The Eye Of God Part 16

The matching gloves hugged his hand and the material pulled at his knuckles and pinched the skin between his fingers. He made a fist, and nodded his satisfaction when the glove didn't tear.

Without a mirror, he wasn't certain if the yellow flour dusted in his hair paled it enough to pa.s.s for a Citizen's hue. He hesitated. The Speech to set the colora"at least for a whilea"stuck in his throat. It'd only last a few hours, but by the time it faded, he hoped it'd be night, and no one would notice his dark hair.

He shook his head. Doubt nagged at him. If he made even one mistake, his crimes would be so plentiful that it wouldn't matter if he was an escaped slave or not, he'd be killed without question. As though accepting the risks he took, his slave collar remained cool around his throat.

He took off the glove and reached up to touch his powder-encrusted hair. "All things change. Not even the roses of the Garden bloom forever in the same way; ask not how to avoid change, but how to accept it in a manner pleasing to G.o.d," he Spoke in a whisper. Turning from the crate of clothes, he bowed down and ran his hand through his hair.

The dust that fell away was no longer golden, but a pale gray. Whispering another verse of scripture, he cleaned the powder from his clothing.

It didn't take Terin long to find a pair of boots. With his heart pounding a frantic beat in his chest, he put the crates back as he'd found them, draped the canvas back over them, and hurried to peer out the window. The alley was empty. Taking off the gloves and shoving them in his pocket so they wouldn't get damaged, he climbed out of the building, pausing long enough to check his clothes for dust one final time, before walking in the opposite direction of the guard post.

Fear held him in a chilly grip, tightening his throat until he struggled to breathe. Adopting the hurried stride of a Citizen, he emerged from the alley and slipped into the steady stream of people. He slipped his hands in his pockets, took out the gloves, and put them on to hide his scars.

No one paid Terin any attention at all, and he lifted his chin so he wouldn't duck his head low. Instead of watching legs, he was forced to stare at faces. While there were slaves on the street, usually in the company of at least one Citizen, most of the people around him were paled-hair with blue or brown eyes, and he s.h.i.+vered each time someone met his gaze. They didn't stare at him long. Each time, they'd nod their head in greeting, and he returned the gesture. Some noticed Terin's eyes, and they smiled at him.

It left a sour taste in his mouth, but Terin forced himself to smile like the Citizens did.

A group of men in the gray coats of the military marched down the street. Terin jerked when one of them barked an order at those in their path. The Citizens scattered from their path, and when the group came toward him, Terin mimicked them. The cl.u.s.ter of men and women absorbed him, crowding against him and shoving him closer to the two-storied shops lining the street.

They pa.s.sed by without another word or glance. Like those around him, Terin watched them go.

"That's the fifth patrol I've seen today," one of the women muttered. Terin glanced at her. Old enough where wrinkles marked the edges of her eyes, the Citizen, like him, wore green. It turned her skin a sickly yellow.

The group didn't disperse, and trapped among them, Terin didn't dare push his way through to escape into the emptied street.

"As if anyone would be stupid enough to carry that out in the open after going through all of the work of stealing it," a man replied. Terin glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. The Citizen's blue eyes focused on the woman. He was middle-aged, with a stomach so swollen it struggled to break free from the confines of his coat. The first signs of gray marred his neatly trimmed beard. "I don't think it's been stolen at all. He's just looking for an excuse to do another purge. It's been at least a few years since the last one."

"Again? A few years or not, it's so much work to update the records of the slaves," the woman whined.

Terin stiffened. He wasn't certain what a purge was, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. A hand clapped him on the back and the breath he held rushed out of his lungs.

"It's not that bad, boy," the fat man said before letting out a booming laugh. "From your expression, you must've just gotten your first slaves? Good for you! They'll open the registry for a full week. All you have to do is bring your papers of owners.h.i.+p, and they'll give you everything you need to pa.s.s the inspections."

Terin's heart pounded in his throat, and he ducked his head in a nod. "Thank you," he mumbled, hating himself for playing along with the Citizen's a.s.sumption.

