The Tainted Shrine Read online

  THE TAINTED SHRINE

  BLOODSONG BOOK I

  By E. S. Furlán

  CHAPTER ONE

  KANIKA

  Kanika ducked to avoid another rotting vegetable, the force of its impact against the wall ahead of her sending a shower of fragments cascading over her. The frozen city road offered little in the way of escape routes but turning back was not an option. She was barely a dozen paces ahead of the fleetest of the small crowd chasing her. She couldn’t blame them. She had betrayed them all. Not by choice, perhaps, but treachery nonetheless. A warning scripture shot through Kanika’s mind:

  Those who betray the All-Seer’s people shall find no refuge but in death.

  She risked a glance back and her heart dropped. Steel and iron caught the frigid rays of sun, winking menacingly at her from the crowd. One of the front runners still held the chunk of pale blonde hair he'd ripped from her head when the chase first began in the market. The twisting streets, laid down over centuries, threatened at every moment to turn sharply and send her skidding into a wall.

  “Traitor!”

  The crowd had been vocal from the start, but this insult came from above, not behind her. Another glance, upwards this time, and she saw shutters opening and heads poking out, no doubt drawn by the clamour. Kanika bent her head and kept going. Sooner or later there would be projectiles from the windows. Although she grew up in the city, she barely knew which way she was running. Once the assault had begun, there had been little to do but scarper from the square like a rabbit scented by the hounds. Terror was all that kept her from collapsing.

  She darted around a corner, unsure how long she could evade her pursuers, and ran straight into a man’s thick chest. Her panic only intensified when she met Armand’s pale green eyes. Perhaps once she might have relied on his aid. Now he was as likely as any to throw her to the dogs.

  A head poked out from around Armand's bulky frame, and Kanika almost cried with relief. His sister Ophi was another story entirely. Armand might bear a grudge against her, but his sister Ophi would look after Kanika at a moment’s notice. Ophi's sharp blue eyes sized up her friend's dishevelled blonde hair, frightened eyes and the stray leaves of lettuce hanging off her thick winter shawl.

  “Come with me,” she ordered.

  Kanika took her outstretched hand and they were off once more, leaving Armand to stare after them, slipping on thin sheets of ice, scrambling to make the sharp turns. They came to a doorway set into the stone walls lining the streets. Ophi fumbled with the latch until it opened and shoved Kanika through, following behind her, then slammed the door.

  The angry shouts of the crowd they'd outpaced passed by and faded to muffled murmurs. Kanika took a seat on a barrel and tried to force her breathing to return to normal with sharp, awkward gasps. Thin cracks in the wooden roof let in enough light for Kanika's eyes to adjust. They were in a storage room. Sacks and barrels lined the walls and lay haphazardly on the floor. The reek of pickled fish mingled with the dusty scent of grain in a nauseating bouquet with each ragged breath Kanika drew.

  “Are you alright?” Ophi asked at length. Kanika managed a shaky chuckle, a nervous release of tension beyond her control.

  “My involvement with Prince Atham is now public knowledge. As if it weren't bad enough that he beds me, now the city will string me up in the square.”

  Ophi remained silent. There was little to say about it. By continuing to breathe, Kanika had committed a mortal sin in the eyes of her own people. The prince was a barbaric conqueror. His family was responsible for countless deaths and had the might of an empire behind them. It was a given that the invading men and women would want to lay with locals. Argorien's inhabitants were expected to choose death rather than sate his or any other Vraithii's carnal desires.

  “Why now, though?” Ophi pondered aloud. “After so many months of secrecy, I had hoped you might be safe.”

  Anger welled up inside Kanika at whoever had betrayed her. But at the very last second before it spilled out of her, it slumped in her chest and left her numb.

  “At least you live at the Temple,” Ophi said after a while. “Perhaps you might be safe, if we can get you there. For tonight, at any rate.”

  Kanika nodded, barely hearing. Would the Temple even take her in now that the entire congregation they served wanted her dead? She could only hope.

