Veiled Innocence (Book One, The Soul Cycle) (8 page)

Fine paintings and statues, no doubt pilfered,
to the God of Death littered the walls, making the tiny space seem even more minuscule.

These peo
ple weren’t just common thieves; t
hey were a Death Cult. She frowned. Her informant had neglected that part. She had
,
of course
,
heard of them; He
,
in particular
,
tended to think they were rather humorous. The cults were sparse, conducting sacrificial rituals only at night in the pits of the earth. To become a member, one had to drink from the Goblet of Mortality, filled with the still-warm blood of the most recent acquisition, sometimes animal, sometimes human.

She turned her face into a mask of wonder as she gazed about the room, as if it was the grandest spectacle she had ever seen.

Scantily clad women roamed from man to man, glaring at her as she passed. All of the patrons wore black, as if they were in mourning.
So predictable, these mortals. Was I the same way?
There were other colors
in the Underworld besides black.
M
any
of these colors
mortal eyes had never seen before,
and she thought of scolding them for their unoriginality.

At the far end of the room sat a muscular bald man who looked to be in his late thirties. His aura was icy blue, so bright it nearly hurt her eyes. Vishka tasted his spirit, picking up a bitter mix of cruelty, pride, and ruthlessness. He was attractive in an enticing, dangerous sort of way, with a trimmed goatee and sharp blue eyes. Hoops and studs lined his ears, and his clothes were by far the finest in the room. He surveyed his surroundings like a king watching his court.

She instantly knew who he was.
Gerard.

As if hearing her thoughts, Gerard’s eyes flickered over her and paused, a wide grin slowly spreading over his full lips. “I see you’ve brought me a gift, Malachai.”

The guard, Malachai,
kneeled
on the rug before Gerard
,
and Vishka promptly followed suit. “The dancer you sent for, my liege…?” He looked expectantly at her. 

“Solera,” she said, using the first
name
that came to mind. All the more fitting if it was the name of the Goddess of Darkness.

Gerard made a deep rumbling sound in his throat that might have been laughter. “Solera, huh? Let’s have a look at you then, Goddess of the Night.” He leaned over and carefully lifted her chin with his index finger. He smelled of spices.

She looked him straight in the eyes. They were an even brighter blue than she thought, crystalline and fierce. Her pulse quickened.
About time I had a challenge.

Gerard mistook the mirth in her eyes for desire. Pulling her closer, he buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. “Mmmm… like wild flowers… you are an exquisite find, indeed,” he murmured, trailing his free hand along the small of her back. 

She gritted her teeth
but was careful not to tense or pull back at his touch. 

Gerard chuckled and straightened back into his chair, letting his hands drop at the last instant.  Malachai sat up, keeping his eyes on the floor. 

“Well, I suppose we should let you do what you came here to do,” Gerard said, not bothering to hide his impatience. He sighed and relaxed into his chair. “Business before pleasure, I suppose.” He licked his lips.

Vishka suppressed a shudder and pasted a smile on her face.
  “The pleasure’s all mine, my L
ord,” she said, bowing once more before standing. 

Gerard watched her rise. She imagined him peeling away the layers of gauze with his eyes. “It’s been ages since we’ve had a dancer…” he murmured. “Erebus will be most pleased.” He looked shrewdly at Malachai. “Clear the floor for our guest.”

“Yes, my liege,” Malachai said, bowing. He stood and sauntered into the crowd. Cries of protest rang up from the patrons as he pushed them out of the way. Some were so drunk they fell completely over, sloshing their drink all over the floor.

Vishka watched all of this unfold from the corners of her eyes. Perhaps they spiked the blood to dull the taste, or at least for the few who showed any initial aversion to drinking it.     

Within minutes
the tables were
moved to make a small circle barely large enough for her to move around in comfortably. She had danced in far grander halls than the pit she was about to perform in, but she could adjust.  

Gerard clasped his hands, held them up, and then parted them. His underlings must have been accustomed to this command, for they parted, leaving him a tunnel through which to see from his chair. 

She took that as her cue. She walked to the center of the “dance floor” and gave Gerard another low curtsy. 

Malachai hovered at the edge of the crowd, in case things got out of hand, she supposed. “We present tonight’s tribute, an exotic beauty from the darkest corner of the Black Desert.”

She res
isted the urge to roll her eyes
and mentally prepped herself for the first downbeat. 

“With this tribute, may Erebus give us His blessing and protection from death. Without further ado, I give you… Solera!”

The room erupted into applaus
e and cheers as the musicians,
who seemed to hav
e materialized out of nowhere,
struck up a fast paced gigue. 

She immediately picked up the pulse. Music had been revered in Stradvär, and she had been one of the best singers and dancers in the Empire. She twirled and spun, letting her body swing to the exotic melody in long, sensual moves. Her legs jerked and stretched
beneath the slits of her dress;
the silver bracelets o
n her wrists and ankles jangled
with each bound. She tossed her hair about, drawing attention to the revealing neckline. 

As she swirled and ducked to the dizzying pulse, the men grew rowdier, cheering and whistling as she spun past them. The music came to a climax
,
and she twirled onto Gerard’s lap, wrapping one arm aroun
d his neck for support
and
bending
into a dramatic pose on the last chord. 