The collar didn't care he'd lied to a Citizen.

"Don't tell anyone I told you this," the woman said, shuffling through the crowd to look Terin in the eye. "You can just toss the ones you don't want right off the cliff. They don't care if you've more paps than slaves, not during a purge."

A few of the Citizens chuckled. "She's right," another woman called out. "Don't keep the disobedient ones during a purge. Get rid of them and be done with it."

"Thank you," Terin replied, surprised at the strength in his voice. All he wanted to do was slink away and escape from the crowd.

"If you haven't gotten a pleasure slave yet, now is the time to get one," the fat man rumbled before barking his laughter. Terin wasn't the only one to stare at the man with raised brows. "Just pretend like the inspectors are the Emperor, and you'll be fine. Offer hima"or hera"your pleasure slave for an hour, and they might not even check your paps. Better get two slaves, just to make certain you have something they like."

The older woman scoffed and put her hands on her hips. "Don't you be filling this boy's head with your nonsense! Anyway, it'll be harder to get rid of slaves now, with the new rules and all." She shook her head, and her sigh was echoed by several others in the crowd. "Complete nonsense, I tell you."

"I know. A runner woke me up this morning just to tell me escaped slaves had to be claimed from the Imperials," a wheezed voice muttered in the silence following the woman's outburst. "Can't just claim one ran and have them killed off or taken to the Arena anymore. The nerve of it all."

The crowd broke into conversation, and they shouted in the effort to talk over each other. Terin backed away and hurried down the street before anyone could stop him. He s.h.i.+vered, looked over his shoulder at the group still cl.u.s.tered in front of a shop, and turned the corner. He didn't stop until he came across a quieter street.

A marble statue wearing a dark blue gown stared at him through the gla.s.s of a shop tucked between two columned buildings. White stones glittered on the fabric, giving it the appearance of stars in a night sky. He took deep breaths until his chest didn't ache from his anxiety.

Zurach hadn't lied. The thought rooted Terin in place.

"The dress one does like, yes? For one's mother? Perhaps sister?" A woman stepped out from the darkened doorway of the shop until she stood at his side. Dark hair framed her pale face, bringing out the dark green of her eyes. A silver collar circled her throat.

Uncertain of whether or not it was appropriate to talk to the slave tending the shop, Terin settled on a nod. The woman stared at him expectantly. "It's beautiful," Terin muttered, hoping his puzzlement of her thick accent and her presence at his side didn't come out in his tone. "Well made."

"Put there, one did, for admiring. If the dress one does like, bring your custom to Aria, you do?"

Terin struggled to make sense of what the woman was trying to say to him. When he figured it out, he didn't have to force a smile. She tilted her head to the side with a faint frown, and he wondered just what it was she saw in his expression. "Good day," he muttered, careful not to bow his head.

The woman curtsied to him. "A pleasant day to you, Citizen."

Terin hesitated, shook his head at his foolishness, and walked down the street. This time, he was careful to avoid halting for too long, staring at the goods of any shop.

Uncertain of where to go, uncertain of why he didn't turn around and offer himself up to the military, uncertain of whether or not he wanted to learn the truth of the purge, he wandered.

Even when lost in his thoughts, he couldn't tear himself away from wondering what the Emperor had lost that was so important, or why it frightened him even more than the thought of being found by Zurach or his master.

Ash clung to Blaise's legs, staining his coat and trousers the shade of charcoal. Clouds of it billowed around him, swirling upward before settling to the stone once more. By the time he circled the room once, his coat was black with soot.

He wrinkled his nose and stared down at his sooty sleeves. Lifting the stained fabric to his nose, he took a deep breath. The perfume of G.o.d's Garden clung to him, erasing all but the faintest hint of charred flesh and hair. He paced across the sanctuary once more, hunting for the source of destruction, but without so much as a sc.r.a.p of cloth remaining, it was a pointless gesture. He did it anyway.

