Then she would have to think of a way to escape from within the confines of the Porsada Temple. Once again, she'd only heard it described. The Holy Guard were numerous these days. Even if she stole a guardsman's sword, it would not have the balance of a svaalverd blade, nor the sharpness. Fighting her way out single-handed was possibly not the smartest plan.
She ate the meal, figuring that light bread, soup and water meant it was still lunchtime. The lack of shadow from the window seemed to confirm that. The food was plain, but not bad. At least it seemed the priests did not wish her punished in any way. Yet.
To better absorb her lunch, she sat cross-legged on her bed, and meditated. Kessligh swore by it, but Sasha was more sceptical; she'd never been one to sit still and think of nothing for any period. Still, it made her feel better to be doing something, an activity she could control toward her own ends. And, when thinking of nothing lost its appeal entirely, she thought instead of everything she knew about Porsada Temple: which way the road came in along the ridge, the nature of its cliffs, the proximity of its walls to the sheer drop below.
After her headache had cleared somewhat, she sat on the flagstone floor and did stretches. It was common Nasi-Keth knowledge that poisons or potions of any sort could be hastened from the body by exercise. When she felt up to it, she tried sit-ups and push-ups, and then jumps and running on the spot…which felt a little ridiculous with the dress bouncing around her legs. The air inside the cell was stifling and she was soon dripping with sweat, making unsightly dark stains beneath the armpits of her dress sleeves. Take that, horrid thing.
She turned her attention to the slit window, but it seemed entirely out of her reach.
She shifted the bed directly beneath the window-the bedframe was heavy wood and squealed on the flagstones. Jumping from the end, she came close, but not enough.
She examined the mattress, which seemed to be stuffed with straw. Beneath, the bed frame was wooden slats. Easy solution. She wrestled the mattress off the bed, with some effort, and set about turning the bed frame on its end. Her balance was still not fully recovered, but she finally managed it and pushed the frame as close as possible to the wall. Then she climbed the slats.
Peering through the window slit, she could see nothing but ocean, and the sun seemed to be now to the right…so she guessed she was facing roughly east, straight out to sea. Right at the tip of the promontory, perhaps. If she were not, she should be able to see the huge temple spires. Perhaps she was directly beneath a spire. Or in one.
The door bolts squealed and clacked, but Sasha didn't bother moving. The door swung open and she looked down to see a guard blinking up at her. “Hello,” she said cheerfully. “Have you come to look up my dress?”
“Get down from there.”
It would have been too much to ask for the Holy Guard to have a sense of humour, Sasha supposed. “You think I'm going to escape through this little thing? I can barely get my arm through.”
“Get down or I'll knock you down.” If he risked physical contact, she could grab his sword, or his knife. But there was his companion behind, and doubtless more outside. She'd do better to wait.
Sasha sighed and climbed down the slats. “You could have at least put me in a room with an accessible view.”
“The archbishop wants to see you,” said the guard.
“The Archbishop of Torovan?” said Sasha, feigning astonishment. “Gosh. But I have nothing to wear!”
The guard tied her wrists with tight cord first. Sasha decided against resisting or refusing-they could have beaten her senseless first, had they chosen. Besides, she wanted to get out of her cell and take a look around. The guard escorted her out of the door, which opened onto a downward spiral of stairs. She was in of one of the spires then. One guard led the way, another at her back, each with a shield and a sword at the hip.
The stairs descended into a grand room, high-ceilinged with great, gilt-framed paintings on the stone walls. Gold filigree traced patterns across the ceiling, from which golden chandeliers hung. On the right, large windows looked onto Petrodor Harbour and a warm breeze whispered at white, billowing curtains. At a table before the windows sat an old man in black robes. He sipped at a golden winecup and gazed out at the harbour below. He had white hair about a bald spot and a big chin that had surely once been square, but was now developing jowls. Upon the stand behind him hung a tall, black hat. A cane rested against the wall beside his chair.
He studied Sasha with sharp blue eyes and smiled thinly. “Dear girl.” His voice was educated, and condescending…and yet, somehow, not entirely convincing for a man of his stature. “Please, do sit.” He gestured to the chair opposite.
Sasha walked, a guard at her side, testing her bonds as she went. They were tight and her right hand was going numb. The guard pulled the chair for her and she sat.
“It is customary, my dear, to first kneel before the archbishop, when entering his presence. Even for a princess.”
“Is it also customary to bind the hands of your lunch guests?” Sasha retorted.
The archbishop made a vague gesture with his winecup, sunlight shining upon his many gold rings. “You are not my lunch guest and I'm certain you can kneel with your hands tied.”
“And get back up again? Not when I'm dizzy from that needle.”
The archbishop looked at her, his blue eyes cool. “You are a pagan. That is why you do not kneel. You have rejected your gods.”
“Not my gods,” said Sasha. They regarded each other. This was the most powerful Verenthane in all Rhodia, she knew. With the holy temples of Enora, Rhodaan and Ilduur in the Saaalshen Bacosh out of direct Verenthane control, Petrodor had become the centre of Verenthane faith in Rhodia. For no better reason, Kessligh said, than it was where all the money was. This was Archbishop Augine himself, one of the very greatest men of all the lands. And yet she was not impressed.
