Born Of Fire And Darkness (Book 2) (8 page)

They never spoke about what they’d faced together, of the deaths and pain, how they felt, what they hoped for, what they feared. She’d made it clear that talk of the past was off-limits. The wounds were still too raw and painful for her. He wished she could open up but he didn’t want to force his desires on her, so he respected her silence.

After ten days of hard travel, they arrived in Durjin one evening, their carriage taking them through the city to an inn where they would stay as the emperor’s guests. The servant who had accompanied them unloaded their trunks and sent a message to the palace announcing their arrival.

Korbin feared they might be kept waiting for days or even weeks. The emperor had a reputation for reclusiveness, and even though he’d been the one to send for them, Korbin understood the often unpredictable nature of powerful men. His father had been one such man, probably still was. Graiphen would often call a lower-ranked person, even another Dul, demanding to see him immediately, only to keep the man waiting half the day.

Korbin was surprised, then, that the next morning when he and Octavia sat in the inn’s dining hall over breakfast of smoked ham and prune compote, an imperial messenger interrupted their meal with a reply from the palace. Korbin read the scroll before handing it to Octavia.

“After lunch? He plans to keep us waiting all morning?” she asked.

Korbin suppressed a smile. “Perhaps he wanted to allow time to rest and refresh ourselves.”

“I don’t need rest.” Irritation bled through her voice. “We hurried on the road because I want to speak to him as soon as possible. If we meet this morning, perhaps we can begin our return journey at once.”

“Perhaps,” Korbin said. “I suspect we will be expected to stay at least a short while as the emperor’s guests. It’s been a long journey. Aren’t you tired? I know I am.”

“I’m needed in Vol,” she said, her tone irritated and insistent.

“I know.” He wanted to touch her hand, but didn’t.

Although he understood her impatience to see the emperor and return to her life in Vol, he was glad for the morning’s respite. His body ached after being cooped up for so many days and he longed to stretch and relax a while. After breakfast, he went for a walk in the city. Octavia declined to join him, which was no surprise. He suspected she was tiring of his presence and of constantly avoiding the unpleasant memories this journey forced her to face.

Durjin was an immense city, four times the size of Vol, at least. More crowded, too, with houses towering four or five stories into the air. The roads wound and twisted, and the area was hillier than he’d expected. The more elevated a district’s position, the richer the inhabitants. The emperor’s palace sat atop the highest hill overlooking the city. The spires of some of its taller points could be seen over the walls that encompassed it, even from the merchant quarter of the city. Fashioned of brilliant white stones, it shone like a beacon in the morning sun.

Around the palace, twisting roads with manor houses and expensive shops covered the hillside. About halfway up was the inn where Octavia and Korbin had spent the previous night. He was a minor Dul himself, so normally he would have been housed somewhere at the bottom of the hill, perhaps near the temple complex. But he was the guest of the emperor, so that meant he warranted a better place.

Octavia had voiced both surprise and relief that they weren’t expected to stay at the palace. Even the inn that had been chosen for them was too rich for her taste. No doubt someone had spent some time evaluating the implications of every detail of the visit to be sure Korbin and Octavia were honored the right amount, but not too much. It was the kind of nonsense Korbin hated about the senate and being of noble birth in general. The longing to return to the simple life on Chelotti Strand nearly overwhelmed him again as he wandered the cobbled streets.

In one shop window, a long sash caught his eye. He thought it would suit Octavia, her olive skin and lovely dark eyes. On impulse, he bought it. The shopkeeper offered to wrap it in a manner “the Dula would find pleasing” and deliver the purchase to Korbin’s inn, but Korbin declined and took the parcel with him.

Lost in thought, Korbin kept walking, carrying his package and wondering if Octavia would like the gift or think him presumptuous. The road wound down toward the city, and he took one turn, then another, paying little mind to the direction he took. A half-hour later, he found himself down at the temple square. Eight spired buildings loomed overhead, and Korbin stood a moment, staring.

