Spirits of Light and Shadow (The Gods of Talmor) Page 6

  Eliam stood and went to a large lockbox fitted into a shelf on the wall. He retrieved a leather pouch similar to the one he’d given Korbin a few days before. “The rest of Octavia’s payment. Will you take it to her? I’d stand out too much there, even in my merchant’s clothing. Or I can give the task to a servant if the timing is inconvenient.”

  Korbin accepted the pouch and thought about Octavia, what he’d like to ask her. His mind was blank. He didn’t often feel tongue-tied with women, but she was more complicated than most. “I’ll do it. Less risky that way.”

  Eliam nodded his appreciation. No matter what the reason, dealing with a foreign witch was not something a man of Eliam’s standing could be seen doing. That his friend approached her personally in the first place surprised Korbin, but likely Tarsten wouldn’t have trusted anyone else to explain Graiphen’s situation without revealing the identities of those involved.

  “So why do you say you suppose he’s improving?”

  “Your father is more himself, definitely. More in control of his faculties. On the other hand, he’s less rational. He’s obsessed with finding whoever did this to him. He’s so maniacal on the subject, I’m afraid he’ll call unwanted attention to the fact he was sick in the first place. Mostly, he’s accusing Dul Ursin, although none of the senators have escaped his denunciations. Keeping him quiet now is even more difficult than when he was more strongly under the influence of the curse.”

  “Why’s he asking for me?”

  “He’s convinced you can discover what happened and who was responsible. Telling him you would come upon your return from Iszle is the only way we managed to prevent him from going into the senate. He intends to question our senate colleagues. He even threatened to demand an official inquiry from the emperor.”

  Korbin winced. That would be a disaster. The emperor might just as likely remove Graiphen from the senate as investigate his claims. No one of standing would wish to be associated with Kilovian witchcraft, lest they be seen as anti-theists—that is to say anti-Talmoran, a dangerous accusation.

  “Surely he wouldn’t,” Korbin said.

  “The old Dul Graiphen, no. But he’s not himself.” Eliam paused. “Have you considered his request? He thinks you can discover things no one else could.”

  “For the past two days, I’ve thought of little else. Honestly, I don’t see what I can do. Does he want me to approach this as his son, or as a rider? Does he even know that’s what I am now? As his son, I have little influence and years of disgrace to my name. Who would talk to me? As a rider, I’m nobody.”

  “Riders are seen but not noticed. You fit in everywhere,” Eliam said. “Will you try?”

  “I shouldn’t,” Korbin said.

  “Is this about Tainali?”

  Hearing her name made a blade of pain slice through Korbin’s heart. She had been the young woman who brought his lifetime of arguments and troubles with Graiphen to a head. Graiphen ruined her father both politically and financially because he believed her unsuitable to consort with his son, the Ulbrich heir. After her father committed suicide, Tainali left the city to live with charitable relatives in Engette.

  She left a note asking him to never speak to her again. Her words were cruel but true. He tried to win her back, but she rebuffed every effort. When she married someone else, he stopped trying.

  “No,” he said with a sigh. “This is not about Tainali.” He made himself say her name to prove that he could.

  Eliam looked as though he had more to say but held himself back.

  For that, Korbin was grateful. “I’ll go see him. I may as well. He knows I’m in Vol. Soon, everyone else will, too.” To think his new friends and neighbors would learn his true identity filled him with dread. He’d be forced to leave Chelotti Strand.

  Maybe he should think about another city. The bitter cold of Iszle might suit him more. He’d always liked the sea. The riders had people posted all over the empire. He worked hard, was well respected. He wouldn’t have trouble getting a new post unless Graiphen decided to make life difficult. Korbin sighed. Of course his father would make life difficult. In fact, Korbin was surprised his superiors hadn’t called him in already. Any day, they might demand he return his token.

  There were few places in the empire where Graiphen didn’t have influence, but maybe Korbin could leave quietly. Become anonymous again. Choose a new name. Perhaps Rilian. His mother told him she wanted to name him Rilian after her uncle. Graiphen had refused, saying it sounded like a woman’s name.

