Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades(174)

It was a ridiculous commencement of his imperial prerogatives, but he had to start somewhere. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw that she had ignored him, wrapping her naked body tightly into a ball instead. So much for the irresistible heft of the Emperor’s decree, he thought to himself.

“He said that you would want to,” she moaned, hugging her knees to her chest in a way that covered her breasts but accentuated … other things. Kaden quickly looked away again. “He said if you didn’t want to, that it was my fault. Now they’ll kill her,” she choked. “They’ll turn her out of the temple and she’ll die.”

In spite of himself, Kaden turned back to her, curious and disturbed.

“They’ll kill who?” he asked carefully. “Who is threatening to kill whom?” As he spoke, he picked up one of the blankets folded at the foot of the bed and hastily draped it over her shivering form. Huddled under the fabric, cheeks streaked with tears, she suddenly looked like the frightened girl that she was. “You can tell me,” he added gently.

Triste shook her head miserably, but met his eyes for the first time, her face filled with blank resignation. “My mother,” she responded when the sobs had subsided enough to allow her to speak. “Tarik said if I didn’t lie with you, he would see that my mother was turned out of the temple and forced to earn her living as a common whore.”

“What temple?” Kaden asked, anger slowly replacing the confusion inside him. “Who is your mother?” He remembered Adiv’s mocking smile at dinner, the smugness with which he had presented Triste as Kaden’s “gift.” Sanlitun may have promoted the man to the Mizran rank, but Kaden didn’t intend for him to stay there long if this was how he treated innocent girls.

“Louette,” Triste responded. The shuddering fear had gone out of her, replaced by a deep, unplumbed grief. “That’s my mother’s name. She’s a leina.”

Kaden stared. The leina were the high priestesses of Ciena, women trained since childhood in the arts of pleasure, all the arts of pleasure. “Stuck-up, too-good whores,” Akiil called them, but he was only half right. The leina did trade their skills for money, but they had no more in common with the whores of Akiil’s Perfumed Quarter than a two-penny fishmonger did with the Vested merchants of Freeport.

The leina were a religious order. Like the Shin, they spent their time in study, exercise, and prayer, but unlike the monks, they would have scoffed at the never-ending rigor of the vaniate. Ciena’s priestesses were devotees of pleasure. They spent their days and nights studying dancing, fine wines … and other, more alluring arts. The richest men spent princely sums to share the company of a leina, even for a single night, such princely sums, in fact, that Ciena’s temple in Annur boasted nearly as much gold, marble, and silk as the Dawn Palace itself.

Regardless of the wealth lavished upon them, however, the women owed their devotion to the goddess they served rather than to the men who paid so richly for their attentions. There were rules governing the behavior of the leina, observances to be paid, holidays to be observed, tradition to be respected. A man could not simply arrive at the temple, toss a jingling sack of Annurian suns on the counter, and demand to be served. It didn’t work like that, at least not in the stories Kaden had heard. Even Emperors owed respect to the handmaids of a goddess.

“Adiv can’t do that,” he said. “He might be the Mizran Councillor, but he’s not in charge of Ciena’s temple.”

“He can,” Triste insisted, nodding vigorously. “You don’t know him. He can.” She sat up on the bed, hugging the blanket tightly to her chest.

“Well, I’ll see that he doesn’t,” Kaden replied firmly. “It’s as simple as that. I’ll just see that Louette, that your mother isn’t harmed.” The words sounded confident as they left his lips, and he dearly hoped they were true.

For the first time, Triste regarded him with what might have been hope. It was buried deep beneath fear, suspicion, and doubt, but it was there. Kaden’s heart warmed at the sight.

“How did Adiv … find you?” he asked slowly.

A cloud passed over Triste’s face, but she answered readily enough. “I grew up in the temple. My whole life, I lived there.” With a sweep of her fingers she brushed back her black hair, revealing the necklace tattoo. At least, it looked like a tattoo, but Kaden had never seen work so delicate.

“What is it?” he asked.