Part 2 (1/2)
”You did well protecting the Heart, Child of G.o.d. You always rise above your call of duty. I will pray that G.o.d's smile is always upon you.”
Blaise acknowledged Alphege's compliment with a nod. ”May He smile on you as well.”
It wasn't worth trying to convince the Archbishop that Blaise expected at least a scolding when he finally did return to G.o.d's Garden. He hoped he counted as a little too old for a spanking, but He liked surprises.
Blaise hid his grin behind a cough. When Alphege vanished from sight, he turned to the corpse. ”What am I going to do with you?”
His prey didn't reply. A sneeze erupted from Blaise, so strong that he staggered back and fell on the stairs. Grumbling curses, he sniffled and tried to will the itch away.
Getting back to his feet, he walked to the body and knelt down. The Citizen's soul was gone, and the Gates to the Gardens hadn't opened. He shook his head.
”You really need to learn some moderation, Lucin. How many souls must you devour before you're satisfied? Aurora's gone. Mikael, too. Not even having the Heart will bring her back, and it isn't going to lure your brother back to your side,” he muttered.
Blaise's voice wouldn't reach Lucin. It took so little of the divine's power to destroy a mortal's soul that Blaise doubted the other divine even noticed the mortal had been cursed with his obsession for G.o.d's Daughter.
Sightless eyes stared at him; the right, one the same sky blue as Blaise's, while the left was the crimson of fresh blood.
Lucin's eyes.
”You could be more considerate of them,” Blaise chided, reaching out to close the dead man's eyes.
Like so many times before, there'd be no funeral for a failed thief.
He didn't spend long checking the body for something to identify who he'd once been. Those who touched the Hand of G.o.d belonged to the Emperor, and the Emperor was no fool.
Whispering a Word, Blaise summoned divine fire to purify the catacombs, leaving nothing behind on the stone, not even ash.
Blaise hungered, and gnawing on the bread and cheese pilfered from the pantry awakened his need for something more substantial. The bell in the tallest spire of the cathedral tolled once to mark the conclusion of the services he had skipped. He looked up at the ceiling with a scowl. Soon, those seeking sustenance to tide them over until dawn would invade his hiding place.
Gnawing on the crust of the driest loaf of bread he could find, Blaise considered his dilemma. His frustration boiled within him, spurring him to hunt, but he couldn't reveal his true self, not yet. Forcing a neutral expression took all of his will.
If the few he pa.s.sed in the halls noticed his hurried stride and his lack of elegance, he wasn't sure that he cared. Blaise was content to let the mortals worry.
It might wake them to the truth that G.o.d wasn't the only one watching them in the night. The desire to shed his disguise roused again, until his skin crawled with his need. Blaise wondered if it would be worth His wrath to see the expressions of the humans when they realized there was more than a little truth to the myths of the church.
Blaise swept down the halls to one of the side doors, glaring at the lock until it opened without him forcing it to do his bidding through the use of Speech. It door clicked locked behind him. Blaise's stomach growled, and he wrinkled his nose. ”Yes, yes,” he muttered.
His stomach didn't listen.
One day, Blaise would have to find out who had come up with the fool's notion that He didn't approve of His clergy eating meat. Then he'd find that soul, pluck its rose from G.o.d's Garden, scatter every petal across the mortal coil, and piece it back together after a hundred years.
At least Blaise didn't need to hide on his way off the cathedral grounds. He doubted he could control his temper if he had to skulk away. The devout attending the midnight ma.s.s poured out of the sanctuary and headed to the streets, too absorbed in their conversations of the service to notice or care he wore a white coat, which resembled the military's darker gray under the cover of night.
If he wanted real food, he needed to cross the city, out of the Church Ward, to where the Citizens were less likely to care about the color of his coat and more about the crystals in his pocket.
The lights of a nearby tavern taunted Blaise. Even the brothels close to the cathedral didn't dare to disobey the tenants of the church. No one had made any mention in over a hundred years of a clergyman going out for a nip, but that didn't ease the fear of the consequences of leading one of G.o.d's children astray.
