Will of the Gods – Chaper One

Chapter One

Damn Blester! That weak fool had ruined everything! Zia Galen stormed into her suite and slammed the heavy oak door behind her. Their plans to go to the Solstice celebration had been set in stone for months. She’d done everything she could, no matter how distasteful, to make sure he didn’t change his mind about taking her—and now this!

Of course, he’d waited until after they’d had sex to break the news that his wife’s family insisted that his wife accompany him, rather than his mistress. “So sorry, dear girl, I’ll make it up to you later,” she mimicked. “That bastard!”

She tore off her cloak, hurled it to the floor, and stomped on it. Damn his eyes! The Solstice celebration would have been perfect! This was the first year they were holding it in the Priory since they’d attempted to exterminate every Tantris inside their borders back in the third year of the Dragon. She would’ve been in their den at their own invitation!

This meant another year she had to spend living on her back in the Theocracy. How was she ever going to recover the Mother’s circlet from the Tantri’s clutches if she couldn’t even get into the Priory?

The circlet had been lost to the Sisterhood since the Priory Council had betrayed them and killed Lady Jenis, the last High Priestess, just before Zia had been born. If Grand Prior Quentin had his way, they would all be dead or enslaved before they had another. Zia wished the Goddess would actually do something to advance Her plans before that happened. The implied blasphemy immediately made her feel guilty.

She clenched her fists and swallowed. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to find someone who would take her. There was still one full day to work on it. There had to be someone who had an invitation and would be willing to make a substitution. She would do anything to get into the Priory. Anything.

It might mean using her magic to sicken someone’s slave or wife. What was one more perversion to her morals? First, she had sacrificed her body, now she was considering doing the same with her sacred power. The very thought sickened her.

Only in this sewer of a society could such a wrong act seem like the right course of action. She needed to get out before the killing of innocent people seemed justified. The Theocracy was like a poison, slowly eating away at her.

No, hurting an innocent person wasn’t the answer. She needed to come up with another plan, and she only had one day to do it.

She lit a small oil lamp with a sliver of wood from the banked coals in the fireplace, closed the grate to keep any sparks safely in the chimney, and crossed the greeting room, heading for the kitchen. Some cider or wine might help her get some sleep. She would need to be up early to devise a new plan.

A man spoke from one of the chairs situated in the shadows. “Good morning, Mistress Galen.”

She shrieked and dropped the lamp, which promptly shattered. Burning oil splashed the carpet at her feet and ignited the hem of her dress with a loud whoosh!

The intruder vaulted from the chair and knocked Zia off her feet as she was dancing around. The air rushed out of her lungs in mid-scream when she hit the floor. The stranger whipped off his jacket and quickly beat out the flames.

Zia took advantage of his distraction to roll to her feet and rush to the kitchen. She grabbed the largest knife she owned and backed into a corner. The stench of burned cloth stung her nose.

The stranger finished extinguishing the flames and stepped to the kitchen doorway. All she could see was an ominous shadow against the smoke-tinged blackness behind him.

“Are you hurt?” His voice sounded oddly pleasant.

“Stay back, or I’ll scream.”

“You already did. I’m sorry I frightened you. I just wanted to talk, and my sense of humor got the better of me. Let me explain before things get further out of hand.”

“I don’t care what you have to say! Get out!”

“I don’t think that’s in your best interest, Tantris.”

Her blood went cold as she swayed in shock. The Theocracy had found her; she had just run out of time.

She steeled herself and took two slow steps toward him. “If that’s what you think I am, shouldn’t you be more afraid? I could enchant you to protect myself.”

“We both know that’s not exactly how your powers—”

Carving knife raised high, she rushed him. He leapt back, stumbled over a footstool, and landed on his back with his own whoosh of air.

Not giving him a moment to recover, Zia threw herself on him and swung the knife with all her strength. He rolled just enough for the blade to strike the floor instead of his body. Tip snapped, the knife spun out of her grasp. When she tried to retrieve it, he caught her wrist in a firm grip.

Unable to break free from his iron grip, she used her free hand to go for his eyes, but he seized that one, too. She would have used her teeth, but he rolled on top of her and pinned her to the floor.

“By the Father, you’re feisty! I can see why the Sisterhood chose you.”

Zia tried to knee him in the groin, but he sat across her hips, denying her access to his privates. Realizing the futility, she stopped fighting and just glared at him in the dim light cast by the coals in the fireplace. The bitterness of her defeat and capture burned in her throat.

“Go on,” she hissed. “Have your way with me. You know you want to.” Her best hope was to convince him to take her and then use his attack against him. His orgasm would be just as useful to power a spell as hers. Raping a Tantris was a recipe for a world of hurt.