He stepped back, then laughed at himself when he realized he was actually worried about running into his father. They hadn’t spoken in many months, not since he and Graiphen had met the emperor together, unmasking Seba as a dark conduit. Only then did Korbin realize he hoped he wouldn’t have to encounter his father on this journey, but avoiding him might not be possible.

Octavia obviously felt the same way, and Korbin wasn’t convinced she was prepared to confront the man, either. Her evident fragility surprised him, considering that their time spent together before had revealed her to be fearless. Something had changed. She’d never spoken about what was done to her at the temple of Braetin while he and Graiphen had confronted Seba. Korbin didn’t want to imagine. He kept picturing the way he’d found her, lying on the stone floor, cold, pale, motionless.

Retracing his steps, he moved away from the temple complex and headed back up the hill to the inn where Octavia had said she would be waiting for him.

When he walked up the glistening steps of the small but elegant establishment, he caught a glimpse of her through the window. She sat in the dining room, speaking with one of the serving girls. She looked tired, but had an expression of firm determination that made him smile. Her fortitude was one of the many things he liked about her.

He went inside to meet her. When she saw him, a flicker of impatience showed on her face, but it disappeared quickly and she smiled. “How was your walk?”

“Good,” he said. “I barely recognize parts of the district. I was a child the last time I was here, so my memories are unreliable.” He placed the package in front of her. “I found something that reminded me of you.”

She threw him a questioning look. “You bought me a gift?”

He shrugged.

“Thank you,” she said, looking flustered. With her small, delicate fingers, she carefully picked the wrapping apart. When she pulled out the long scarf, she ran her hand over the soft material. “It’s beautiful.”

“You gave me your scarf one time. I don’t think I ever returned it.” That day had been bitterly cold, and that scarf had been a woolen one. He’d used it to cover his features and hide the blood talisman she’d given him to protect him from magical attack the day his father had killed a dozen people in Centennial Square.

She paled, and he knew she was recalling the day as well. Why had he brought that up? Why, when she’d so carefully avoided painful topics during their entire journey? He inwardly berated himself for the slip.

This scarf was much more delicate than the one he’d borrowed from her, light enough to be worn even in warm weather. “It has a hidden pocket in the center edge with a double-fold to securely keep a small item,” he said. “You can keep your identity token in there. That’s what many ladies do. Often, sashes or belts have a small compartment.”

She put it around her neck and tied it loosely in front of her.

“Here,” he said. “It’s meant to be worn at an angle.” He reached over and tugged it to the side so the knot was just over her heart. He twisted the ends in the popular style. The color suited her, even though she wore a dress of Kilovian manner and not the latest Talmoran fashions.

“Thank you,” she repeated, touching the fabric. “It’s lovely.”

“Are you ready to go?” he said. “Or do you want to eat first? We have a little time. I have to confess, I’m not very hungry. I think seeing the temples below ruined my appetite.”

She nodded. “I don’t think I could eat a bite. Perhaps we could just go. We can eat later, before we begin the return journey this afternoon.”

“We may not be able to leave tonight,” he said gently. “I have no idea how long this will take.” He feared it would be much longer than Octavia understood.

“That’s fine. I’m eager to return home, but tomorrow morning will be soon enough.”

Korbin nodded but knew her plans were far too optimistic. He didn’t want to be the one to tell her, though.

Chapter 8

Four imperial guardsmen stopped the ornate wooden carriage that had been sent to fetch Octavia and Korbin to the palace. She fingered the scarf around her neck, trying to keep her hands moving lest they shake. Although she was, of course, worried about having left Vol and her people there in the hands of Liara, an inept, untrained young woman, the thought that occupied her mind right now was confronting Seba and Graiphen.

She supposed it was unlikely that either of them would be in attendance today. Of course they wouldn’t let a criminal like Seba anywhere near the emperor. And Graiphen, well, he’d have already made his arguments. Although logic told her she was safe, she kept remembering lying on the ground, bleeding from the thigh, surrounded by Braetin’s priests, hearing the Spirit’s wailing in her ears. She’d been bruised and battered by Graiphen’s own hands, with Seba’s dark magic thrusting and flailing all around her.