When the music ceased, the silence was swallowed by thunderous applause and whistles as she hopped up from his lap to bow. The women barely clapped. They scowled at her as the men howled their approval.

Slow, deliberate clapping from behind her pulled her attention from the crowd. When she turned, Gerard was standing there, looking very smug. “Bravo,” he said, extending his hand. She took it, and he brought her hand to his lips. “I wonder what other moves you have,” he whispered, laying her hand across the fold of his elbow. “Come.”

She knew what was coming next, what he expected of her. She w
ould never let him get that far
,
but she smiled anyway, flirting casually with him as he led her through the crowd. She noticed
whenever he bumped into someone
his hand would disappear for a second and emerge holding jewelry or sacks of coins. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Quite a lucrative business you run down here.”

Gerard beamed at her as if she had given him a compliment. “You’re very observant for a simple dancer. Perhaps you have talents in the sleight of hand yourself?” He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, and she almost cringed.

She nodded and tried to appear humble. “I have talents, though none as impressive as yours. I was so excited when I received your invitation.
” An invitation she had paid her informant
handsomely to secure.
“
You’re as wise as you are powerful, with spies around every corner, even in the palace itself I’m told.” This was it, the lead she had been waiting
for
her entire life. She had cast her line; now she had to see if he would take the bait.

Gerard came to an abrupt halt. His face hardened as he studied hers meticulously in
silence.  “The palace, you say.
No one should know of this save for myself and those within my network. How did a whore come about such information?” His muscles tensed, and his grip threatened to crush her fingers. 

Her mind reeled.
I spoke too soon!

She shrugged, trying to play it
off as if it were nothing. “My L
ord, rumors can be exaggerated sometimes. All I know are simple stories.” She held his gaze, not daring to look away.

Gerard sear
ched her eyes, and for a moment
she saw longing and regret. He sighed and shook his head. “You don’t understand. When you’ve worked so hard to build something up, something that’s completely yours, you have to fight every day to keep it. And I’m afraid, my pet, my secrets must remain precisely that. Secrets.” He let go of her hand and stepped away from her. The revelry died down as everyone turned to stare.

“It’s such a shame, really. I was thinking we would have a beautiful thing tonight,” Gerard said. “However, you’ve left me with no choice. Th
ere’s simply too much at risk, a
nd the less you know, the better for me.” His eyes roved her body one last time. “Such a shame. At least you won’t go completely to waste.
Blood always tastes best when taken straight from the source,” he added with an icicle smile.

He motioned someone forward, and the crowd parted as Malachai, sword drawn, stalked past Gerard to kill her.

Sacrifice

IT SETTLED ON VISHKA
too late, a revelation she should have had when she discovered the true identity of Gerard’s underground cult, and she silently scolded herself.

She vaguely recalled Malachai’s words, too consumed by her bloodlust for Gerard to have paid much attention at the time. “
With this tribute, may Erebus give us His blessing and protection from death.”

Tribute.
She was to be a sacrifice.

Vishka studied Malachai as he approached. The look on his face was stony, devoid of remorse or any second thoughts to the task demanded of him.

The pupils of her eyes narrowed to vertical slits, like a cat’s, as their color shifted from brown to deep red. Her pulse raced through her arms, every nerve on edge, and the beat of Malachai’s heart grew louder with each step he took toward her, sending bands of swollen red light through the air only she could see. 

The silence in the room was palpable. Having a clear shot, Malachai swung his sword toward her throat, but he was much too slow. 

She
dropped to the ground and kicked his legs out from under him, yanking the sword from his hand when he hit the floor. Before he could react, she stabbed him through the heart with practiced precision. Within seconds, his body went limp
,
and his eyes drained of their shock.

Women screamed
,
and the men fumbled for their weapons, having long lost control over their bodies to intoxication.

She
snaked through the crowd like a poisonous shadow, soundlessly and quickly killing them all before they knew what was happening. Within a few minutes, the room was full of
corpses
. Orbs of light drifted up from the
ir empty bodies –
or as folk of the Underworld call
ed them, “Shells
”
–
floating away into nothing as the darkness absorbed them and welcomed them home. 

Everyone was dead. All but Gerard, who cowered like a frightened child behind his throne.

She
walked toward him and kicked the chair out of the way. It crashed into the wall, exploding on impact.

He shrieked and held his arms above his head. “What are you?” 

She ignored him and threw the sword to the ground.
Reaching
around
to
her hip, where a jeweled sheath had materialized,
she
pulled out a long black saber with a single red stone encrusted in the hilt. Gerard’s eyes flickered to the stone, and the color drained from his face.

“That stone… The stories… They were just supposed to be stories!” His eyes grew rounder as his voice rose in hysteria. “You’re the thing that killed all those men in Skala! Curse you!”

“Enough!
”

Gerard flinched and shrank away from her. 

“Is it true then, that you have spies in the palace?”

His old arrogance slipped into place. “Guess you’re more than a whore after all.”

She ignored the barb. “I’m on a mission. I’m led to believe my bounty has taken residence here in the capital. Will you help me or not? Your very life may depend on it.” She raked the tip of her saber across his glistening neck, and he swallowed hard.

“What do you want to know?” he said, managing to keep his voice even.

“There’s a dark haired man who I’m told passed through here not several months past, a man of rank no doubt. Do you know of whom I speak?”