusters of priests with their heads bent over books and scrolls. When they reached a line of office doors along the back wall, the priest stopped at Father Marco’s open door. The priest looked up as they tapped on the door frame.

“Gregor. Come in, come in.” The priest stood to his feet and waved Gregor to the chair in front of his desk. “Thank you, Novice Jordos.”

Gregor waited for the door to close behind him. “Asha’s blessing on you, Marco.”

“And you, my friend.” The priest resumed his seat. “I assume you’ve closed up the family seat and moved your things here permanently?”

Gregor nodded. “I won’t open the estate again until I’ve a wife and children to run its halls.”

“And your private collection?”

“Safely installed in the house here.” Gregor regarded him with a smile. “And I’m looking forward to adding to it. What do you have for me?”

The priest Gregor had grown up with grinned, his eyes lighting in excitement, and bustled to a table in the corner stacked with a box marked correspondence, an open book, and a box of broken quill tips. “I received three new texts about the A’mi in a shipment sent from Arenatou.” He lifted the correspondence from the box and removed the false bottom, revealing three scrolls and a flat sheet of paper. “I made copies of all three, but I can only give you the originals of two. The third is a scroll that contains information about the gate keepers. The Voice has been notified of its existence, so it’s due to be destroyed tonight.”

The most senior priest, referred to as the Voice, supposedly chosen by Asha herself to be her official voice to the people, would see all knowledge of the A’mi erased from all the lands of Saimond if he had his way.

Gregor frowned, resisting the urge to snatch all three and run. “May I look at the artwork on the original? I’d like to make notes about it on the copy you made me.”

“Of course.”

The priest returned to his seat behind his desk and left Gregor at the table in the corner with the documents, original and copy. Gregor looked them over carefully. The Order confiscated any text on the A’mi and either locked it away from the public or burned it. After his appointment as head of acquisitions of Asha’s library five years before, Marco, who loathed the destruction of knowledge, contacted Gregor, who he knew had a passion for collecting anything to do with the A’mi. They’d saved over twenty priceless texts in the last five years.

Gregor pulled his sword from its thick leather scabbard and set it aside. Then he pulled at a tab inside the scabbard, revealing a compartment. He slid the two original documents into the compartment, then turned to the remaining scroll and its plainer copy. Two ornate pillars decorated the scroll on either side of the text, while a beam rested across the top of the pillars decorated with words in A’misrian, the language of the A’mi.

Gregor copied the words and an outline of the pillars and beam. He couldn’t copy each of the a’mi creatures decorating the pillars, a gifted artist having obviously drawn each lifelike image. A bare-breasted woman stretched her arms above her head, her hooded eyes inviting her prey closer. Her lower body, shaped like a serpent, coiled in a pile beneath her as the rattler on the end of her tail seemed to vibrate on the page. Beneath the lamia, a man creature reached toward a glowing moon, his lion’s mane of hair seeming to stand on end with the power arcing between his hands, his muscles rippled in knotted masses across his chest, arms, and legs. Dragon wings stretched behind him as if he were moments away from jumping into flight, while his scorpion tail waved behind him, warning his enemies to beware.

At the top of the second pillar, a jinn floated, his eyes glowing orbs of power, piercing in their intensity. One hand gripped the band circling his neck while he clenched the other hand in a fist in front of hips that disappeared into a swirl of power. In the last drawing, a man and woman, both naked, stood back to back with matching hungry expressions on their faces. Bat like wings sprouted from their shoulders, the male’s gold, the female’s black, their spiked tails entwined between them.

Having no gift for drawing, he simply noted their unique attributes and the placement of the symbols for each of the five elements, Air, Water, Fire, Earth, and Spirit. Scanning the document and checking it against the words on the copy, he made certain none had been missed, and then sat back.

“They only translated the first few sentences and stopped? And they’re just going to destroy it? What if the gates are ever reopened? The information it contains could help us discover how to control who comes through.” He turned to face the priest.

“The Voice is only interested in locating the gate here in Thuno. When it became clear this scroll was only about the Arenatou gate, he ordered it destroyed.” Marco shook his head. “The Voice is visiting the temple in Laus or I wouldn’t have been able to get you even that copy. I’ll be returning it to his office as soon as you leave.”

Gregor nodded and slipped his copy into the scabbard compartment, then slid his sword in and returned it to his hip. He stood and clasped Father Marco’s arm.

