Beyond the Shadows - Brent Weeks [31]
In grief as in love and in drink, Dorian’s people were extravagant, but these women’s tears were not for show. They had all lived in awe and terror of the Godking, and few of them would have dared love him. None of his favorite concubines were here. No one would report who had wept and who had not. But His Holiness had been the center around which their lives revolved. Without that center, everything collapsed.
They would be compelled to throw themselves on Garoth’s pyre to accompany him into the afterlife and be his slaves forever. And Garoth had always liked his women young.
Dorian saw one beautiful girl, Pricia. She was barely fourteen and just past her flowering, sitting alone, staring into space. She was still a virgin. Yorbas Zurgah had intended her as a present to the Godking when He arrived home.
“You have a chance,” Dorian told her woodenly. “The next Godking might claim you.”
“All my friends are going to die,” Pricia said, not even looking at him.
Her answer shamed him. She hadn’t been thinking of herself. This place was starting to make him think cynically, like the old Dorian.
The other implications of Garoth’s death pounded Dorian a moment later. The Godking had left no clear heir, and whichever aetheling succeeded him would certainly kill off the others. If the concubines knew of Garoth’s death, the aethelings would soon, if they didn’t already.
Jenine!
Dorian burst into the eunuchs’ room where he’d left Hopper.
“Get them all out of here,” he ordered the old man. “Start with the virgins.”
“What?”
“Hide them in my room. At least one of the aethelings will try to seize the Godking’s harem as a declaration that he should be the next Godking. Or the guards may go crazy. You can’t hide all of them, but at least the virgins will have a chance to be claimed by the next Godking. If they get raped, they’ll die with the others.”
Hopper nodded at once. “Done,” he said.
Dorian ran up the Tygre Tower. The dreads guarding at the base of the tower were gone, and his heart dropped. He sprinted up the steps three at a time. He heard raised voices as he came up the last twenty steps. “ . . . come, or I hurt you and then you come.”
“All right,” Jenine said, defeated.
The latch had been melted off the door. The fucker. It was Tavi, come to violate Jenine. Dorian kicked open the door just in time to see Jenine pull out the dagger he’d given her and bury it in a young man’s chest. He screamed and his vir rose to the surface of his skin instantaneously. A white ball the size of a fist slammed into Jenine’s chest and threw her across the chamber.
He turned at the sound of the door bursting open, but he didn’t have time to move before Dorian’s flame missiles hit him. Six burrowed through his chest and out his back before he fell facedown, dead. It wasn’t Tavi. It was Rivik, Tavi’s sidekick. Dorian went to Jenine.
She was whimpering, struggling to breathe, her chest concave with six broken ribs. Dorian put his hand on her chest, Seeing the damage. She relaxed as he washed away her pain. Bone after bone snapped into place seamlessly, and in moments, Dorian was done.
Jenine stared at him, wide-eyed. “You came.”
“I’ll always come for you.”
She inhaled experimentally. “I feel . . . perfect.”
Dorian smiled shyly and then started grabbing candelabra, tygre statuary, anything he could find made of gold.
“We can’t carry all that,” Jenine said.
Dorian dropped the unwieldy pile on the table. He winked at her and put his hands on each object in turn. One by one, they melted. The gold puddled onto the table, separating and connecting into lumps like quicksilver. The lumps began congealing, thinning, hardening, until each was flat disk bearing the likeness of Garoth Ursuul.
“What . . . how . . . ?” Jenine stuttered.
“The coins are only worth a fraction of what the art was, but they are a more liquid asset.” He smiled as she giggled in wonder.
He allowed himself that smile, but things