Master? At times like this, Martin wished for a deity to pray to.
Dmitri’s sure footsteps halted. He spun, his brown woolen cassock swirling around his ankles. “In those dark days, I would have envied the Lady’s children, for she encourages strong drink. Unfortunately, my lord does not.”
“Where do demons come from? Why are they here?”
“So many questions. Do you have to know everything tonight? Actually, I should be the one interrogating you. So, do you have any ideas of where they come from?”
“No.” Learning the answer might not be reassuring, either.
“And why do you stop them?”
“Because it needs to be done, and I can. I’ve met no one else but you who seems capable of seeing them.”
Dmitri tilted his head at a thoughtful angle for a few moments more, his serious tone softening. “Come, Martin. Our duty is done for the night. Surely a young man like yourself has more to do than listen to a chatty old priest.”
Not nearly chatty enough.
Martin sucked in a great lungful of air, banishing the troubled images he’d conjured. He’d been dismissed as clearly as if the priest barked an order. Never had Martin been so grateful not to be a follower of the Father and be expected to abstain from alcohol. A nearby tavern full to bursting of the god’s believers said not all adhered to the strict dictates of their religion.
Tonight, he needed drink.
He resumed trekking beside his unlikely mentor, shrugging off duty in favor of more pleasing nighttime pursuits. They soon reached the parting point. On one side of the street, a marvel of marble and gilt glowed with an inner fire, light and revelry spilling from each window. Fanciful statues and curlicues graced the doorways and window frames. The lively strains of a flute drifted from the façade.
Lavish. Magnificent. One glance told of the Lady’s power.
Across the street stood a startling contrast, a low, unadorned wooden building. No embellishments advertised its use, and save for the lone flicker of a single lantern, it sat quiet and dark. The Father’s temple matched a deity whose worship hinged on frugality, discipline, and self-sacrifice, while the Lady’s teaching promoted beauty, pleasure, and joys of the flesh.
Night after night, whenever duty and weather permitted, Martin had stood here. Had the priests witnessed his silent vows of revenge?
Dmitri inclined his head ever so slightly. “Good eve to you, Martin.”
“Good eve, Father Dmitri.” Martin bowed low. How odd for the houses of worship to face each other.
Only after Dmitri faded from sight behind a door did Martin recall the creature’s words,“He wants you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Martinshimmiedoutofhis gore-splattered trousers and threw them into a corner. One of the housemaids would surely wrinkle her nose in distaste, as he’d done when dealing with the aftermath of his initial kill on his own. Though most couldn’t see the creatures, they saw the mess and smelled the stench left behind.
He didn’t envy those assigned to privy duty or cleaning but provided the custodians with extra coins for their trouble.
Coins most sincerely earned.
The maids smiled, took the offering, and never spoke of the matter again. The green slime on Martin’s clothing bore no resemblance to their own red blood anyway. Invisibility worked on the creatures, it seemed, but not on their spilled blood.
He dampened a cloth in a basin and sponged off sweat and grime with lavender-scented water. Once clean, he selected brown hide trousers. The shirt he chose, of homespun blue linen, matched his eyes. Or so the seamstress who’d altered the garment for him said. No black clothing for him tonight, not when dressing to impress. Finer clothes in the chest at the foot of his bed and official guard uniforms awaited his duties to the high city. Still, mingling with the common folk meant blending in.
Martin tied his hair back with a leather cord. Dressed this way, he’d seem pretty ordinary among laborers and dockworkers who regularly dealt with visitors from many lands, even with his blond hair and blue eyes. At least he’d lost the nasal twang of a mountain accent.
In the upper city, particularly near the temple, no amount of money or finery would make any see him as an equal, except for Cere, likely not the shrewdest of individuals but likable all the same.
The Lady denied her servants only desires bringing harm—except to mages—or actions compromising her tenets of indulgence. In the shining temple her servants ate, drank, and indulged in pleasures of the flesh.
Martin rarely met her elite, the Chosen who hunted mages or delivered her word to the lesser folk.
Everyone was lesser to the temple dwellers.
People in the lower city worked hard days for clothes on their backs and food in their mouths. But street children pretty enough to attract the attention of her followers often found their station in life vastly improved, though Martin would have hidden from anyone sent by the Lady.
