Page 50 of Sanctifier

“Time indeed,” he said, reaching up to adjust his cravat, which had loosened in the wind. He seemed about to say something else, but remained silent as he tucked the cravat back into his waistcoat.

Ru shivered in her gown, which was terribly fashionable and far too low cut for the weather. Goosebumps stood out on her chest and arms. “Have you punished me adequately for slouching?” she said.

“You see it as punishment,” Lord D’Luc said, pushing off from the balcony and holding out his elbow for Ru to take. “I see it as education. Shall we?”

They re-entered the party, a glittering little fete with miniature cakes and a wine fountain, all brought in for the occasion. Ru couldn’t help but feel inadequate, as if somehow it was obvious that she didn’t fit here. That Lord D’Luc had been right: she was nothing but a merchant’s daughter.

“There you are!” cried Count Leon, practically dancing across the room to them. He was young and handsome, full of energy,with a tower of coiffed hair to rival even Simon’s. He held out a hand to Ru, who had already been introduced, and took her fingers in his. “Ruellian, may I address you as Ruellian? Oh, Ruellian, how wonderful it is to finally look upon your countenance. How many times have I heard of your beauty, only for such pale words to be outshone by the real thing! Lady Bellenet never once intimated how… well… Taryel surely is a lucky fellow, isn’t he?”

“Thank you, Count Leon,” Ru said, forcing a gracious smile. “You honor me.”

“Tell me,” said the count, his eyes shining, “is it true that when you cleanse the world, we shall all be reborn in the land of paradise?”

Ru felt Lord D’Luc stiffen beside her. But she was ready for this; she had known what sort of madness she’d have to not only endure, but indulge. Despite a horrible sickness in her belly, Ru said, “I have been told that is true, that Festra will guide us to paradise. Who am I to question Festra?”

Lord D’Luc turned to her, his expression unreadable. “How diplomatic,” he said, so only she could hear.

Count Leon, meanwhile, seemed to be on the verge of tears. “Oh, Ruellian. You may call me anything you like. You hold a miraculous power that none of us could have dreamed of until now. Oh, what a magical day! A glorious time!” At this, he turned and danced away toward the wine fountain.

Ru couldn’t tell if he truly believed, or if he was simply caught up in the drama of it all. It didn’t matter either way — he was going to die by her hand, just as every other courtier at the party would. It was a slow kind of torture, being made to meet these people, converse with them, and drink with them, knowing that she held their lives in her hands. And she had no idea how to stop them from meeting a horrific end, no idea how to save them.

Panic clawed at her throat. And deep down, something else, something angry and feral, churned in Ru.

“Ah, at last,” said Lord D’Luc, apparently oblivious to Ru’s inner turmoil. “Your god arrives.”

The room went quiet as soon as Taryel entered. Even the chamber ensemble, which had been playing a lively dance, faded into silence. Ru’s heart, against her will, seemed to stop as well. He was as arresting to look at as he had always been. Even dressed in the finest clothes, he managed to look as if he’d just come in from some dark and mysterious wood. His hair was wild and curled about his ears, his cheeks stubbled from days of beard growth.

His gaze found Ru’s immediately.

Go to him, she thought, or rather felt, as the artifact bubbled to life within her.

“Well?” murmured Lord D’Luc. “Greet him.”

Of course. It was all part of the play. Throwing back her shoulders, Ru made her way through the brightly lit room, past richly dressed courtiers and flickering candles, to stand before Taryel.

He watched her approach like a cat, wary and elegant. And when she dropped a curtsey, he took her hands in his and pulled her to her full height again, frowning. “Don’t bow to me,” he said. “I’ve said it before. You hold my heart, Ruellian Delara. I’m but a servant in your presence.”

Ru’s breath caught. His delivery was perfect. The low timbre of his voice, the way his breath caught when he spoke her name — an impeccable performance. She almost believed it.

“Theromance,” Count Leon exclaimed, surging forward. “The drama! You spoil us, Taryel, you spoil us! Your lady has been waiting, simply wasting away without you. Please, come, drink, eat, be merry.”

The count bowed deeply before Taryel, and again before Ru, who had been subjected to his bows several times already. Taryel said nothing, but wrapped an arm around Ru’s waist, guiding her. She hated the way his touch affected her, the solidness of his body close to hers.

It’s all pretend, she reminded herself.We’re just characters in a play. But her body, as usual, had other ideas.

By the time she and Taryel had made the rounds together, him murmuring in low tones and Ru laughing and smiling brightly, she was finding it almost impossible to keep her hands off of him. His arm around her wasn’t nearly enough.

At last, he led her to a shadowy corner of the room, away from prying ears. They were visible to anyone who cared to look, but at least Lord D’Luc was on the far side of the room, sipping his wine and casting vaguely approving looks at Ru.

“Simon is throwing a fit,” Taryel said mildly, his voice low enough that no one could hear him aside from Ru. “He wants you out of the palace.”

“Good for him,” Ru replied, leaning close. “Tell him I’ll leave the second he can guarantee the court’s safety while I’m gone.”

“He loves you,” Taryel said.

“And I love not murdering people. Stop frowning, they’re looking.”

“What would you rather I do?” he said, snaking an arm around her, his smile turning lascivious. “They’ll love it if I kiss you.”

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