  When he looked up from his musing, Eliam was watching him. “You’re thinking of leaving.”

  Korbin shrugged, not wanting to think about it too much. Starting over didn’t appeal to him, but the situation left him little choice. For a fleeting moment, he considered Kilovia. Would they welcome a Talmoran? Probably not.

  He put the coin pouch in his cloak pocket and secured it to a band inside, a rider’s trick. “I’m off,” he said. “What is fated to happen cannot be avoided.” Repeating Octavia’s words gave him a shudder, as though a shadow had danced across his grave.

  ∞

  “Thank the Spirits you’re here, Dul Korbin,” one of the younger manservants said.

  Korbin had used the servants’ entrance again. Despite the fact that he felt certain his identity would soon be revealed, he wasn’t ready to stroll down the tiled streets of the North Circle. Another servant approached, then suddenly he was surrounded by people fussing over taking his cloak, inquiring as to his well-being, all while maneuvering him toward Dul Graiphen’s quarters. Their behavior was so uncharacteristic, he went with the flow, allowing them to escort him to his father. As before, he sensed their fear and their hope that his presence would fix the problems haunting their existence.

  The scene disturbed him. Hadn’t Tarsten said Graiphen’s state was improving? Finally, he agreed he would stay for a meal and that it wouldn’t hurt if the maids made up his old room. He had no intention of spending one night under this roof, but these people’s lives depended on the stability of the household. As long as Graiphen was in a bad state, they lived with uncertainty. Why had no one thought of the consequences for the household?

  He knew the answer, of course. Tarsten was thinking of the consequences of Graiphen’s condition on him, as Graiphen’s ally, on the senate, on the emperor, and thus on the nation. If Talmor believed the head of the senate was mad, what would happen? The emperor might be forced to intervene.

  The head manservant arrived, and his sharp tone snapped everyone to attention, even Korbin. “What is going on here?” He recognized Korbin in the center of the clutch of people, and his eyes widened. “Dul Korbin. My most humble apologies.” He barked at the others, “Back to work. Now.” He turned back to Korbin. “Forgive us, Dul. We’re all a bit unsettled.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” Korbin said. “It has been a difficult time. Tell me, has my father’s state not improved in the past two days? I’d had high hopes.”

  “Oh, yes, he’s much improved since your last visit, Dul,” he said, but the shadow across his expression didn’t give Korbin any comfort.

  Straightening his shirt, Korbin nodded. He needed to project confidence, though he felt anything but. These people had been loyal and deserved better than the chaos they’d been living with. “I’ll see him now.”

  “I believe Dul Graiphen is in his sleeping chamber,” the servant said and bowed. After a moment of hesitation, he handed Korbin a key. “Please understand. We were following Dul Tarsten’s orders. We didn’t know what else to do.”

  Korbin accepted the key. The servants had locked Graiphen in his room? “I understand,” he said, but he didn’t. The hairs on his neck stood up. What was Tarsten up to? Korbin walked down the final corridor alone. His mind spun with unwelcome thoughts.

  When he arrived, he touched the door handle. It was indeed locked. He slipped the key inside and opened the door. Inside, the room was dark, the lamp on the table at its lowest settin
g.

  “Father?” he called softly.

  “Korbin?” Graiphen’s muted voice sounded from the adjacent dressing room.

  Korbin approached the table and adjusted the lamp, the light banishing the long shadows. He glanced toward the doorway. The head manservant hovered outside. Softly, he closed the door to the corridor.

  Korbin waited until the servant’s footfalls retreated down the corridor before approaching the dressing room. Inside, he found Graiphen gathering clothing and putting it in neat stacks.

  “Good, boy, you’re here.”

  The tone was so contrary to what Korbin had expected that he stood dumbly.

  Graiphen raised his chin and met Korbin’s gaze. “They gave you the key, I hope?”

  “Yes.” Korbin reached for the pocket where he’d slipped the key.

