4. Chapter 4

The Temple is doing well for itself , I noted. The streets were filled with guards, gallies in robes the same color as the priests, and, of course, the acolytes. There were others, too. If I had to guess, those were the inhabitants of the houses I had seen rise up outside of Temple City. They hadn't been there ten years ago, at least not that many.

The last time I had been here, I had been a grief-stricken youngling with my father, begging—that damnable word again—the priests to give special dispensation for the souls of my mother and sisters.

Vorag demanded that every body be returned to the soil of Vandruk so that the souls of the dead may enter Koronae. All the gallies' bodies inside the sealed-up, soilless cave meant that they were never going to find peace. Thon-Marh, the High Priest at the time, told people that Vorag came to him in a dream and revealed that if males donated funds, food, and protection to the temples, their loved ones' souls would be allowed to pass on into Koronae.

My father paid a small fortune to set my sisters and mother's souls free. Bringing our demesne, Svengrod, close to financial ruin. It took me years to return Svengrod to its former glory after my father's death.

In a moment of honesty with myself, I realized that this was probably the reason I had despised the priest who was taking me to Grand Master Thlung-Rhan. He personified everything that was wrong with them. If they could pardon souls to be taken to Koronae, then why did they have to be paid to do so?

Why did my father have to beg for special dispensation? All these gallies' souls entombed in the mountain should receive it. How many males besides a khadahr would be able to afford the price set on his family's souls? I didn't think Vorag would be this cruel and deny these gallies their way into Koronae. It wasn't their fault their bodies couldn't feed new life.

"Khadahr Dzur-Khan is here to request a gallis as his mate, Grand Master Thlung-Rhan." The priest's voice brought me back to the present.

My thoughts and anger had consumed me so much that I hadn't realized we had reached the High Temple, where we must have run into Grand Master Thlung-Rhan.

"Ah, Khadahr Dzur-Khan, it is good to see you again."

"The honor is mine, Grand Master Thlung-Rhan," I replied just as frosty as he greeted me. It took me a moment before I recognized him. He had been a young acolyte years ago, but he had been the one who had placed the Mantle of Trial over the left side of my body. He took special care to tug it in underneath my arms so it would burn my sides as well as every other part its netting would reach.

I didn't begrudge him his part in the ceremony, but even ten years ago, I had realized the sick pleasure he was taking in tormenting me. It had been in the stiffening of his cock and his elevated breathing.

The years hadn't been good to him. His face was pale and swollen like the rest of his body. His overly round cheeks were red with the exertion of climbing up the hundred and twenty steps to the Temple, even though we had already made it halfway when we ran into him.

"Come, let's meet in my chambers; it's much cooler there," he invited, huffing and puffing.

It was slow going from here. Each conquered step was celebrated by a small pause. At this rate, I worried the sun would set before we even reached the Temple's entrance. I hadn't planned on spending a night here. I came because Mount Vladyck, where the High Temple was located, was close to the Rodruk Mountains, where the cave collapsed, and on the way to the red fog, where it was my turn to provide warriors to hold watch. Every few weeks, we Khadahrs rotated and brought warriors to the red fog to watch for any more intruders coming through. The portal was never to be left out of sight.

I worried Thlung-Rhan's heart would give out, but we finally reached the top. He borrowed my arm in between for support, and I was happy to offer him my scarred flesh, relishing his hesitation, even if it only lasted less than a moment. From the top of the Temple deck, I had an unobtrusive view of the Temple area, the walls with its large gate, the small town housing the servants outside, and the valley way beyond, much lower down Mount Vladyck. Not to forget the Rodruk Mountains, I could even faintly make out the plateau with its rock wall, keeping us from caring for our beloved dead. Even with that, it was a breathtaking sight.

The Temple ground's streets were clean swept, and the paths were laid with the finest madrag rock, which must have cost a fortune. My skin prickled at the thought of it having been purchased with the coin given by desperate people wanting to set the souls of their loved ones free.

I was still enthralled by the sight of all these gallies walking about and noticed how they were throwing surreptitious glances at me. As curious about me as I was about them.

If rumor was to be trusted, the Temple had tried to collect every single gallis after the tragedy and bring them to the Temple. But they had been met with hard resistance.

Over the years, they still managed to collect many of the survivors who could not attend the festival. Gallies who had been too young, too old, or sick or with child at the time of the festival. They had taken them in as payment to set the souls of their mothers and sisters free; they had been sent because fathers couldn't deal with the loss of their mates; they came orphaned or brought as sacrifices to show a family's true love for Vorag. Whatever the reason they came, they were here now until the priests decided who they should mate.