“May the gods protect you.”

Father Marco opened the door. Gregor stepped out and, at the sound of Nadia’s familiar voice, had to grit his teeth against a wave of desire that arced straight to his groin. Nadia stood beside a priest, a parchment in her hand. His gaze traveled down her body, brows lifting at the sight of the loose pants encasing her legs. Remembered images of those long legs, bare on a foreign beach, nearly unmanned him. He forced his eyes back up, lingering on her breasts and waist before continuing up to her frowning face.

“This should be all of them,” a priest said beside her.

Her cheeks blazed red, making the thin scar stretching from temple to mid-cheek on one side of her face a bright contrasting white, as she folded the paper and tucked it into the pouch at her waist. “Thank you, Brother. I appreciate your help.”

The priest nodded and disappeared back into the office next to Father Marco’s. She quirked a brow at Gregor, then turned and left without another word. Gregor bit back a smile, waved to Marco, and then followed her into the quiet hall outside the library. Stretching his strides, he soon fell into step beside her. She scowled. Gregor smiled.

“What do you want, Lord Cyrene?” she whispered.

He picked up his pace so that he got to the door first and could hold it for her. “Princess.”

She paused, studying his face as if to see if he’d really forgotten that she didn’t like that title. He stared back, face serious. Then winked, making her scowl.

He kept his amusement from his voice. “Do you visit Asha’s Library often?”

“No.”

He followed her rigid back into the temple square, wondering if the real Nadia’s mouth would be as talented as his dream Nadia. “Not a lover of knowledge?” he asked, grabbing her hand and tucking it into his elbow.

She yanked at her hand, but he held it in place as they passed Asha’s statue and continued toward the rush of carriages, horses, and people on Volos’ main thoroughfare.

She blew out a loud breath of frustration and stopped moving, pulling Gregor to a stop beside her. “Knowledge I have no problem with, but I doubt that library has anything in it that has to do with anything other than Asha. You Thunoans’ single-minded worship of one god is tragic.”

“You say what’s on your mind, and you don’t care that we stodgy Thunoans know that you don’t follow our religion.” He started walking again, pulling her along with him until she reluctantly fell into step beside him. “I like it.”

“I’m so glad you approve,” she muttered.

Gregor suppressed a smile. The real Nadia’s mouth would be even better, he decided. “I love knowledge, no matter its source. I collect literature on every subject I can get my hands on. You’re welcome to peruse my private library whenever you’d like.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said dryly. She pulled him to a stop as they reached the street. “Well, this has been fun, but I have to get back to the Mermaid.”

“I’ll walk you.”

She clenched her jaw. “It’s right there.” She pointed across the street at the four-story inn she called home.

He gently squeezed her hand. “I’ll walk you.”

She stared at him, obviously unsure how to handle his quiet insistence. Even if he hadn’t dreamed of her, he’d want her. She intrigued him with her scarred face, odd clothing, total disregard for Thuno’s religion, and acerbic tongue. She wore so many different titles. Exiled princess, innkeeper, guild member. Adding mystery to the truth of which was really her. One or all? She was a new text in a language he’d never seen and he couldn’t help but want to decipher her.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But this changes nothing. In fact, it proves my initial assumption.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

She sighed. “You’re a complication. I don’t have time for someone like you.”

The wrinkle in her brow paired with her slightly pained expression was so adorable, a term he was sure she didn’t associate with herself, that Gregor felt an overwhelming urge to pull her close. Knowing he’d earn himself further enmity if he dared act on the urge, he clasped his hands behind his back and refrained. Barely.

“It’s only a walk, love. However, I, too, prefer blunt honesty, so you should know that I plan to complicate your life with my presence as much as possible.” He turned and smiled. “I won’t give up.” He stopped at the inn’s front gate and pulled her calloused fingers to his lips. “Until we meet again, I’ll be seeing you in my dreams.”

She stiffened, studying him with a sharp gaze. “You dream of me?”

“In vivid detail,” he said, his eyes moving down her body and back up.

Her mouth dropped open, and he thought it might be one of the few times she’d ever been at a loss for words. Turning toward the inn’s door, she paused, gave him a pensive look, then shook her head and went inside.

Gregor finally let the smile he’d been hiding spread across his face. No, she was definitely not used to being speechless.