  ◆◆◆

  They waited together for the better part of an hour for the mob to disperse. Kanika disguised herself as best she could with what scarves and shawls they had between them, then they made their way back to the Temple of Ilas.

  After the raucous rage of the mob, the silent streets rose the hackles on the back of her neck and had her eyes darting from side to side at every turn. Bar the occasional sideways glance from passers-by they attracted no notice.

  Kanika expected to find the mob waiting for her at the temple, but what she saw as they entered the small square chilled her more than angry townsfolk ever could. Two dozen armed soldiers bearing the Crown Prince's crest stood guarding the temple. Though vespers should be tolling, the bell outside the main door stood still and silent. Citizens who passed the imposing array kept their heads bowed, avoiding the soldiers' eye and quickening their pace.

  By Kanika's side, Ophi caught her breath and faltered in her steps. Kanika reached for her friend's hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “You need not accompany me inside,” Kanika told her. “You've risked enough for me today, and I am grateful.”

  For a moment Ophi seemed as though she might resist, but one of the soldiers caught sight of them loitering and called out. Ophi jumped, her hand jolting away from Kanika's. Before Kanika could reassure her, Ophi had turned and slipped away down the path they'd come by. Kanika took a steadying breath and stepped forward to answer the soldier.

  “I live and work in the Temple of Ilas, sir,” she said, her voice catching. “I am simply returning to my quarters from the market.”

  “Are you Kanika Veraïs?” the soldier asked. Kanika nodded. The soldier beckoned her forward and lowered his voice as she approached. “You have a visitor, ma'am, but you'll need to open your cloak and turn out your bag.”

  Kanika complied as calmly as she could. When the soldier was satisfied, he turned and bade the ranks break to allow her entry. She was aware of their eyes and attention as her hard-soled boots clacked against the smooth bluestone stairs.

  “Ilasean scum,” one muttered under her breath as Kanika passed. Kanika ignored the slur and did her best not to hurry to the door.

  The temple was deathly silent inside bar the clink of cutlery on pottery. Kanika quieted her steps, knowing what she would find and yet praying it would not be so.

  The high priestess stood stiff by the head of a short wooden table, dressed in her finest blue and silver robes. A line of other temple officiates and workers stood up against the wall and were separated from their leader by half a dozen soldiers, all bearing the same crest as those who stood guard outside. Her eyes moved to the man seated at the table, eating far too much of the precious bread and cured meat stores allocated to the temple.

  Crown Prince Atham Vallariath. Dark hair, beard longer than was fashionable, skin pale and cheekbones so sharp he seemed ill, grey eyes that matched the blade her always wore at his hip. Not that she had ever seen him use it.

  “Ah! Kanika, my love.” He smiled when he saw her. “Where on earth have you been? There was a riot, I feared you might be caught up in it.”

  Kanika shot a glance back as two soldiers moved to cover the door, barring her exit in the process. She smiled back at Atham as though his parents hadn't besieged and decimated to the city she called home scarcely a decade ago.

  “I found a good hiding place and waited it
out,” she replied. “Someone has let slip the news of the nature of our relationship. People were not happy about it.”

  Atham took a bite of bread, chewed, swallowed, then gave her a cool smile.

  “It had to come out sooner or later,” he replied. “I've always wanted everyone to know that you are more than just my bedmate, and I saw no reason to delay any longer. Though, admittedly, had I known there would be such a reaction, I might've arranged more guards. Do you know, a peasant threw an actual rock at me? Nearly hit me in the arm. Good thing I had my...”

  Kanika tuned his voice out as she struggled to hide her emotions. Of course it had been him. Of course. And of course he had not thought through the consequences or even mentioned to her that he might announce them. She expected to bring her mind back to the present and find herself shaking with anger, but instead she felt only the same numbness as always.

