The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [116]
The bard was eating olives from a bowl brought by a servant, and Lirith and Aryn sat near a window, sharing an orange. Durge had eaten olives before, and he had once tasted an orange in the Dominions, but these things were rare there, delicacies to be savored by nobles. Yet he had seen common folk hawking them on the streets on their way to the hostel.
Melia sat in a chair, a fluffy black kitten curled up on her lap. Durge didn’t know where the kitten had come from; he supposed it lived at the hostel and had simply wandered into their rooms. It looked uncannily like the kitten that had journeyed with them to Perridon earlier that year, but Durge knew that was impossible. That cat would have nearly reached its full size in the intervening months.
“I don’t know what to do,” Melia said. “I really don’t know.”
These words stunned Durge. They had journeyed to Tarras at Melia’s behest; he had simply assumed that, once here, she would have a plan for how she would solve the mystery of the murdered god. Or gods, as the matter now stood. However, she gazed out a window, absently petting the kitten. He saw Aryn and Lirith exchange glances; clearly the two were as shocked as he.
To his further astonishment, Durge found himself standing. But this silence was useless; someone had to take action. “We must use logic to find the murderer.”
Falken let out a snort. “This is a city full of gods we’re talking about, Durge, not one of your alchemical potions. Believe me, logic doesn’t apply.”
Durge would not accept that; logic always applied. The gods were mysterious and powerful, yes. But while they were much more than human, there were still rules they had to abide by, as evidenced by the machinations for followers and status that Melia and Falken had described.
He cleared his throat. “Melia, will you tell me of the gods Ondo and Geb?”
“What does it matter? They are gone now.”
Durge did his best to speak gently, although he did not know if he succeeded in the attempt. “It does matter, my lady. If we could come to know these gods, then we might understand why it was that someone would wish to harm them. From what I have been able to observe, it seems both Ondo and Geb were minor deities.”
Now Melia looked up, eyes blazing. “That doesn’t mean they deserved to be slain!”
Durge winced. Melia’s face was nearly as ashen as the woman in gray they had encountered earlier. But the damage was already done; there was no point in stopping. This was a puzzle, and Durge was good at puzzles. There had to be a pattern here—he had only to find it.
“I did not mean to imply that the death of these gods is of no importance, my lady. On the contrary, that one might slay a god is deeply troubling, for it suggests a murderer with both great power and cruelty. What I meant to ask was simply this: Why was it these two particular gods who were slain?”
Falken looked up. “You mean you think Ondo and Geb were chosen for a reason?”
Durge shrugged. “A killer must choose his victim somehow, must he not?”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Aryn said. “It must take abilities we can’t even imagine to slay a god. If you’re that powerful, why not start with one of the most important, like Vathris or Jorus?”
The young woman stood before the window now, her good arm folded over the withered one. She had changed into a lighter gown of blue fabric, and Durge could see a soft radiance through the material, as well as the curves of a slender figure. He averted his eyes—but not quite as hastily as proper decorum might have required.
Aryn tapped her cheek. “I suppose I can imagine why Ondo might be a target; he did control the goldsmiths in the city, and it sounds as if the gods covet gold as much as people do. But what use would there be in killing Geb? I can’t imagine many people would miss him, except for the thieves and beggars who worshiped him. And I doubt those groups have much standing in this city.”
Like a sharp sword, it pierced him. “But that’s it, my lady. You’ve put the arrow in the eye of the target.”
Aryn’s blue eyes went wide. “I have?”
“As