He chuckled. “While I might want you, I’m not here to hurt you or turn you in.” He leaned forward and spoke softly. “I’m here to help you with your mission.”

“You must think I’m stupid.” Zia tried to head-butt him, but didn’t even come close.

“Not you. You’ve survived in the Theocracy on your wits and skill for over five years. I know how hard the guards look for spies. You, my dear, are anything but stupid.”

“What honeyed words,” she spat. “Speak then, since I have no choice.”

“If I let you up, will you listen to me before you attack again? No, that’s a silly question, isn’t it? If I were one of their Tantri, I wouldn’t have come alone. The room would already be full of guards, and you would be on your way to the Tower in chains. Do you see any guards?”

Saying nothing, Zia glared up at the shadowed man.

When she didn’t answer, he continued, “I know you were sent here by the Sisterhood to retrieve the Mother’s circlet. The Vicar’s Council sent me to help you. Your victory is in their best interests. You know, an enemy of your enemy is your friend.”

“That’s a pretty story. Why should I believe any of it?”

He rolled off of her, stood, and backed away into the darkness. “I can’t make you believe me, Tantris. All I can say is that I could have killed you just now. Or simply let you burn to death and been on my way.”

Zia stood slowly, drawing the tatters of her dress around her. She thought she knew where he stood, but needed to be more certain. “What would you suggest I do?”

His voice came from across the room, near the curtained windows. “Light a candle. Get yourself another knife. Have a seat and listen to what I have to say before you try to kill me again. What do you have to lose by hearing me out?”

She considered her options. He had a point. If he wanted her dead, it would’ve been a simple matter to finish her. It didn’t mean she could trust him, though. First, she needed to know what he knew, and how he knew it. Then she could make a plan to deal with him, get the circlet, and shake the dust of this cursed place off her heels.

“Go on,” he said. “I promise I’ll stand right here until you’ve heard me out and decided whether or not to skewer me.”

Zia backed into the kitchen and found another knife. Only when she had it in her hand did she grab some candles from the drawer closest to the door. “Speak up so I can hear you. Tell me why you want to help me.”

His voice came from the other room, right about where she had left him. “The Vicar’s Council paid me very handsomely to do so, and the bonus I get if we succeed is worth my very best effort.”

Realizing she couldn’t strike a match with only one hand, she reluctantly put down the knife in order to light the candle. The wick sputtered to life at the first touch of flame, revealing the dim outlines of the kitchen. A single candle wouldn’t be enough to feel safe in the same room with this stranger. Then again, she wasn’t sure she’d feel safe with him in broad daylight. Zia took a deep breath, grabbed her knife, and walked to the kitchen door. She could see his outline beside the curtains, though the details were lost in the shadows. “Stay right there.” She raised the knife to make sure he got the point.

He held up his hands. “I’m not moving.”

Keeping him in sight, she used her freshly lit candle to light the others she had left on the mantle, then stirred the coals in the fireplace and threw some wood on them. A fire meant more light and some warmth, so long as it wasn’t her garments burning. Next, she lit the three small lamps set in the walls, leaving the fourth nearest the intruder unlit.

The man turned out to be younger than she’d expected, perhaps no more than a few years older than she. He was tall, muscular, and dark-skinned. If she’d met him at the market, his olive skin and long, dark braids would have set her heart aflutter. Instead, he had broken into her home and tried to burn her alive. Well, maybe that was a bit of a stretch. The fire had been an accident.

He stepped away from the window and turned around slowly, supposedly to show that he had no obvious weapons, as if he needed any when assaulting a defenseless woman in her home in the dead of night. He wore what might have once been an expensive, stylish suit. Now his jacket was charred and his linen shirt scorched.

“Sit.” Zia pointed the knife at the seat he’d been in before. “Then tell me why I shouldn’t gut you.”

“You’ll forgive me if I remain standing. I’d rather not be encumbered if you decide to make another point.”

“Who are you? Moreover, why I should trust you? I certainly don’t trust that bunch of weasels on the Vicar’s Council.”

“Alton du Havel, at your service.” He bowed with a flourish, but never took his eyes off of her. “I don’t believe there is anything I could say to make you trust the Vicar’s Council. The mistrust between them and the Sisterhood is almost as legendary as the hatred you both share for the Theocracy.”

“You’re not helping your cause.”

“We don’t have much time, but I think I’ll start by making you tea. You’ve had a bad day and could use a cup, I think.”

Zia watched him saunter into her kitchen as if he’d just dropped in to chat with an old friend. She had to give him points for his gall. She weighed her options. She could either try to find out what his intentions really were or kill him. Which was the safest course of action?

She flipped a mental coin, gripped her knife tightly, and followed him into the kitchen.