Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [38]
“As you commanded, my lord,” she said.
“Come inside. Away from prying eyes.”
Taking hold of Mina, he drew her inside the mausoleum and shut the great bronze doors.
“How cold your hand is. Cold as death,” he said, and was pleased to see her smile at his little jest. “And you are soaked to the skin. Here. We will warm you.”
He was eager to find out if his enchantment had worked and if he had indeed managed to capture Krell, but he was concerned about Mina, who could barely walk for shivering. He snapped his fingers and a fire sprang up from a brazier on the altar. Mina approached it gratefully, holding her hands to the warmth.
The sodden fabric of her cambric shirt clung to her body, flowing over the fullness of her breasts that were pale and smooth as the marble of the altar. He watched her breasts quiver with her shivering, rise and dip with her breathing. His eyes moved to the hollow of her throat, a tempting shadow of darkness in the firelight, to her face, the curve of her lips, the strong chin, the remarkable amber eyes.
Chemosh was surprised to feel his own heart beat faster, his own breath catch. Gods had fallen in love with mortals before now; Zeboim had been one of them and she had even sunk so far as to give birth to a half-mortal child. Chemosh had never understood how one could be attracted to a mortal, with their limited minds and butterfly lives, and he did not understand himself now. He had intended his seduction of Mina to be strictly business, at least as far as he was concerned. He would make love to her and ensnare her, force her to become dependent on him. He was now half-amused by his own feelings of desire and half-annoyed. Desire was an indication of weakness on his part. He had to conquer it, get back to the business of becoming king.
Mina felt his gaze upon her. She turned to look at him and she must have seen his thoughts in his eyes, for she smiled at him, the amber warm and melting.
Chemosh wrenched his thoughts and his gaze away from her. Business before pleasure. He placed the helm upon the altar and stared eagerly inside. He could see, in the shadows of the Abyss, the small and shriveled soul of Ausric Krell.
A raging gust of wind smote the mausoleum, lashed the trees and tore the leaves from their limbs. Thunder pounded the temple in frustration. Fury lit the night skies and tears of rage drowned the stars.
Inside the mausoleum, all was warm and snug. Chemosh held the spirit between his thumb and forefinger and watched Krell squirm, like a mouse caught by the tail.
“Do you pledge me your loyalty, Krell?” Chemosh demanded.
“I do, my lord.” Krell’s voice came from far away, sounded tinny and frantic. “I do!”
“And you will do whatever I ask of you? Obey my orders without question?”
“Anything, lord,” Krell swore, “so long as you keep me out of the clutches of the Sea Witch.”
“Then from this moment on, Ausric Krell,” said Chemosh solemnly, dropping the spirit upon the altar, “you are mine. Zeboim has no hold upon you. She has no way to find you, for you are hidden safely within my darkness.”
All this time, he was aware of Mina watching him, her amber eyes wide with awe and admiration. He was pleased to have impressed her, until it occurred to him that he was behaving just like a school boy, showing off for some giggling girl.
He gave an irritated wave of his hand and Ausric Krell, wearing the armor of his curse, stood before the altar. His red eyes, glowing like banked coals, flicked about suspiciously, taking in his surroundings.
“No tricks, Krell, as you see,” Chemosh stated, adding in grating tones. “You could at least say ‘thank you’.”
Krell knelt down ponderously, clanking and rattling, onto one knee.
“My lord, I do thank you. I am in your debt.”
“Yes, you are, Krell. And don’t ever forget it.”
“What is your lordship’s command?”
Chemosh’s thoughts kept