  “This is bordering on treason,” Graiphen said with a grumble. “Imprisoning the head of the Council of Eight. I wouldn’t have given Tarsten credit for such nerve.” His eyes were sharp and clear, showing none of the uncertainty or frenzy he had on Korbin’s last visit. “I can’t find my travelling bag.”

  “You kept it in the top compartment of the tallest wardrobe.” Korbin pointed to the cabinet on the far wall. “Where are you going?”

  Graiphen followed the direction of his gesture. “Good lad.” Opening the wardrobe, he found what he’d been looking for. Korbin’s question hung for a moment while Graiphen took a set of clothes and packed them into the bag. “I’ve had visitors in the past weeks,” Graiphen explained.

  “Have you?” Uneasiness settled over Korbin.

  “I keep in touch with representatives of all eight temples, as is appropriate for my position.”

  Why did he sound defensive? The close relationship between the temples and the senate was common knowledge. He waited for his father to continue. He’d thought Tarsten kept visitors away. Why would he not do so with temple priests? Surely it would be as dangerous for them to learn of Graiphen’s condition as anyone.

  As though answering the unspoken questions, Graiphen said, “They tried to send them away, of course, but some were more persistent than others. I’ve developed close ties with a few higher priests. One might say friendly relationships.”

  Korbin frowned, watching his father pack. He wasn’t aware Graiphen had ever had friendly relationships. “And these priests visited you recently?”

  “It was they who first recognized the influence of Kilovian witchcraft. Tarsten thought I was overtired, overworked.” Graiphen snorted with derision. “I’ve never been overworked in my life, and I work twice the hours of most men.”

  Korbin couldn’t disagree. His father had labored tirelessly as long as Korbin could remember.

  “The priests searched the house themselves. I would have, but…” His voice trailed off.

  “They presented the evidence of witchcraft to Tarsten?”

  Graiphen packed a few remaining items into the bag and fastened its latch. “I… I’m not clear how everything happened.”

  The admission that he didn’t know everything that occurred in his own house must have cost him dearly. Korbin had never seen him at a loss. “You don’t trust Tarsten?”

  “No.” Graiphen glowered.

  “But he was the one who reached out to Eliam, who then contacted me. I went to the conduit who unbound the curse. If Tarsten were working against you, surely he would have left the matter alone.”

  Graiphen paused and seemed to weigh the thought. “Perhaps,” he conceded. “It pains me to admit I don’t have the clearest picture of the past weeks.”

  “You seem much improved,” Korbin said. “I don’t understand why the door is locked.”

  Rounding on him with a fierce look, Graiphen spat, “Exactly. Why indeed?” The outer chamber had windows, but Graiphen wasn’t the kind to escape his own house by climbing down a trellis.

  The North Circle was always watched. There was a common expression in Vol, “It happened on the Circle,” which meant an occurrence was public knowledge, something no one could deny. Whatever his plans, Graiphen didn’t intend to go public with his suspicions of Tarsten’s treachery.

  Korbin hoped Eliam wouldn’t get caught in the aftermath. “Where do you plan to go?” he repeated.

  “To those who will help me in this dark hour.” Graiphen uttered the words softly, as though quoting a prayer or poem. After a pause he added, “The temple of Braetin.”

  Korbin froze. Braetin? Why would he turn to the Spirit of Shadow whose realm was nightmares?

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Graiphen said. “But only through her priests’ knowledge can my mind be made whole again. They brought clarity to my thoughts when I had forgotten myself. They understand the minds of men, as does the Spirit they serve.” He spoke the final words with hushed reverence reserved for believers.

  Korbin shivered. “If you think it will help you, you should go. What of your duties to the senate? To Talmor?”

  “With the help of the goddess, I may serve Talmor in a more significant way after today.”

  Korbin didn’t know what his father meant, but he didn’t press. Graiphen’s mind seemed clear. He was more focused, impassioned, and intense than Korbin remembered seeing him. He considered if he should ask Octavia if this was normal, considering what he’d been through. Maybe she could help, and her assistance would be less costly. A conduit would accept gold. The priests of a Shadow Spirit, on the other hand, might demand something greater. Their aid always came at a price.