Somehow, Blaise resisted the urge to snort his disgust.
If he wanted sustenance of any sort, he'd have to wander closer to the Imperial Ward than he liked, but at least he could calm his appet.i.te without preying on some fool of a human.
Maybe Genevieve would humor him. It'd been several weeks since his last visit. The sigh escaped before he could stop it, and Blaise let himself get lost in the shuffle of people heading home. One of these days, he'd be able to enjoy her without the sour taste of a failed hunt in his mouth. With a destination in mind, he walked with more purpose.
Many moved out of Blaise's way without noticing his presence, but a few cast curious glances his way, which he answered with a smile.
He wasn't sure what they saw when their eyes met his, but they didn't stare for long, which made his smile widen. Antic.i.p.ation fluttered within him, but Blaise wasn't sure if it was for Genevieve, for a real meal, or over how easily the humans bent to his will.
Genevieve didn't back down like other mortals; her defiance and acceptance of Blaise's stare was as intoxicating and sweet as wine.
She was one of the few mortals with true fire in her eyes.
When her time came to an end, he hoped her rose was yellow or white. Maybe, if He was in a good mood, the rarest blue.
Until then, Blaise looked forward to watching how bright her existence burned before it was snuffed out.
The shadow of the elevated aqueduct fell over him, with moonlight streaming through the arched supports. The circular Arena dominated most of the Arena Ward, and the flow of people moved toward it. Pa.s.sing by the Arena suited him; if he found a fight among the lesser Citizens, not even the military would question a bishop working to keep the peace, even if Blaise bloodied his knuckles a bit in the process.
The road dipped beneath one of the arches supporting the aqueduct. The old, pale stones sang out as he pa.s.sed beneath, hundreds of voices chanting in harmony. The sacred Words used to preserve the structure were so loud he winced.
Clapping his hands over his ears wouldn't help; something as weak as flesh, bone, and blood couldn't stop His Words. A few around him also grimaced, and he wondered how much the humans perceived. Was it a buzz to them, or did the echoes of the deceased Speakers who had helped create the city long ago somehow reach them?
Blaise hurried along the main street circling the entire plateau, the noise fading after he walked several blocks. It left behind a dull ache in the back of his head. He slowed, stepped to the side of the cobbled way, and stared back at the arch.
Something excited the remnants of souls long since called back to G.o.d's Garden. Not even Blaise knew why the echoes of Speech remained, but whatever had excited them was something he couldn't sense.
A sneeze caught him by surprise. The hint of roses lingering in the air was tainted by the bitter imprint of the countless deaths within the Arena. The metallic undertones of fresh blood set his stomach grumbling.
The scent didn't surprise him, not so close to the Arena, but the structure was dark and silent, the iron gates closed and guarded by two young men little more than boys. They stared at Blaise as he walked by.
”Father,” one of them called out.
Blaise frowned and turned to face them. ”Good evening, Citizens.” Neither noticed he didn't offer G.o.d's blessings to them. ”How may I be of service?”
”We're on orders to ask someone of the Church to come look at a slave brought in this evening, Father.”
Blaise wanted to scowl, but settled with dipping his head down in acknowledgment of the words. He dropped his gaze to the white ta.s.sels of the cadets. ”It is our duty to serve all children of G.o.d who are in need,” he replied. ”I would be pleased to bring G.o.d's blessing to this house.”
The Arena needed it, and as if sensing his loathing of the place, the lads stared at him with wide eyes. They glanced at each other before turning to wrestle open the gates. The cadets waved Blaise through, and he obeyed, casting a look over his shoulder toward the Imperial Ward.
As always, Blaise could trust the church or military to find some way to interfere with his plans.
”This way, Father.”
The cadet left behind didn't say a word. He was led down the stone-paved walkway to the Arena proper.
”Are there games tomorrow?” Blaise asked.
”Yes, Father. You haven't heard? Catsu will be fighting in all events as a blessing from the Emperor in hopes of a prosperous year. Some are even saying His Imperial Majesty will be making an appearance.”