If anyone had entered the room, their scent was long gone, masked by the ash that rose up in his wake. He spun to face the dais. Steward Volas's body remained in state, untouched, undisturbed, with his unhappy smile fixed in place. Blaise climbed the steps and stared down at the man's face before perching on the edge of the marble altar. The Gates to G.o.d's Garden s.h.i.+mmered in the air. The soot caking Blaise sparkled in the divine light.

"I suppose it's too much to ask for you to reconsider your death," Blaise muttered, bracing against one hand while he stared down at the body beside him. "I think we could all use a little of your humor right now, not that most of those fools would understand it." He tilted his head to the side and waited. "No?"

Silence answered him.

"Didn't think so. This is a hunt I don't think I'll give up easily. When whoever did this makes a mistake, I'll be waiting. I've many things to say, and none of them are nice. I bet you don't believe that, do you? You were always saying how kind I am. How considerate. How dutiful. Well, I'm not nice, and I'm not really all that considerate, either. I'm just good at hiding the truth of it. Practice, you know."

Once again, the silence answered him. Blaise laughed, and the hollow sound echoed in the vast, empty sanctuary. "It's times like this when I wonder if Lucin was cast down as the Hand of G.o.d so that G.o.d wouldn't be tempted to be rid of your kind in a fit of frustration."

Blaise reached out and brushed aside the old man's hair so that it fell across his brow instead of over his closed eyes. "I'm tired, Volas. I envy you and your kind. You lose track of the years. In your next life, you won't remember them. You don't know the sad truth about how the past will repeat itself because that's just the nature of your kind. Here I am, watching it start anew, and remembering all of the times I've watched it before. Here I am, yet again, unable to change a thing. I'm tired of watching. I think you'd laugh, if you knew all of this."

A smile tugged at the corner of Blaise's lips; it was an echo of the dead man's expression. "I think you knew you wouldn't see these days, and you regretted it. That'd be like you. What a remarkable human you were. I wonder if you're aware of this from the other side. Don't think too poorly of me if you do."

Shaking his head, Blaise turned to stare over the ash-covered sanctuary. "I'm not supposed to interfere, you know," he whispered, soft enough his words didn't echo in the open s.p.a.ce. "This time, I might make an exception. I can't promise anything, of course, but no one deserves this. I wonder if G.o.d opened the Gates and made you return to his Garden just so you wouldn't bear witness to what is to come. That'd be like Him."

Blaise turned back to the steward's body. "I wish I could say I would see you again, but I doubt that's the case. He isn't all that forgiving about some things, and forever is a long time. You probably won't appreciate that. Dead is dead, and no one is supposed to tamper with that." Smothering his smile, he glanced out of the corner of his eye at the sanctuary. "Staying around won't do any of you any good."

The weight of countless eyes crashed down on Blaise's shoulders. He lifted his head and endured the scrutiny of the lingering spirits clinging to the ash scattered in the room. The existence of the powder proved they'd once been people. Not even his eyes could see them, but the chill of their presence turned his breath white.

Sweeping out an arm to gesture at the spirits lingering in the sanctuary, Blaise hoped they understood his words were meant for all of them. "It's not a bad place, you know. Not what you're expecting, I'm certain, but it isn't bad. You'll have to trust me on that one, though. Were you waiting for a prayer? I suspect so. Do you really need one? You haven't been forsaken. The way is open to you. I won't forget what's happened here."

Blaise sighed, bowed his head, and reached out to touch Volas's brow. "You'd vouch for me, wouldn't you? When I give my word, I keep it. I don't give my worda"or swear on His namea"often, but when I do, I mean it. I don't forget. I can't. It's not in my nature. I've seen your faces. All of your faces. I feel you watching me. You won't find rest here. But, still, if a prayer is what you want, I can give you that much. After all, I did say I'd do it."

The sense of being watched didn't ease. Clasping his hands on his lap, Blaise drew in a deep breath of the Garden's infinite roses.

He closed his eyes. Was His gaze on him as well? Blaise doubted it; he'd fallen out of grace long ago.