  Korbin slipped his fingers into his pocket and took out the brass key. “Here,” he said, holding it out to his father.

  Graiphen stared at the proffered object as though he didn’t understand its purpose. “No, no,” he said. “You must take me there. Tonight. After dark.”

  “To the temple?” He’d been to the central temple complex many times throughout his life, but he’d only been in the Shadow goddess’ house twice. Neither visit had been particularly pleasant. Just remembering the heavy smell of incense made him shudder. “Why not go now?”

  “What is the hour?” Graiphen asked. “We should wait until dark. Fewer people to see where I’m going. Tarsten has come every day before the dinner hour. We’ll talk to him tonight, then eat. We’ll slip out after the servants retire.”

  “We?” Korbin asked. “Surely you don’t need me. You seem perfectly capable.”

  “I am,” Graiphen snapped. His expression softened before turning into a frustrated scowl. “I still get clouded. It’s difficult to admit I need help.” He met Korbin’s eyes. “I need your assistance. I’ve never asked you for anything before. Only this.”

  Despite Graiphen’s cold and relentless stare, Korbin found his plea compelling. If he’d been weeping or babbling, Korbin might have helped him out of guilt, but not wanted to. Not that he wanted to now. No, everything told him to run, but this might be his last opportunity with his father. If he turned his back now, there may be no returning home till the end of his days.

  He sighed. “Okay. I’ll let the kitchen know there will be two for dinner. Or shall I say three? Will Tarsten stay?”

  “That snake? I wouldn’t eat with him if it was my final meal.”

  “Father, I believe he has tried to help. When I spoke with him and Eliam, they appeared genuinely concerned.”

  Graiphen shook his head pityingly. “He wouldn’t be much of a politician if he couldn’t make his concern seem genuine, would he?”

  “No,” Korbin said, mostly to avoid an argument. “You’re right.” Suddenly he felt sixteen and back in the same helpless position he’d been in all his life, conceding to his father’s demands.

  Just this one final thing, he told himself. Then I’m off for Iszle and never looking back. The words sounded hollow, even in his own mind, but there was little he could do. Walking away was no longer an option. Just this one thing.

  Chapter 6

  Korbin’s day had been difficult and long, his father’s company no easi
er to bear now than two years before. The servants brought what Graiphen considered a simple meal, but what was, in fact, far richer food than Korbin was used to. They’d eaten in uncomfortable silence, every bite punctuating the difference between the past and present, widening the gulf between the two men.

  As planned, Graiphen faked a raging temper at the end of the meal, throwing a half-full decorative platter against the door. Korbin frowned at that. His mother had bought the piece in Domen when he was a small boy.

  Servants rushed in to clean up the mess, and Korbin pretended to restrain Graiphen in the adjacent sleeping chamber. Acting as though he was upset and dismayed wasn’t difficult. The servants understood when he asked to be left alone. They kept away from the family section of the house, creeping through the corridors, keeping out of sight. When the time came for Korbin and Graiphen to make their way to Graiphen’s study, they didn’t have any difficulty so long as Korbin moved ahead and signaled when the coast was clear.

  A couple hours after nightfall, he led his father out the back door and into the side streets. Graiphen wore simple clothing, but Korbin had to remind him to slouch. The man’s back was straight and his neck stiff, the bearing of a soldier and someone who expected others to get out of his way.

  As they moved through the streets, Graiphen’s condition began to rear its head. He snapped and muttered, stumbling on occasion. When Korbin slowed, Graiphen hissed, “keep going” from beneath his hood.

  Korbin encouraged his father to lean on him, as though drunk. The ruse wasn’t comfortable for either man, but it looked more natural and would explain anything an onlooker might find odd.

  Over the last half of the journey toward the temple district, Korbin realized he didn’t know this man at all. He felt less kindly disposed to him than he would a stranger. Their blood was the only thing that bound them.

  Korbin’s thoughts turned to Octavia. She would probably say blood was the only thing that could bind two people. He winced when he recalled the “root blood” she had taken from him to break the curse. Of course Graiphen hadn’t said so much as a simple “thank you” for the sacrifice.