In Her Shadow(17)

The woman scowled. "I know who you are."

"Then you should know my business. Now let me in at once."

"No. I'll–"

But before she could finish her statement, another voice echoed like a whisper on the breeze from the darkness behind her. "Let him in, Weboshi."

The woman at the door bowed her head. "As you wish." She opened the door and beckoned Dux Lucius through.

The inside of the abbey was as threadbare as the outside. Braziers of incense burning in the corners barely covered the faint scent of mold and moss. Candles flickered wildly, their flames tossed about by drafts through the walls. The whole place stood in contrast to the Governor's manse because, down here on the bottom floor, they seemed very much alike in construction. Intentionally, maybe. His father's home wasn't built but taken, and therefor didn't follow the traditional architecture of a Regnal home. Yes, the two buildings were alike in some ways, but very different in others. The dimness, for one. Also to be expected, though from the broken chandelier dangling above the ballroom floor and the tarnished candelabras in the corners, the space could be lit up completely if the sisters wished it – and clearly once had, back when the abbey was the center of Ankshara's night life. The boarded up doors lining the walls spoke to this history as well. He wondered what lay behind them.

No, the empire hadn't been able to shut the abbey or its wicked goddess down. No, they hadn't been able to tame her or bring her into the fold of their own, cosmopolitan pantheon, but the day was coming. Soon, this abbey would be a formality, the sisters' thealogy theoretical, mystical, but in no way practical, no way a threat to the empire or its people. Eventually, even the night would serve the Sun Triumphant. The very fact the empire had brought this old guild of thief-priestesses so low was proof enough of that. And his marriage would be the final shovelful of dirt atop this religion's grave.

"This way," Weboshi said, sweeping her arm out towards a spiral staircase. He followed her upwards, around and around, skipping floors with more doors boarded shut. The stairs wobbled beneath his feet, and he wondered if the levels had been cordoned off for safety's sake. This is what Britta had grown up in, riches turned to squalor – the dusty memories of glories long gone. What was it like? Barring some grave misfortune, Lucius would never know. One day the empire he'd sworn his life to would crumble like this. The sun set on everything, eventually. Yes, it always rose again, but the works of man were temporary. Dux Lucius took tromping through the ruins of this once great tower as a lesson.

"We're here," Weboshi said as she stopped before a nondescript door. "Mind you don't bang your toes."

Dux Lucius understood why after she shut the door behind him. The room was perfectly dark and quiet. His eyes bulged, trying to make anything out in the formless black. "Hello," he said, his voice a husky whisper though he did not know why. Fear? Reverence? He cleared his throat and said "Hello" again, this time louder, firmer.

Something in the corner of the room moved. He couldn't see it, exactly, but heard cloth ruffle and felt the air move as it glided towards him. Then there was a face, pale and white. The Abbess of Night, he presumed. But he wasn't startled, or if he was, only vaguely. Of all the emotions he'd learned to master, fear was the first and foremost. The Disciples of the Sun Triumphant taught courage as the beginning of wisdom. Lucius had spent long hours facing the things that terrified him most, meditating on them, eliminating his responses to them. With ruthless logic, he sought the source of each and every one, strangling it before it was given birth. He did this now, recognizing the dark, her voice, the way she appeared from nowhere, as ways to disorient him, throw him off his emotional balance so that she might have the upper hand in their negotiations.

"Sit," she said.

Dux Lucius did not sit.

"Why have you come here?" she asked.

"Last night I was attacked."

"I know," she said. "I didn't think you'd come to me with something so petty, though. If you want them dealt with, however, I supposed that can be arranged. I know who they are. Sailors already put out to sea. Out of my reach for now, but if they set foot in the city again–"

"No."

The Abbess of Night's scowled, then faded back into a neutral smile. "I'm not used to being interrupted."

"I'm not used to being lied to."

The old woman scowled again, but there was something else there, something underneath the expression. "Lied to?"

"Was the mugging meant to mask what happened later?"

"Surely I don't know of what you speak."

Another lesson the Disciples taught was that one must learn to see emotions in others. He'd never been great at it – few were – but hers were plainly etched among the lines of her face: confusion. Or was that a put on?

"Plausible deniability?" he asked. "Is that the game?"

"If you are trying to impugn my reputation as an honest and honorable woman–"

"If you are an honest and honorable woman, then let us speak clearly."

The Abbess of Night gave a slight nod. "Let's."

"After I returned home, I was attacked attacked again by a masked knife-man. I killed him, but if I weren't so experienced with ambushes I would have died."