"May G.o.d guide your souls to His Garden, so you might bloom beneath the light of the endless sun," Blaise Spoke. He gestured to the Gates. Without turning to face the spirits in the sanctuary, Blaise placed his palm on Volas's still chest. "You too, old friend."

Wind slammed down on Blaise from above before easing to a breeze. It tugged at his coat, and he rose to his feet, opening his eyes. The ash rose from the floor, blackening the air. Light s.h.i.+mmered in the darkness before exploding outward in a flash so bright Blaise hissed and s.h.i.+elded his eyes with his arm.

Within him, Aurora's song twisted into a cry of longing, her chill bursting into the flame of pa.s.sion and desire. Tears stung Blaise's eyes and he closed them once more.

"It's not time for you yet," he whispered, touching his hand to his chest. Part of him longed for the day he could say "us", where he might once again see what haunted his memories, but he swallowed back his own desire for Aurora's sake.

She quieted.

When Blaise opened his eyes, the sanctuary gleamed; the stone and wood were scoured clean, leaving behind no trace of those who no longer lived. Beside him, Volas's body remained, but the man's smile lingered, and in it, Blaise saw the glory of G.o.d's Garden.

Chapter 9.

Blaise cracked open one of the sanctuary doors and peered through at the two men guarding the only way out of the chamber. They stood at attention, and the tang of fear tickled Blaise's nose and roused his hunger. Closing it in silence, he swallowed once, stepped back, and considered his next move.

With no reason to doubt General Horthoes's sincerity, Blaise was left with no choice but to accept the Archbishop's betrayala"and admire the old man's ingenuity and trickery. The reason Alphege would betray his duty to G.o.d eluded Blaise, but the thought of spying on the human who was supposed to be G.o.d's favorite mortal soured his appet.i.te.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. Instead of pursuing the fallen Archbishop, another option was open to him. He could go on a true hunt, the kind he hadn't enjoyed for hundreds of years. The slave boy, chosen by Lucin, would give Blaise all of the leverage he needed against the Emperor. It'd let him meddle, however indirectly.

The existence of a second, cunning prey waited for him. Catsu would ensure Blaise wouldn't grow bored with the hunt. Had the man known the slave boy was special, that Terin held a power capable of shattering the Empire?

Blaise frowned. Through Terin, Lucin's reign of terror and destruction would once again mar human history. Without the Eye of G.o.d to counter the Hand, without Mikael's presence to refocus Lucin's rage, Blaise doubted much would remain of the Erelith Empire.

Little more than ruins remained of the Empires who had possessed the Hand before the founding of Erelith.

At least the Eye of G.o.d destroyed flesh instead of the essence of a soul. Blaise sighed. If he had meddled the last time, instead of bearing silent witness and doing nothing, could he have changed things?

Could he had saved the many mortals caught in the jealous feuding between Lucin and Mikael over the once-mortal Aurora? Neither of them had listened to Blaise before their exile from G.o.d's Garden.

Blaise doubted the pa.s.sage of thousands of years made any difference. The brothers had desired Aurora. They hadn't been willing to listen to him then.

It wasn't his affections they wanted.

Instead of waiting for them to learn through the long pa.s.sage of the years, Blaise should've taught them the futility of loving something eternal. If he had done that, the Hand, the Eye, and the Heart of G.o.d would never have been created or cast down from the Garden. How could they have known, with so few centuries behind them, that it'd only be a matter of time before they grew bored of one anothera"and of her? If he had taught them what forever truly meant, they wouldn't have been lost to him.

If G.o.d's Daughter hadn't been born a mortal, she wouldn't have roused the desires of the two divines who had destroyed her soul, leaving nothing more than a mere fragment behind.

While Aurora remained silent, the heat of her desire still burned in Blaise chest.

His mouth twisted into a grimace as his thoughts returned to the green-eyed boy. The name was an irony, and it was a word he hadn't heard for many years. Had General Horthoe known Terin meant beloved when he had named the boy? Blaise doubted it. He could count the number of people who knew the old language on one hand.

Still, it was a strange name to give to a slave, even if by accident.

