Chapter 31
Proposition

he high priestess had requested a particular object from Orsious she believed would heal her hands. Unfortunately he was at a loss as to how to retrieve this precious item for her. Its place of keep was comparatively easy to penetrate, but those who kept it would be a difficult aspect of the task. These shadowy, immortal beings had been the first to study magic. Long ago they had been consumed by their power and now they had only their hunger for it, remaining hidden in the shadows, possessing no humanity. Their effects on the human form were limited. They could not kill a man but would rapidly deplete his power source and render him useless for the task.

Fortunately the high priestess had made a recent discovery. She had come upon a Riven. This unity of life source and power source is a potent combination. From his body is a greater pool to draw from, therefore, his strength holds up against any form of drain far longer, giving him more time to achieve his objective—but at a greater cost to himself.

“An encounter with a Shadow would kill him,” said Orsious, sitting back in the arm-chair, looking to the high priestess who stood opposite. Her expression, though severe, betrayed none of her thoughts. “He knows this. He’ll not be persuaded. I scarcely believe such an idiot exists who would.”

“There is a way,” began the high priestess, “though not always reliably effective, to break a dark ones hold.”

“I doubt he’ll be willing to risk his life on a chance—”

“It’s effective enough,” she said, vexed. “We can convince him of this and offer a reward for his efforts, and should that fail there are other ways to persuade a person to risk his life.”

A serving-maiden entered with a large tray held in her extended arms. She set down the spread and left again without a word. Orsious remained seated. He rubbed the rough grey-bristles on his chin. The high priestess began to pour the hot tea from a silver pot. He watched her as she did this. Her slender form held much strength and grace. She was a cruel creature, her every movement smooth and unnatural. He let his eyes drift up and down her. Even he felt the effects of her beauty, yet there was that in her from which every natural instinct revolts.

“Even if he should have adequate stores for the required duration,” Orsious began, doubtfully, “he still requires the skill to break down the obstruction.”

“Theron can show him, can he not?” she asked from over her shoulder without concern.

“It is certain he could, but there are other considerations to take into—”

She silenced him by slamming down the pot suddenly. “Why do you fight me on this? It’s not a task too difficult for you, is it?” said she, who had until now been rather regal and possessed, showing her displeasure savagely in a vulgar manner. “Do you not see my hands!” She tore the scarf from her wounded hand and clutched the side of his face. “If that treasure does not come into my possession, all my body shall eventually become as this!”

He seemed to shrink with the horror of it, then regained a measure of control. He caught her hand from his face. “What possesses your unnatural heart to think your god will care enough to heal you? This trinket will not appease her.”

“Is it too difficult for you?” she hissed.

“No, not too difficult,” he said, still clutching her wrist, and released her roughly.

“Good,” she said, composing herself. “Then go through with it without more bother to me.”

With trembling fingers she rebound her hand in the black scarf. He looked at those wasted hands and felt no pity. “You have done many wrongs, Astania.”

“If I have done wrong,” said she with scornful grief; “then so have you, yet it is I alone who suffer.” She turned from him with a movement of impatience. She wanted to retreat somewhere hidden from all eyes.

This was an unpleasant discourse for Orsious; he wished it ended. “Where is my daughter?” he asked, rising from his seat to depart. “I wish to see her.”

“She is set attentively upon a given task for the present,” said the high priestess, refusing his request scornfully.

“Then release her from the task and have her come to me,” he said. “I will speak with the boy later this morning.”

“As you please,” she said, following him to the door. As he was to leave, she said artfully, “We look forward to your contribution.” Slowly, she pressed her lips upon his cheek, lingering too long to be modest, and the poison that ran in her veins went into his blood and tissue, causing him some pain. He snatched his face from her contaminating kiss with a scowl. “Do not disappoint me,” she warned with whispered vehemence.

He took his leave with the impotent rage one feels when in the power of another.

Orsious spent the early half of the morning with his daughter. Her presence forgotten, she lingered in the library adjoining his study, awaiting a moment when she could take her leave in search of a particular young man whose lips had impressed warmth not only upon her lips but her heart. Magenta was adrift with languishing thoughts, perusing a bookcase for a book. From the other room she heard her father speak, but not to her. Then came a voice that sent blood to her heart and colour to her cheek. She recognized the beloved voice at once.