He tried to look at ease. He tried to look comfortable. Yet unease lurked behind his smile and the comfortable remark. Perhaps the archbishop simply suffered from being compared, in her mind, to great Lenay men she had known. Men who wore power comfortably, and indeed radiated it as a cloak of honour. Or perhaps he was simply not a very impressive man. In Lenay opinion, there was nothing more contemptuous than a fraud, except perhaps a coward. Sasha resolved to find out.
“Regard this view,” the archbishop offered, gesturing with his winecup. “It is magnificent, is it not? The best view in all Petrodor.”
Sasha looked, and found that it was. The city-every dwelling, every road, every detail, in sprawling profusion about the harbour. The high sun, sparkling on the waters, and the silhouette of ships and rigging against that golden light.
“I've been out fishing on that harbour,” Sasha volunteered. “Have you?”
“In my youth,” said the archbishop. He flicked her a sideways glance. Then up, about at the walls. “Do you recognise these paintings?”
Sasha half turned in her chair and surveyed the walls. “That one would be the Enoran High Temple. And that's Saint Tristen on Mount Tristen. And that's Saint Sadis, and that's Saint Ambellion, of course. Not the others, though.” She was supposed to be impressed. And intimidated. The cumulative weight of Verenthane history pressed down upon this grand chamber. As though all of the gods and saints were watching.
Sasha stared at the archbishop. “You're drinking wine? Is that proper?”
“It is the Torovan tradition, even amongst clergy,” said the archbishop with a frown. “Tell me-”
“Is it proper that I should be here?” Sasha continued, not missing a beat. “I mean, this is Porsada Temple, the holiest temple in all Rhodia.”
“Second holiest,” said the archbishop, with the first trace of temper.
“Ah yes, the Enora High Temple comes first, doesn't it? These are your private chambers.” Sasha glanced around. “The archbishop's quarters? When was the last time a woman set foot in these quarters? When was the last time you even spoke to a woman? In Baen-Tar, even the new priests would run away from me. But now I'm being held in a secure room in your chambers. Tell me, are you in the habit of holding young women hostage in your chambers? Does anyone else even know I'm here?”
There was no mistaking the temper in the archbishop's eyes now. “You should recall to whom you're speaking, young lady.”
Sasha shrugged. “I'm just wondering how seriously you take this ‘holy vows’ stuff here in Petrodor. I mean, we hear all the stories in Lenayin-all the little boys buggered behind the altar, that kind of thing. And now you're drinking wine and holding pretty girls hostage for your private amusement…”
“You are being held here as a direct favour to your dear sister Marya!” hissed the archbishop between clenched teeth. “I did inform her that it would be highly improper for a woman to be quartered in the temple, but she did insist! You should be thankful for my mercy that you were not given directly into the hands of Family Steiner, I doubt they'd have arranged such comfortable lodgings for you as we have.”
“What would they do?” Sasha asked darkly. “Start pulling out fingernails?”
“At the very least. You cause great difficulties for Family Steiner, young lady. Have you no sympathy at all for the difficult position into which you put your sister?”
“Oh poor darling,” Sasha muttered. “I'm sure her fancy clothes and jewellery are just chafing right now.”
“Your love of family seems wanting,” the archbishop observed, recovering some of his poise. “Do you hold as much disdain for all the tenets of Verenthane morality?”
“Marya made her choice,” Sasha said shortly. “I've made mine.”
“Be aware, Sashandra Lenayin, that your position here is most tenuous.” The archbishop sipped at his wine and considered the view. “I could hand you to Family Steiner at any time should your behaviour displease me. As you have observed, it is not proper for you to be here at all. Do not grant me an even greater incentive to unload this burden with which I am presented.”
“Unload?” Sasha said with contempt. “Or sell cheap, like the cheap salesman you are? You don't practise morality here, the priesthood of Petrodor never has. You just buy and sell like all the other merchants. Buy off the families to keep you happy. Trade favours when it suits you. Peddle influence. I may be Goeren-yai, but I've known many good Verenthanes in Lenayin, priests amongst them. Their gods were never so short of gold and treasure as yours seem to be.”
“You doubt my resolve,” said the archbishop icily. “We have already disposed of one Nasi-Keth girl this morning. My guards found her hiding near your meeting place on the Cliff of the Dead. I'm told she put up a stubborn resistance and would have escaped had it not been for an excellent crossbowman. If you wish to join her at the bottom of the harbour, please just say so, and we shall dispense with these tiresome games and insults…”
Sasha lifted the table with an explosive heave. The archbishop toppled backward and Sasha rushed forward, but a guard threw her to the ground. She fell awkwardly, struggling to rise with tied hands, but a shield crashed into her side, throwing her further from the archbishop. She rolled fast, but an armoured boot in the side stopped her, and then one crashed into her head and stunned her. It was several kicks later before her head cleared. A kick in the back was agony and one in the stomach drove the breath from her lungs. She curled up and braced as hard as she could, arms over her head to protect what mattered most. Then the kicks stopped.
She lay still, breathing hard, trying to listen past the pain. She heard the archbishop's voice, disappointingly calm and reassuring, talking to the guards. The squeal and crash of the table being returned to its place. Candleholders resettled. Then a hand grabbed her under each armpit and hauled her up. Her feet barely touched the floor until the guards dumped her in the chair once more.