"I'm tired," he complained, glancing down at Volas. "We had that much in common, didn't we?"

The steward didn't reply, and Blaise shook his head at his foolishness. This time, he wouldn't just watch. This time, he wouldn't make the same mistake.

He couldn't salvage Aurora's soul, but maybe he could save the soul of one mortal slave.

"Aurora," he whispered, calling out the spirit within him. The heat of her pa.s.sion ebbed, but it didn't die away completely. "You can't hide this time. Don't you think it's time for you to watch them, even though it hurts? Watch and acknowledge everything they did was for you."

Blaise turned to face the altar, backing away until he stood at the edge of the dais. The Gates to the Garden remained, but he couldn't see through them to what lay beyond. A curtain of red, blue, and green light s.h.i.+mmered in the air.

"I'm not going to apologize," he whispered. "I'm not sorry. I gave my word. My promise. Your Daughter can't stay here." Lifting his hand, he balled it in a fist and struck his chest. "I gave my bone once. I'll do it again, and again, and again, if I must. But you have to give her something, too. You broke my bone and shattered your tears, didn't you? You wept for her once, didn't you?"

Blaise opened his mouth to continue speaking, but he couldn't force any words out. The tightness in his chest rose into his throat and cut off his breath. Something hot and wet streaked down his cheek to drip from his chin. With a shaking hand, he peeled off the glove from his right hand and touched his face.

His tears fell, and he was powerless to stop them.

Lowering his hand, he clenched his fingers into a fist. "Someone needs to watch and bear witness. Not me. That's why you wanted her for your Garden in the first place, wasn't it? She needs to do thisa"what's left of her needs to do this."

Blaise held out his fist. The crimson of his tears stained his fingers. "I'm going to help them. No one else will. I'm tired of watching mortals die, over and over again, just so you can have your foolish punishment meted out. Maybe your punishments don't end early. Forever is a long time. If I'm devoured as a result of it? Well, I can accept that. You warned me you'd have no tears for me. Well, I don't want them. Aurora can't come where I mean to go. Either take her back to your Garden and finish what Lucin started, or give her a vessel. I can't keep her."

A cold wind gusted from the Gates and froze the tears on his cheeks and hand. With the crackle of forming ice, they fell from him and clattered to the floor, scattered over the dais, glittering with the beauty of cut rubies.

Before he could stoop to examine them, a cyclone descended over him, the strength of it sucking the breath from him. His feet left the ground. Light poured out of the Gates and washed over him.

Aurora's presence clung to him; the cold of her terror ripped at his chest. Her grip faltered and she was swept away from him, like she was a wave struggling to stay on the sh.o.r.e but unable to fight the outgoing tide.

The winds stilled and Blaise's feet slapped against the stone. His knees buckled, and he hit the floor hard. The thud of the Gates closing echoed in the room. When the last glow of its presence dimmed, the sanctuary was still and silent.

He rubbed at his eyes. Volas's body was gone.

In its place was the Heart of G.o.d, and Blaise's bone sang out to him, pleading to be reunited with him once again.

Terin escaped the press of people by wandering the promenade, pretending he wanted to be there when all he desired was somewhere quiet to be alone. Mimicking the Citizens around him, he leaned against the iron rail and stared out over the neighboring mountains to the west. Ribbons of red and gold lit a towering column of white clouds fringing where the sky faded to the indigo of night. The promise of an evening storm blew over the plateau, cold and heavy with rain.

One by one, the men and women watching the sunset retreated from the promenade. When the first flashes of lightning streaked across the horizon, the rest fled. Terin pushed away from the rail, walking along the fence, pretending to follow the lead of the others. Instead of heading into the city, he skirted the cliff's edge until he found a spot to watch the encroaching storm in solitude.

Zurach hadn't lied to him. The man's superior tone and expression haunted Terin. The memory of the Citizen's words chilled him more than the wind. The first drops of rain splattered against his face and sent s.h.i.+vers running through him.

Zurach hadn't lied to him. Terin's master wanted him back, but for what reason? Why?