She’d slept for two months. The healers expressed their surprise that she had woken up. When she did, she felt as though she’d been someplace dark and terrifying. Always before, she’d been calm and serene, finding comfort in the presence of the One. Now, she couldn’t stop her mind from returning to the nightmares from which she woke screaming so many nights. Although she tried to meditate as before, too many times she gave up. Her work load had exploded, but her ability to do her work had evaporated. How long could she pretend that she could handle it? Had she accepted this summons from the emperor simply to hide her own fear and ineptitude?

Korbin showed a guardsman his and Octavia’s identity tokens. She wanted to cling to him, but she couldn’t let herself. Some dark fear screamed at her to hide, and only pure stubbornness kept her from bolting. Coming to Durjin only made things worse. She’d been hoping to shine some light on her fears, thinking that like the monsters of children’s dreams, they would fade with exposure. Instead, the light cast long, horrible shadows.

Why had she become like this? She’d been through hard times before. It shamed her to her core that she was cowering inside, having become someone she barely recognized. And yet, she was powerless to stop the nightmares.

The guardsman politely thanked Korbin and gave the tokens a cursory look before handing them back. Of course, they were expected and riding in the carriage the emperor had sent for them. Octavia found the scrutiny unnerving.

The guard nodded to them both. “Someone will greet you at the door, Dul, Dula, and show you where to go.”

Octavia opened her mouth to protest that she wasn’t a Dula, but he’d already stepped away and signaled to their driver to go ahead.

“Nervous?” Korbin asked as the carriage lurched forward.

“A little.” She stared out the window. Every blade of grass was immaculately groomed, each tree sculpted into a perfectly pleasing form. The carriage bore them up a winding road through a peculiarly manicured copse.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, following her gaze. “The gardens here are legendary.”

“I don’t imagine we’ll have time to see them.” She felt him watching her, detected the skepticism in his expression, but she was determined the visit would be brief. And why should it not? She would say what she came to say and be done with it. Although she was tired from their journey, she couldn’t be idle. Her people needed her. She couldn’t hide anymore. She must do better, work harder.

The deeper they went behind the walls, the more astonished Octavia was to realize they were in the center of a city. The place seemed so quiet, so private, leagues away from civilization. When the carriage stopped, a rush of servants came to open the door, to put a step down for her, to take her hand, if desired, as she descended. When she emerged from the small compartment, she felt overwhelmed, and the sensation only increased when she gazed up at the glittering white palace in front of her. It had seemed of modest size from the city down below, but standing so close, the structure loomed above her like a city in itself.

Korbin stepped down after her and acknowledged a tall man dressed in a red tunic who had just bowed to them.

“Dul Korbin, Senne Octavia,” the man said. His accent was strange, even for a Talmoran, with rounded vowels and an unfamiliar lilt. “His imperial highness begs his gentle guests greet, and bids you to enter a’ betimes. Might I show you to a place where you can attend to your comforts?”

Octavia looked at Korbin and furrowed her brow.

Korbin shook his head. “Thank you. We are eager to attend his imperial highness at his earliest convenience.”

“Of course,” the man said. He turned and walked away, and Korbin indicated they were meant to follow.

When he’d gotten a few steps ahead, she whispered to Korbin. “I have no idea what he said.”

“Just a formal welcome.” He looked as though he might hold out his arm, but stopped himself. She appreciated both the thought and the hesitation, because it mirrored the two different minds she found herself in.

“Do they all talk like this here?” She felt a flutter of worry that she wouldn’t be able to understand the strange dialect.

“No,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you at every step.”

As they walked through the lavish corridors, she stared at the vast tapestries covering many of the walls. They depicted complex scenes. A very few seemed cheerful, but mostly they were battle scenes. How strange for craftsmen to have spent what must have been countless hours to commemorate bloodshed and strife.

The paintings were nearly all portraits of angry, dour men. A few ladies were represented amongst them, however, sometimes with babes or small children. How lonely they each looked to Octavia, and she shuddered at the cold prison that wealth and power so often created.