A Priestess for the Blind God (Legends of Rahasia Book 1)

Chapter Forty

Elio's eyes sparkle as he beams down upon Ryu, dressed in the finest gold the Empire could craft, dripping in sheets of gold and pink diamonds. "Anything else for my most precious treasure?"

Ryu hugs his arms around himself, eyes wide as he stares at the palace surrounding him. He's never seen such wealth, not unless his father was rewarding him out of pity with a spare coin to buy sweets at market. But Aziz's magic flows through his veins again, moving him like a drug, forcing his limbs into a graceful contortion of a bow.

Aziz demands artistic perfection, grace in all things.

Ryu is their Champion, a beautiful puppet.

Yet, when Ryu looks upon Elio, the prince who shines like the sun, it's like seeing paradise. There's nothing more needed in this world. And besides, Ode made her choice. She sided with the Evil God. Ryu and Elio, they sided with the music and the light. Art and empires. Dancing and battle. Songs and glory.

What is evil in beauty? What is evil in the sun?

Ryu moves to press his lips against Elio's cheek. Elio holds Ryu to him, the solid mountain needing to be anchored by a delicate little bird. How their roles have switched...

"Will they believe we are allies?" Ryu asks, his head resting on Elio's shoulders. "Does your father believe that is reason enough to postpone your betrothal?"

"He's just happy I'm Champion," Elio smiles, teeth shining, eyes blinding. "I told him that Cato wants me kept away from the pleasures of the flesh for the time being, a vow of chastity."

"A holy Emperor," Ryu smiles, fingertips dancing along Elio's tattoos, Elio reaching to trace Ryu's scars. "And his bastard dancer. What a pair we make. Chosen and pariah."

Elio's worry deepens, the smile fades. "Don't call yourself that, Ryu." He moves so that Ryu steps away from the shadow, so his newfound splendor and grace can catch the light, where his grace was meant to shine. "You are what I tell them you are. I'd behead anybody who argued otherwise. I'd fight wars to defend your honor."

Ryu looks to Elio, lips against Elio's jaw. "You mean it?" The kiss is headier this time, something that's meant to lead onto other things.

And that's when the prince's entire body convulses in pain. When Ryu looks down at Elio's jawline, there's blood dripping from it. Blood right where Ryu's lips kissed. Elio groans in pain, throwing his head back, blood seeping and skin sizzling.

"No, darling," Ryu presses his fingers to the wound. "Why...?"

Elio grimaces, wiping the blood away. "I think Cato the Elder was serious about that vow for chastity. Cato's giving me a kiss of his own."

Ryu opens his mouth to speak. Why would his god to this to him? Why would he hurt his own Chosen One?

Then Ryu remembers his own brands.

Fear.

Control.

Slavery.

"My lord," a group of armored soldiers drag in a broken man whose arms and ankles are tied with bloody hemp rope. The man's leg is covered in gauze that's turned yellow from street dust, his eyes surrounded by bloody scars. His body is muscular still, but the wrinkles tell of other things, of sleepless nights, of nightmares so horrific that he screamed his throat raw. Handsome eyes set in a once-smiling face, a face that's known only sorrow since then. Skin the color of mead, a cloud of hair surrounding eyes so fierce that it would make men weep for mercy.

Serkan Ngayoh, the Cleaver of Men.

Elio pulls away from Ryu, and Ryu dances back, staring at that bloodthirsty man currently restrained, the one whose eyes are empty, who would kill again with nobody to love, to hold him back. A shell.

Elio's booming laughter fills the hall, the room of mosaics, gemstones, and ripples of wine filled by his heroic presence. "The Cleaver of Men, I've heard stories about you." Elio leans down, almost respectful of the old legend. "You were ripped nearly from your mother's womb to serve my father's favorite general, weren't you? And, in retaliation, you ripped young boys apart, set soldiers' heads on spears at the entrances of villages to warn them of the Empire's wrath. But Ibrahim found a way to tame you, didn't he?" Elio leans in, "he introduced you to the most beautiful woman, the songbird sacrificed to tame the lion. And when she died, well, you were made useless. Sterile."

Serkan, the old legend, did not flinch. He got to his feet, only to have the guards surge forward and kick him down. But he didn't cry out. Simply endured. Simply suffered.

"Now, men," Elio puts his hands together, the tattoos glowing softly, lighting his eyes from within. "That is not how you treat an old hero. Not the one who left an entire village in bloody ruin, the bodies so mutilated that the women could not identify who belonged in what grave."

"That was from another time." Serkan growls, age not taking the fearsome timbre from his voice, "I was full of anger then. It was before Ahava taught me better, showed me that you need to have a cause to be angry. You don't kill for nothing." He clenches his fists, then thinks better of it. "Rage is no excuse for slaughter."

Elio grabs onto the ropes that bind Serkan, searing them until they're nothing but ash on the floor. Serkan stands, but he doesn't attack. He's curious. Waiting. Watching.

Where's the trick? Where's the trap?

"I am raising an army to defend against someone you might know very well, the witch, Ode the Cursed." Elio gets to his feet. Serkan still doesn't move, though his eyes darken. "Rahasia will become strong. Militant. All young men will be automatically drafted into the army. Stolen from their mother's teat and handed a sword, shown the love of a double-edged sword. They shall drink blood, not milk." Elio smirks, "but you know all about that sort of life, don't you?"

Serkan remains silent.

"You won't rise to the bait? A broken lion, indeed." Elio walks around Serkan, examining the man, how he leans to one side because of his old wound, but still manages to stand tall. "You will train these young men for the Gods' War. Fight from the time the sun rises to the time it sets, from when Cato's power is most magnificent in the sky." Elio bows mockingly. Ryu, afraid of Serkan, the one who puts boys' heads on spikes, the warlord who killed without question, the father of a witch who summoned the dead. Elio would protect him. Elio would protect them all. "You will become a General, Serkan. A leg wound is nothing for an old hero like yourself."

"Will you leave Ode alone if I work for you?" Serkan stares at Elio's forehead, refusing to consider his eyes. This prince is beneath him. They all are. "Spare her."

"Fine, old hero." Elio sighs, slinging his arm around Ryu's thin shoulder, winding his fingers in the dancer's curls. "I won't wield a sword against her." He then turns to the two young men sulking in the back, pointedly avoiding Serkan's gaze. "Thank your two nephews for bringing you to me." Elio reaches down for two pouches of gold. "Ari. Yaga." He throws the gold at their feet. They fall to their knees to pick up each precious piece. "For your services."

Serkan looks at Ari and Yaga, hate and sadness mingling in his eyes. "Why?"

Ari and Yaga shrug, their eyes turned only toward the gold.

Gold that glitters like the sun.

Like Elio's sun.

***

Champions,

4k reads! Thank you beyond belief for all your support. All your comments make my day. All your engagement makes me immeasurably happy even as I struggle during midterms week (quarter system) of college and job applications, tests, papers, and general doom.

Also, Elio and Ryu have gotten either more evil or more "heroic" depending on what viewpoint you take up. This might possibly reflect my general state of panic lately. This story is going to get intense considering my life.

Best

Sophia Whittemore