Orsious sat at his table. Four men had entered his study, one of whom was the dark-haired young man he sought. The other three were rangers who worked for him. He rose to his feet to greet the newcomer. “Ah, you have come, good.”

“Did I have a choice?” Deacon eyed the three men who had retrieved him. One he recognized as the man who harassed Magenta at the emporium. Fraomar stood against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. The other two stood behind Deacon as guards might stand behind a prisoner.

On the table were a loaf of bread, an earthenware dish containing butter, a cheese wedge, roast beef, and a carafe filled with wine. To these Orsious immediately turned his attention, offering the guest to partake of what he wished. He wanted to appear accommodating after such a rude summoning. Deacon stood unmoved, his attention steady on the older man, who poured himself wine. Their two wills were already strained between them.

From the other room, Magenta silently awaited their words. She felt alarmed and anxious to know what business her father had with him. She could not distinctly hear what passed between them but caught pieces enough to know Deacon was pressed with some proposition which he refused.

“I have no interest,” said Deacon again. “I don’t want any participation in a cause, feel no responsibility, and seek no advantage. Keep your coin-purse in your pocket.”

Orsious replied, “Do not make your decision in such haste. Every man has his price, not always in gold. You would not be here meddling in spell books if you did not want something. Dine with me tonight, and we can discuss it.”

“You’ll have to find another,” asserted Deacon. “I’ll be gone this day and will not come back.”

Magenta heard these words, and it was as though a cruel wind had suddenly extinguished a lamp. Only the night before he had not breathed a word about his departure.

As Deacon turned to leave, the door slammed shut before him, as if struck by some unseen force. Magenta started at the loud bang, followed by her father’s vibrating voice of authority. She rushed out to where she saw Deacon sinking under the strength of two men. After resisting only a short moment, he suddenly desisted. His eyes had caught Magenta—pale and struggling to contain her bitter disappointment.

Fraomar watched this exchange. He saw Deacon’s countenance fall, her pale lips quiver, and a realization crept bitterly upon him. Steeling himself against her, Deacon turned away his face, looking sideways, downward, to avoid her eyes. Froamar observed what passed between them, and it roused in him a fierce jealousy. In his heart he vowed he would kill the wretch at his first chance.

“Remove her,” said Orsious, motioning to his daughter.

“I’ll see her safely home,” offered Fraomar, officiously. Deacon looked over to him. Their eyes met for mere seconds, but already the two men had made enemies of one another.

Orsious approached Deacon. In the imprisonment of his captors’ hands he remained upright, his jaw defiantly firm. “We shall discuss matters further, when you’ve had time to think about them,” said Orsious, speaking from a height of conscious superiority. Deacon made no reply and was half-dragged from the room.

* * *

Moments after, Fraomar led Magenta home. His hands did not venture near her. She walked with him in silence. She wondered why Deacon had not told her of his leaving but would not harden her heart against him, not without first knowing the reason behind his actions. She thought for certain it must have been his intention to come to her if he had not been detained, but his look of guilty misery told her otherwise.

Fraomar, walking at her shoulder, broke her scrutiny, saying, “Your mind lingers on that poor fool.” Her face remained turned forward, giving no indication of her thoughts, but she listened intently. “He should have accepted Orsious’s proposal. Now he’ll suffer. If he knows what’s best for him, he’ll revise his decision. He will have time, at least, to think of it in his cell.” Fraomar laughed. “I despise the wretch,” he said, with a vindictiveness as unexpected as the declaration. At his words Magenta could scarcely suppress the outward manifestations of her wrath. “Had your father no use for him, I would cut his throat. Even now, I consider paying him a visit to let him taste what is to come.”

All the time he was speaking, her feelings of offence became more and more intense. “What purpose does it serve?” she said coolly. For a moment he spoke nothing. But when his utterance came it was with significance.

“You love him,” he said, turning to observe the effect of his words. She paused in her step, growing pale as if he now knew her guarded secret and would use it against her. Satisfied by her reaction, he continued, “While I so senselessly attempted to earn your heart, it was all the time occupied, a condition you made certain to conceal from me. Now the love you have killed has turned into rancour, and that bitterness he shall taste, till life itself becomes a punishment and a burden. He will find in me the worst of enemies,” said Fraomar with a look of implacable menace.

