Rapture. Jacquelyn Frank
give him a positively evil look of hatred, proving all of her laughter a lie. “And M’jan Magnus has had a handmaiden for two centuries. He certainly doesn’t need another, and he certainly wouldn’t want it to be some low-born piece-of-filth slave girl who never went to school in her life!”
So much rage.
Magnus had never seen so much anger in the blood and spirit of a woman as he did when he looked into this troubled and magnificently powerful young girl. Slave? No. She had never capitulated, so slave was not the term for her. Captive, perhaps, but this woman was no man’s slave.
Yet, she had offered herself to him.
“My handmaiden died six weeks ago,” he said simply, feeling nothing would be constructive in elaborating on those circumstances with her. In fact, the less she knew, the more it would content him. At least for now.
“Died.” She echoed the word, folding her arms under her breasts and creating a shelf that held her in enhanced shape. Magnus let his eyes drift briefly, but he took in the entirety of her curving body. He suspected she was thin for her generous height, but just the same, she curved like a back-mountain highway. There was a cut and sweep to her waist that accented her hips and, he suspected, her backside as well. He couldn’t see at the moment. Between that and those rather hefty breasts, he realized this was definitely a full-grown woman he was dealing with.
He had thought she was younger.
“There’s got to be—”
She was cut off when someone cleared a throat nearby. She jumped in her own skin, and without thinking, Magnus reached out to settle her with a calming touch on her arm.
“I asked not to be disturbed,” Magnus snapped at the young guard.
“Apologies, M’jan Magnus,” he said quickly, touching a spread palm to his heart and bowing with deep respect. “Chancellor Tristan has arrived, requesting an emergent audience with you.”
Daenaira sat down hard, grateful the chaise was still right behind her.
Magnus turned to look at her, those strangely compelling eyes of gold telling her so many things in one sudden jolt she felt as if her brain was on overload.
Truth. It was the truth. He really was M’jan Magnus, the greatest priest in all the history of Sanctuary, leader of the great temple of Darkness and Light. Her eyes dropped to the katana secured to his waist in a weapons belt. There was a pouch in the rear holding a set of bolos. On the opposite hip there were two other hard leather pouches. These, she suspected, held some sort of hand-thrown missiles like saw-stars or shurikens.
Magnus was also renowned in their world for being the most ruthless warrior protector of the ’scapes. Shadowscape, Dreamscape, or Realscape—any ’Dweller who violated moral law or the martial rules of those dimensions, he hunted them down and, usually, destroyed them. They were called Sinners, and the gods knew they deserved what they got if they did something to earn a warrior like Magnus on their trail.
But something had happened. She could feel it in a wicked, crawling sensation under her skin. Dae had no idea why she felt this way or what it really meant, but she knew that something had tainted the power of the man standing before her.
“Please, K’yindara, sit for a moment while I meet with Tristan. I will return as soon as I am able and we can finish our discussion,” he said, a soothing hand gesture toward her seeming to be an aborted move at touching her with reassurance, but he remembered in time. For the first time, it began to sink in to Daenaira that things were not at all what she had thought they were going to be.
“K’yindara?” she echoed numbly.
“Well, it will do until you feel ready to tell me your name.” He turned to the guard, who was staring at her with gaping curiosity. Magnus snapped his fingers to gain the guard’s focus, the sharp sound reproving all on its own without the dark scowl that accompanied it. “See Tristan into my office. I will be right behind you.”
“Yes, M’jan,” the guard said respectfully before bowing slightly and then hurrying out of the room. When he was gone, Magnus turned to look at her once more, his features shadowed with hard thoughts she wished she could hear.
“Take this time, K’yindara, to relax and reflect on the understanding that I am not here to hurt you. The details of your staying here will be our first topic on my return. Until then, try and rest easy.”
She watched him hesitate a moment, and then he turned and left the room at a clipped step. Daenaira exhaled a long, slow breath as she slowly began to take in the room around her.
“Holy Light,” she swore softly as she did.
The room was gigantic, really. Lined in dark maroon glass tiles with beautiful etchings, the walls and ceiling seemed to stretch above her and made her feel a little small in the middle of it all. She was in a bath. The floor that sprawled beneath her was patterned in a tight mosaic of maroon, jet, and golden tiles. The gold was an accent along edges of the surface wherever it was broken by objects or walls. Except for when it disappeared into the water of the enormous tiled bath sunk into the floor before her.
Bath was less appropriate than pool.
The huge expanse of water ran up to and then under the far wall, making her believe it was fed naturally somehow. She got up on her feet, wobbling in unreliable steps to the spot where Magnus had washed his face.
Holy shit! She had spit in the face of a priest!
“Oh gods,” she groaned. “They definitely let you burn in Light in the afterlife for something like that.” Not that she was a heavily religious woman, but she believed that much at the very least.
She shrugged it off nervously, realizing she couldn’t change anything now. Then she looked down into the water. It was glittering gold. Gold tile lined it completely, except where she could see little lines of jet demarcating a set of stairs leading down into the steaming pool right next to her. A shelf of tile had been constructed nearby, a little above water level, and here there were bathing products like soap and shampoo. Fresh cloths stood ready, as did the towels to dry off afterward. All of that hot water and space…just to take a bath.
She looked around and saw no sign of the bed from earlier, or the blood she’d shed. But there were two alcoves on opposite ends of the room. Hurrying as best she could on persistently unsteady legs, she made her way to where her sense of direction said she’d come from. Sure enough, through the alcove was an archway leading into a vast bedroom, furnished and decorated in midnight blue and gold. The colors, she realized, of a handmaiden’s uniform. The low bed was plush and beautiful, its coverlet made of rich velvet in midnight blue, intricate knotted designs embroidered around it in gold thread. Velvet and satin pillows filled most of the large surface of the bed, and she guessed she was supposed to fill the rest. There was everything else a woman could need. Vanity, dressers, a closet and clothing preparation area that included a steam ironing system and several bookcases. There was an adorable conversation area in front of a fireplace. A fireplace! Another one of those things only the wealthy could own because of the complications of venting such a thing in an underground city. Then again, if she was in Sanctuary, they were on the level just below the surface. Or, at least, they could be. Sanctuary was probably several levels on its own. The royal palace was also on the upper levels, as were the Senate and many of the noble houses and merchant services.
The city was miles wide and very deep, a convoluted arrangement of space, pathways, and everything a city needed. But every Shadowdweller knew that their entire society was run from this level. Religious, political, and financial. If it was key to their culture’s survival, it happened here. The only exception, she supposed, was the hydroponics factory in the very bowels of everything. Since it was the only place where light was used, it was locked down and secured and only those brave enough to work close to that many lightbulbs were allowed in. Of course, not while the lights for growing the foods they cultivated were on. That would be the equivalent of an accident at a nuclear plant for their species. Anyone caught inside when those lights came on would literally be toast.
Dae