Chuckling and shaking her head at the strange, dogmatic behavior of the Above, she strode down the hallway. A graying prayer keeper approached them. “Is there some assistance I can offer you?” he asked, gaze turned down and hands clasped before him, covered by the wide sleeves of his brown robes.
Gemma leaned in close to the man’s ear and whispered, “I am Gemma Antos, the Queen of Under, and I come as head of the Guild.” The prayer keeper’s eyes darted to her face, then away again. Then she raised her voice. “I need Brother Elam,” she said.
“Of course, Regency. I live to serve.”
They followed the gray-haired prayer keeper into the depths of the Slit. If Tollan was nervous now, she could hardly wait to see how he would respond to Elam—a member of the legendary Dalinn. If their behavior tonight had told her anything about Wince and the king, she’d bet they’d laid awake plenty of nights fantasizing about the pleasures of the fabled Slit.
The hallways grew narrower and more dimly lit as they moved deeper into the secret areas of Canticle Center, and a haze of incense and the distant strums of a harp filled the air. Day or night, the Slit bustled with activity—economic, sensual or visceral. Some business qualified as all three.
They were led to an alcove hung with brightly colored silk curtains. The floor was polished wood and several brightly colored pillows dotted the space. A low table, bare save a large bottle filled with black sand, was the only furniture. “Please wait here,” the prayer keeper said, bowing deeply to her. “I’ll alert Brother Elam that you seek an audience.”
She chose a rose-colored pillow made of velvet and sat down, stretching her legs out in front of her. Tollan seemed rather reluctant to sit but eventually chose a blue silk cushion. The breeches that Devery and Fin had brought for him were a bit snug, and as he sat, Gemma admired the muscles in his calves that pulled the thin material taught. The King of Above may be naive, but he was not weak.
Wince sat down beside her on a yellow pillow. He rubbed at his eyes and then grinned caddishly.
“Calm yourself, there, lightning,” she chided, though she could not keep a smile from her own face. “We’re here on business—not pleasure.”
“So it’s true, then?” Tollan asked. “The church trains women in the art of—”
“Not just women,” Gemma interrupted. “Men, too. The priests of the Dalinn are the best at what they do, but that’s not why we’re here.”
“Why are we here?” Wince asked, leaning back and stretching his own legs out.
“Privacy, and a place where I can think and talk to someone I trust. The tunnels are unstable, Aegos knows what’s happening with those plants up above, and Devery said that neither of us should go anywhere near our homes. We need information and we need someplace we can talk without fear of someone overhearing, until we figure out who’s a friend and who’s not.” She heard footsteps coming and quickly tucked her feet beneath her, putting herself in a regal, meditative position. Wince and Tollan nervously followed her lead.
Elam entered the alcove, his expression serene. “Thank you, Lamwin,” he said, nodding to the gray-haired prayer keeper.
“Follow me, please.” Elam offered a hand to Gemma, then smiled at Tollan and Wince. “Good sirs.”
Gemma stood, her skin burning with nervous energy, and took his hand. It had been far too long since she’d been to church.
They made their way down a narrow passage, dark save the red-covered sconces that lit the hall in a warm wash of color. At the end of the hallway, Elam produced a key from a chain around his neck and unlocked a stone door. He opened it with a small grunt of effort, ushered the three of them inside and then turned and relocked the door.
He had barely finished with the door when Gemma threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. The serene demeanor of prayer keeper vanished, and the boy she’d known as little more than a street rat suddenly appeared. “Goddess, Gem,” he said, reaching up to brush at the bloody streak on her forehead, “Are you all right? What do you need? How can I help?”
“Gentleman, this is Brother Elam of the Dalinn. Elam, may I introduce Tollan Daghan, King of Yigris Above, and his associate, Wincel Quintella.”
“Prickling Void, Gemma. It’s even worse than streetword has it, then?” Elam asked, his brow furrowing behind his spectacles.
She nodded, chewing her lip. “We need a place to lay low for a few hours. Can we …”
“You don’t even need to ask … Regency.”
She saw then, that he knew about Melnora. “What news have you had?” she asked, wishing she’d made time to come visit him before she’d needed to cash in a favor.
“I was at the assembly,” he said, squeezing her hand gently. “Since then, we’ve had word of a fire at the Six-Mast. A few of those displaced from the docks have made their way to the temple. They’re saying that giant bramble bushes have grown up around Dockside. Some urchins came in saying that Guildhouse is surrounded by fire and thorns. People are saying that the Guild has disbanded—that there is no head—they’re saying that the Queen of Under is dead.”
“Prick that,” Tollan growled behind her. “Gemma, you’ve got to—”
“Elam, give us as much time as you can,” she said, talking over the King of Above. She didn’t have time for his naivety. “But don’t risk yourself or the rest of the Center. Keep your ears open for me. I’d like to think that the church will be safe no matter what, but I don’t know who is behind this yet, and we cannot be dealing with anyone from Above just now.” He nodded, dark eyes shadowed.
“And don’t tell anyone we’re here. Unless …” she paused, unsure if she was tearing open old scars. “Unless Devery comes, or Fin.”
Elam, always stoic, nodded. “Of course, Gemma.” If she hadn’t known him as well as she did—if she hadn’t grown up with him, stolen, fought and bled with him—she’d never have known that he was still in love with Devery. But she knew, and that knowledge clawed at her heart.
Wince watched the blood drain from Tollan’s face as Elam left and Gemma locked the door behind the sex priest.
“Gemma,” Tollan said, “can you explain to me why everyone in the most highly guarded place in Yigris is willing to do your bidding? Ten minutes ago, I didn’t even know this place existed, but you seem to be old friends with everyone here. I want to know what’s going on here!”
Wince hadn’t thought to wonder this, but as soon as Tollan asked, he realized it was true. He turned to Gemma. “He’s got a point,” he said.
She sighed, sliding into one of the two chairs that sat across from an enormous, lavishly draped bed. The rug in hues of red and gold on the polished floor was probably from Ladia, where the best textiles were made.
“All right,” she said, the toe of her left boot kicking aimlessly in the air. “You have to understand that this is top-level information.” She grinned, eyebrows bobbing. “And yes, the irony of saying that to you, Tollan, does not escape me.”
Tollan nodded, still stick-straight and tense. It had been a long while since Wince had seen Tollan this anxious. Of course, it had been a long time since Wince had seen Tollan in the same room as his father, and that had pretty much always made Tollan look that way.
Gemma went on. “A hundred and some-odd years ago, just before the Mage War was first called off, Jenn Daghan and his sister, Olyn, signed the secret pact that created Above and Under, making him king and her queen.”