  “Anyhow,” he was saying. “I had hoped, given that the city is now aware, now might be the perfect moment to ask you a very important question. But you seem miles away. Always off with the sprites, eh, my love?”

  That tone. As though she were an especially slow child. How she wished she could grip him by the hair, slam his face onto his fork, and never stop.

  “No, my love, I am listening,” she assured him, surprising even herself with how even her voice sounded. “What did you want to ask me?”

  Atham pursed his lips in a smug smile, wiped his mouth and clicked his fingers.The high priestess stepped forward at his motion. She had already guessed the question, but Kanika felt herself grow lightheaded with shame. Dear gods, surely he hadn't made the high priestess of the Temple of Ilas All-Seer mind the ring like some lowly page? Kanika thought to herself. He plucked the box from the priestess' hands and turned to Kanika.

  “Kanika Veraïs. Will you marry me?”

  Kanika swallowed back the lump in her throat. A casual observer might think her overcome with joy, but none who looked closely would be fooled. Luckily the prince was casual in the extreme.

  “Of course,” she replied, cheeks still red from the humiliation of watching the high priestess wait on him. “How could I refuse?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  KANIKA

  Kanika took the stairs, two at a time lest she feel his vile caress on her arse as they walked. As with every other visit, Atham came with sexual demands. He hurried to catch her.

  No. She felt his hand find its mark as she reached the top. The familiar sensation of leaving her body, of every sensation numbed and distant, descended on her at his touch. She walked to her room as though underwater.

  Atham took his pleasure on her body with his usual disregard for hers. He didn’t notice the distance in her eyes, nor the loose way her body rocked in time with his thrusts.

  He finished quickly enough. Kanika made a mental note to have a cup of her abortive tea before bed. The last thing she wanted was for him to leave a baby in her.

  “I will have you brought up to the palace in the morning.” He pulled up his trousers and kissed her on the forehead. “It’s hardly fitting for the future High Queen to live in a drafty hovel like this, isn’t it?”

  Again with that condescending tone. Kanika swallowed back a fiery retort. She tried to smile.

  “Our marriage will be a union of our two peoples. Would it not be better for me to stay here? So that the people can see--”

  “I want you at the palace.” His horrible eyes bored into her. “Every moment I am without you is painful, my love. You would not see me in pain a moment longer, would you?”

  Kanika’s heart raced. She knew from experience to tread very carefully once his voice took on that petulant tone.

  “Your pain is my pain, my love.” The words felt like vinegar to her tongue. “And of course I would not have us suffer. But, for the greater good, I might bear it a little longer.”

  Atham’s face fell as she spoke. Her chest tightened and Kanika knew she had made a mistake somehow. His breathing grew heavy and Kanika knew without looking that tears had gathered in his eyes. She felt the familiar shudder of fear as she waited for him to decide if he would insinuate that she hated him or simply rage at her. Both happened as often as his sexual desires consumed him.

  “Does my pain amuse you?” He stepped closer. “Do you delight in seeing me suffer so? Is that what I have to look forward to once we wed, that you will twist the knife at every opportunity?”

  Kanika remained silent, unsure of how to respond. Her chest felt knit tight as though by fine steel wire. Though she knew he was looking at her, she didn’t dare glance up at him.

  “And now I’m not even worthy of a response,” he scoffed. “How your affections do twist and change, my love.”

  He all but spat the last words. Kanika jumped. She tried to steady her racing heart and panicked breath by clutching her hands into fists. Atham strode closer and gripped her by the chin to look up at him.

  “I will send for you tomorrow,” he told her. “And you will be grateful. Without me, your countrymen and women would rip you apart in the streets. And none would save you.”

  Kanika forced herself to meet his gaze. She felt frustrated tears pricking at her eyes, but knew better than to pull away.

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice trembled.

  Atham scoffed once more and turned to leave, pausing by the door for one final shot.

  “There’s no need to pack.” He gestured towards her belongings. “I wouldn’t want any of this filthy shite in the palace.”

