Orak stared at his hands. He found himself doing that more than he liked, lately. How his hands could give him the needed answers, he did not know. His response to that spider, Qinten, had been honest. He did not follow any cult, fearing loss of business with others.
More to the point, after Elin’s death, he had no trust or faith in any of them. How could a god made by a man solve his problems? How could any of the cults claim to heal? Or save? Impossible! He slammed a fist into the open palm of the other hand. He would not allow that black thing to hurt his family, again.
Qinten had expertly woven a web around him. Orak could feel the stickiness of it. There must be a way to break out. He would not give his beautiful Ziva to him, or one like him, one who would expect that of her. “Lead the Planting Festivals, indeed not. Not my Ziva.”
Com rapped on his office door and poked his head in. “Everything good with you, sir? I saw the spider leave.”
“No. He tried to bait his traps, enticing Ziva to be his mate. I hope she continues to see through him.”
“She will, sir. Ziv is a smart young woman. I saw her shudder as she left your office.”
“You would shudder, too, if you were offered the right to lead the Planting Festival of Lorca.”
“No! Ziv would not do that.”
Orak took a deep breath. “Not if we can find a way to keep her from Qinten’s side as his mate.”
Com leaned back, as though retreating from a blow, horror roughening his voice. “Qinten desires our Ziva as his mate?”
“He does. Is there a way I can survive without our sales to Lorca? Qinten threatens to deprive me of those sales if I do not give in. I have been seeking a means to protect Ziva and my household. Lorca purchases more than half our stock and grains.”
Com ducked his head. “There must be a way. We must save Ziv.”
“I know. I have put him off for weeks, hoping he would tire of it. Today, though, he insisted on visiting Ziva here. He wanted her to get to know him. We have little time. I promised her I would not force her to marry, especially not Qinten. What can I do?”
“Allow me to look into this. I have heard rumors. Perhaps I can enlarge them, cause him to focus his energies on something besides our Ziva.”
Orak nodded, fearing his voice would give his feelings away, though he was certain his face had already done that. Com quietly left the office.
What has Com heard? I have heard some, but Qinten has protection as a priest of Lorca, double protection as the son of the city governor. Com is good. He’ll find a way.
Orak pulled his ledger toward him on the desk. In the meantime, he would find a way to sell more elsewhere and become less dependent on Lorca. He growled and mumbled aloud, “I know better than to place so much importance on one customer.”
~ ~ ~
Nat’s thoughts whirled as he rode through the city with Qinten toward home. Would Orak really tell Ziva what happened in the Planting Festival? He needed to find a way to thwart Qinten’s plans. To be Qinten’s mate and to participate in the Planting Festival, or any festival, would be worse for Ziva than anything Qinten could do to him.
Nat served the revelers at the Planting Festival the year before. He stood at the door from the kitchen, horrified by what he saw, and his reactions to it. Much as he tried to control it, his body defied his mind, responding to the music and the wild gyrations of the naked women. He withdrew, embarrassed. Drak had laughed at him and teased him for hiding in the dormitory rather than joining the others. Something deep within him, a memory barely there, prevented Nat from joining in the wild dancing, driving the dancers to acts Nat refused to name.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
And now, Orak will be required to share this with my Ziva. Nat shook his head.
“What are you mumbling about?” Qinten demanded.
A bump in the road jolted the carriage, bouncing Qinten into Nat. He pushed himself upright and growled, “Tell the driver to be more careful.”
Nat stood enough to hold on the sides and pound on the roof of the wagon and lean out the window. “Master says to drive more carefully.”
“Sorry, sir,” the driver shouted back. “Unexpected hole.”
“Miss those holes. Master is not happy to be thrown about inside. Beware.”
The carriage took a sharp turn past another hole, knocking Nat out the window. He grabbed for the edge of it, catching his foot on the bottom of the seat. His body dangled, flailing wildly through the open window.
“Driver! Driver! Slow down!”
Nat grappled for a grip along the top of the door. His hand slipped. He feared he would be thrown out. Wagons and carriages jolted toward them. He felt his foot slip from beneath the seat and scrabbled for a new grip. He dangled half in and half out the window. The door swung open. Nat could see a large wagon lurching toward them. He beat his legs back and forth trying to drag the door closed. The other vehicle raced closer. Nat shouted in fear and frustration.
The road narrowed and the carriage caromed over a giant rock loosed by the recent rains. Nat knew this would be his end. How can I protect you if I am gone, Ziva, now that I have found you again? The door slammed closed, throwing him back inside and onto the seat as the wagon careened past. Qinten shoved him aside with a growl.
“Master,” Nat said, “you must choose between your desires to return quickly or travel without this constant jarring. I fear you cannot have both.”
“I must speak, again, with father about the deplorable condition of this road,” Qinten grumped. “It isn’t safe.”
Nat nodded. They rode on, lost in thought, holding on to the seat to prevent crashing into the other man, until the carriage slowed and turned toward Qinten’s home.
Qinten opened his eyes. “What do you think of Orak’s daughter, Ziva?”
“Ziva?”
“Yes. You are not stupid nor am I. I saw you staring at her. What do you think of her?”
“She is a beautiful woman, though her station is much too high for me to consider. Intelligent. She asked good questions. Will it matter that she does not follow the cult of Lorca? Is that a problem?”
“Stupid woman. As my mate, she will have no choice. She will be High Priestess. I am amazed Orak has shielded her so closely from the rites of Lorca or any of the other cults. How can such a man not choose a cult to follow?”
“It is as he said.” Nat shrugged. “He follows the cult of business, never openly suggesting interest in a specific cult. Could he sell grain and animals to Lorca if he openly followed, say … Balg?
“Balg.” Qinten spat the word out as though it were poison. “Balg is primitive, compared to Lorca. Priests of Balg refuse to join with any woman who is not their mate. Primitive nonsense!”
Qinten stewed and complained more about the Balg cult.
“You would not purchase from Orak then if he openly followed that cult?”
“Never! I could not.”
“How, then, could Orak openly follow Lorca? You have put him in a precarious position. Lorca does purchase much of Orak’s merchandise for the voracious Lorca, but he does sell to the other three cults. It would ruin him to openly support Lorca.”
“It would help him. Lorca is a powerful god, much more so than Nimm or Enid, certainly more powerful than Balg.”
“The others would not purchase from him. Will you do this to the father of your mate?”
“He need not openly follow Lorca to give Ziva to me.”
Nat saw Qinten’s anger raising and stayed silent. He had said too much already. He would be lucky to avoid a beating.
The carriage drew to a stop at Qinten’s door. He threw the carriage door open and stomped inside, not waiting for the driver to jump down from his high seat or for Nat to lean forward to open his door. Nat stepped out of the carriage and followed his master inside, aware the driver may face undeserved punishment.
Nat felt punishments were likely impending. Nearly bouncing Nat from the window was not all the driver’s fault. The roads were terrible after the recent rains. More importantly to Nat, would the master find a reason to punish him for his rash questions? If it saved Ziva from his attentions, it would be worth it.