Magenta’s mind and heart ran hot. For a moment she was overcome, her breath coming deep and tremulous. Then she said, slowly and with perfect clarity, “Should you dare to touch him, I swear neither devils below nor angels above will save you from the misery that will befall your accursed head. I will make you feel, by the forces of hell, the full meaning of a woman’s hatred. In me you will find the worst of enemies.”

“Bravely spoken,” he said. “You have my word, sweet one; I’ll not touch him. However, you should know in places such as Gilaad it’s hard to prevent such things occurring.” He saw her eyes darken with anger, her bosom rise and fall, and knew she wanted to kill him. It gave him a peculiar satisfaction to know he induced such strong sentiments within her, even if it was to his own detriment. “Come,” he said. “Don’t stand away from me; I will take you home.”

“My home is locked away with my heart at Gilaad.” With that she left him.

Not far from the mages’ guild was an old archery courtyard. It was rarely frequented since the construction of the new court. Magenta went there sometimes. Cedrik and Derek had not seen Deacon since the men took him away earlier in the day. They were on their way home from the guild where they had gone in search of answers, but from which they had received none, when Derek glimpsed the priestess in the courtyard. He stopped, abruptly holding Cedrik back with an open palm to his stomach. Cedrik groaned with the breath knocked from him.

“Let’s ask her.” Derek nudged him hard and nodded to Magenta. In her hands she held a finely crafted bow drawn and notched with an arrow, the intensity of her concentration a little frightening. She released the arrow, very precisely and cleanly, striking the target with great accuracy. Holding his stomach, Cedrik followed Derek’s lead. She alone was there. Intently focused, she made no effort to acknowledge their presence.

Cedrik, approaching with some caution, introduced himself and Derek and told her, in the form of a question, that he believed she was acquainted with their cousin. Magenta lowered the bow. She seemed startled, as if she had been snatched from a deep reverie. “Deacon,” she said, a slight frown in her brow.

“That’s him,” said Derek. His attention was fixed on her with intense fascination. All this while he had wanted to see a dark priestess.

“Some men came this morning for him,” said Cedrik. “We haven’t seen him since, and no explanation was given to us.”

“He is being held at Gilaad,” she said, “a place of confinement for those who indulge in the misapplication of magic. Other things take place there of which I know little.”

“Why is he being held? What did he do?” said Cedrik. That it had not been the first time did not lessen his anxiety.

“He refused a proposition. No one refuses my father,” she said with resentment.

“He won’t hurt him, will he?” asked Derek.

“Your father, you say?” asked Cedrik. “I don’t suppose there’s anything you can do to sort this matter?”

“No, I fear not.”

Cedrik nodded, his mind working.

Magenta asked, “Where are you staying?”

“In one of the cottages by the lake.”

“Meet me after dark by the edge of the wood,” she said, “and I will help you retrieve your cousin.”

Cedrik was about to protest. He would rather not go against the law, but something in her expression compelled him to agree.

The moment the brothers returned to the cottage, Cade said to them, “Well, what’s happened with him, then?”

“He’s being held at Gilaad,” answered Derek.

Cade snorted. “The fool has been here for how long?” he said, amused. “Never mind. They’ll rough him a little, teach him a lesson or two, then release him back into the wild.”

“No I don’t think so,” said Cedrik. “The woman said his life was on the line.”

“What woman?”

“One of the priestesses was there.”

“A priestess!” Cade repeated, hotly. “Does no one ever listen to me? Don’t put trust in a single word she spoke. Deceit is all that can come from those lips.”

“I did not misdoubt her words,” said Cedrik, his tone serious.

“If you’re truly convinced his life’s endangered …” Cade let out a resigned breath. “I have some friends who might be able to help.”

With the calm, blind manner of one who has set her will to a task from which there is no return, Magenta took into her possession several small evil-filled vials. Setting her foot on the edge of her bed, she slipped as many of these as she could into the slots of her leather boot, meant for that purpose, and more into a band that strapped round her upper thigh. When she could carry no more she drew down the skirt of her gown, concealing the treachery, and went to the window.

It was several hours until darkfall, when she had arranged for the boatman to be awaiting her. Stepping out the window, clinging to what she could, Magenta began the precarious descent down the wall. It was a difficult undertaking for any maiden, especially one so unaccustomed to physical exertion. Several times she slipped, and for a moment she was afraid, but her will and determination sustained her. She would free Deacon. She meant to leave with him this night and not return.