  The door slammed closed behind him. Kanika dropped to the floor. It took a few minutes to calm her breathing and let her tears run their course. The rest of her life stretched out before her in her mind’s eye. An eternity of being scolded and spoken down to, no voice of her own and her heritage used against her whenever anybody wanted to discredit her. Nights of being touched and violated by the pig in the clothes of a prince. This man, who first called her ‘love,’ and then turned just as quickly to spite as it pleased him. That was what awaited her. The only peace she might look forward to was the sweet release of death.

  She rose as though dreaming and wiped her tears, then made her way downstairs to brew her tea. At the very least she could make herself barren to him. One paltry rebellion that might serve as cold comfort as she suffered through their union.

  ◆◆◆

  The dawn bells woke Kanika from fretful sleep. She set about her morning tasks trying to keep fearful thoughts from surfacing. First, she bathed her face and hands in cold water from a communal basin with the other indentured workers. The easy chatter that usually accompanied the ritual was absent. They might not be ready to string her up but she could tell Atham’s revelation had shaken them as much as it had done the townsfolk. Disapproving eyes burned at her back as she made her way to the wood heap, low conversation beginning as murmurs from behind her.

  She piled wood into her cart with tears threatening to spill, then made her way to the first hearth, focusing on her task.

  “Already too good for us, are you?”

  Kanika didn’t bother to glance at the person speaking. She knew already it was Catla, a woman roughly her own age who worked in the temple with her.

  “And now I’m not even worthy of an answer,” Catla proclaimed to the room at large. “Should we start calling you ‘majesty’ as well?”

  Echoes of her conversation with Atham the night before stung in her chest. Kanika felt the rage rising in her until it took hold. Her head snapped to face Catla, and for a brief second time stood still.

  Everything devolved into a flurry of violence. Kanika grabbed Catla by the hair and dragged her to the floor. Catla fell easily, shocked by the sudden reaction. Kanika pressed her face up against the other woman’s ear.

  “You think I want this?” She screamed. “Do you think I look at him and want any of this? Do you? You fucking fool!”

  Kanika was vaguely aware of Catla crying and what felt like a thousand hands on her body, trying to pull her away, but
all her muscles locked in place and the scream in her throat would not die. When the other workers separated the pair, Kanika could not release the chunk of Catla’s hair she’d ripped from the other woman’s scalp. Her whole body shook, her mind a whirling maelstrom.

  The high priestess’ voice filtered through to her in jumbled echoes until she managed to focus. She tried to look up at her matron but the trembling throughout her body would not cease.

  “What is the meaning of this?” The high priestess demanded. Kanika only managed to shake her head in response.

  “She attacked me!” Catla howled. “I was talking to her and then she just attacked me! That bitch!”

  Some of the other temple workers gathered around to comfort Catla, their arms supporting her as tears ran down her face. She clutched at the bald patch on her head. The high priestess pursed her lips and stared at Kanika, waiting for a response. When it became clear none was forthcoming she tutted and made a decision.

  Kanika pressed herself against the wall. She moved her arms to clutch at her own shoulders, wishing she could fold herself up into nothing and simply cease to exist.

  “Catla will administer the bloodsong today,” the high priestess said. “Kanika, you will fetch the waters.”

  Bloodsong was a red powder used by the high priestess to gain an audience with the gods and elevated dead. Since she was a child, it had been Kanika’s job to deliver it. Some small kindness born of pity for the orphaned girl. That kindness had now run out.

  Kanika nodded and stood to collect the buckets, letting Catla’s hair fall from her hand to the rough wooden floorboards.

  ◆◆◆

  The high priestess muttered her incantations in a fervent whisper. On her knees, eyes closed, in front of a shallow basin, Catla sprinkled a fine mist of the blood-red resin powder, known as bloodsong, so that it settled in a dark stain across the priestess’ brow. A small congregation of Ilaseans watched, some on their knees as well, others standing or leaning against the temple walls.