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“You’ve been abusing your power, your grace. I’ve never heard of temple vows including sexual favors in exchange for seeking a favor from a god.”
“Lord Pramis—”
I tsk at him. “You hardly want to add blasphemy to your charges, your grace.”
“You won’t get away with this.”
I grin up at him, drawing the tip of my blade down the length of his shaft and welling a thin line of blood. “I already have. But don’t worry. I’ll leave your little cock intact. They’ll want to see what you were raping the faithful with.”
I stand and press the dagger against the pulse point in his throat, my own blood humming in my veins when it jumps under the contact. I so want to take my time with him. He deserves to experience every awful thing he’s ever done to the women he swore to guide and protect.
But the afternoon offering hour draws closer, and I need to be outside the city walls before his body is discovered. A pity. I’m certain he’s a screamer, and that would be music to my ears.
“They’ll kill you when they find you. This is treason.”
I position myself behind him, pressing the knife in firmly until I break skin and blood stains the collar of his robe. “Then I guess I’ll see you when I cross the veil.”
I drag the blade across his throat, closing my eyes and relishing the soft gagging sounds he makes as he chokes on his own blood. His stark white robe is spattered with gore, and more spews from his mouth each time he coughs.
He can’t scream; I cut too deep for that, but it doesn’t stop him from reaching up to grip his throat as if he might be able to hold all the blood in and keep himself alive until help arrives.
When he finally goes still and slumps over on himself, I use the edge of his robe to clean my blade and slip it back into the leather sheath circling my waist. It all feels a little anticlimactic.
Moving deeper into his chambers, I bypass a second smaller seating area and a bedroom. The bed stands on a raised dais, covered in mountains of pillows and fine silk sheets. I shudder to think how many women he abused on that bed while facing no consequences.
I’ve made sure his punishment is permanent. The high priest belongs to the God of Death now.
A narrow door in the rear wall of his bedroom leads to a small private garden, and I open it a crack, scanning the pretty flowering bushes and stone pathway for signs of life. Seeing none, I duck out and quickly make my way through the neatly trimmed bushes.
The wall is low enough to scale, but the clomp of a horses’s hooves and squeak of cart wheels urges me to use the rear gate instead. The wrought iron is warm in my hands, and the gate swings silently open.
When the horse and its load finally pass, I dart across the street and into the grove of trees shielding the temple from the view of the sea. Sunlight dances over the soft grass as the wind teases the branches, and I finally take a deep breath when I reach the clearing.
My mare is right where I left her, tied to a tree and delicately munching grass. Her nostrils flare and her ears flatten when she hears me approach, and she paws the ground until she recognizes my scent.
“That’s right,” I say, stroking down her nose and giving her flank a pat. “Did you miss me?”
She nickers and bumps my shoulder for a treat. She knows this game well. We’ve been playing it long enough. I leave her tied up somewhere near my kill, and when I finally emerge, she gets her favorite food as a reward for waiting so patiently.
I dig an apple out of my saddlebag and cut it in half with my dagger, letting her nip it gently from my palm. Normally I would change, disguising myself as much as possible before exiting the city gates, but I don’t have time to deal with a corset and gown.
Digging my long coat out of my bag, I tug it on over my tunic and breeches. It’s a bit warm out for a coat, but it can pass for a gown if I tuck it just right in the saddle and no one looks too closely.
I grip the saddle horn, but before I can mount, Meera gives me a searching look. I shake my head with a soft sigh.
“You’ll want to save the rest of it. We have a long ride before we can stop for the night.”
She stares into my soul with her big brown eyes and gives a pathetic little whinny. Bested by a horse, I dig the other half of the apple out of my bag and hand it to her. I swear she makes a triumphant sound as she chomps away, paying me no mind as I swing up into the saddle and guide her back the way I came.
The bells remain silent, but it won’t be long before they ring to announce offerings. Twice a day, the faithful are called to gather in the temple and seek assistance from the high priests. They bring offerings in return for favors from gods they think can help them with their plight.
But the gods are stingy with their favors, and help never seems to make it to the people who really need it.
Meera tosses her head when we reach the edge of the trees and draws my attention to the road. A small group of women in bright dresses carrying baskets of food stroll by, talking excitedly. On their way to offerings, no doubt.
I wait until they pass and guide Meera onto the packed dirt. The gates to the city walls hang open, guards in white and gray livery with the golden sun on their chests perched atop the stone above. They barely glance in my direction as I lead Meera through.
Houses are clustered together just beyond the city walls, and by the time they begin to thin, the distant sound of tolling bells reaches my ears. When no one shouts for me to stop, I urge Meera into a gentle canter, and once we clear the last house, I push her to a full gallop.