Just like they decided all the matings, the priests kept strict records of every gallis born anywhere on Vandruk. Rumor had it they were mated the day they were born in the minds of the priests. The priests, however, insisted that they didn't know who was to mate who until Vorag appeared in their dreams to divulge his will.

Since Vorag hadn't interfered in the death of our gallies, it was easy to believe the priests when they told us they were the lips and tongue of the gods. I did, however, remember a time when Vorag spoke directly to us. When the Temple was a smaller entity where people went to seek solace or advice, some days, I wondered if Vorag truly decided to punish us with the deaths of our gallies or if it was just a convenient lie for the priests to gain more power. Those, however, were blasphemous thoughts. As blasphemous as Tzar-Than's plan of finding us mates in another species. I always pushed those thoughts away from me. No good would come out of questioning Vorag's will or the priests.

The inside of the Temple was even more impressive than it had looked from the outside. Massive pillars in the shapes of narran trees reached all the way to the ceiling. Which was so high that ten males standing on each other's shoulders wouldn't have been able to reach. Plants hung from rafters, and vines made their way around the pillars.

Thlung-Rhan had been right about it being cooler inside, but I didn't like where the cooling came from. Vandruks outfitted as servants were holding large leaves, fanning the air .

This was such an obscene abuse of a servant's services that I ground my jaw and locked my tongue to prevent myself from yelling at the priest for this ridiculous extravagance.

"You wish to mate," Thlung-Rhan asked when we entered his chambers. These rooms were even more luxurious than what I had seen of the Temple so far.

Thick carpets lay on the polished rock floor, and furniture carved from narran trees dotted a chamber larger than my reception room. I didn't see a bed, but doors in the walls made me think they would lead into other rooms.

"I thought priests lived for the greater good of Vandruk," I couldn't stop remarking.

"We are. All these things–" he spread his arms to encompass the splendor he lived in "–were gifts from our adoring congregation."

I lifted a fine-blown vase that must have cost a fortune and felt a shudder of revulsion go through me at the thought that this most likely had been a gift from some desperate mate or father for the soul of his loved one.

"Please, sit. You must be tired after your long journey." Thlung-Rhan collapsed into an upholstered chair and clapped his hands. Immediately two servants, a gallis and a male, entered. "Bring some refreshments for our guest," he ordered, and the duo bowed— bowed!—and took off. My stomach churned, and I had a hard time keeping my temper under control. Before the tragedy, gallies held all kinds of positions, including that of servants—while they were unmated—but now they were even more revered. No matter how young or how old, unless they were healers, gallies were catered to . Not the other way around.

My anger churned in my stomach, and I reminded myself over and over why I was here and for whom. This was not for me; this was for my father. Yet, it was hard not to want to shout at Thlung-Rhan and his priests, not to tear this Temple down brick by brick. It was so far removed from what I remembered.

Ten years ago, the Temple had been impressive, but the priests' robes hadn't been made from fine fabrics like they were now. They had looked torn and frayed at the edges. The streets hadn't been plastered with madrag, but dirt. The guards they surrounded themselves with used to be made up of retired or maimed warriors who lived out their lives serving Vorag, not young males.

What I saw here was so far removed from what I had seen last time that it was a rude awakening. I didn't begrudge the priests this life—each to their own—but I didn't see any of the charity work being done like it used to.

The Temple used to be a sacred place where elders went to retire if they had no place left to live or desired to spend their last years in Vorag's service. Poor and sick people used to come here, praying for miracles and being helped by the priests to get back on their feet or make their peace with Vorag. I realized I was only getting a one-day view of the Temple life, yet I couldn't help but wonder where all the old males, the poor, and the sick had gone because I hadn't seen any of them .

The duo of servants reappeared, baring trays of the finest dycken and gronk meat I had ever tasted, fresh water, and a berry spirit that was nothing like the vile brews we usually drank.

"Let's discuss your mating." Thlung-Rhan leaned back in his chair, wiping his lips with a napkin.

"What offering did you bring us for this request?"

"I wasn't aware that requests for a mate have to be paid for," I replied dryly.

"My good khadahr, everything in this life has to be paid for," Thlung-Rhan said smugly. My hand reached for my knife. I would have loved to see Thlung-Rhan squirm at the other end of the blade, but in their infinite wisdom, the priests had taken all my weapons. Not that I needed one if I truly wanted to harm Thlung-Rhan. My hands were enough of a weapon. At least not finding my knife gave me time to collect my temper.

"What is usually… given?" I asked, and by Thlung-Rhan's smile, I noticed how wasted my sarcasm was on him.

"Whatever you think the mother of your younglings would be worth." He smiled slyly.

"I will arrange for… appropriate compensation." The mother of my young would be worth more than my demesne, more than my life, but I wasn't going to say that to the priest. Still too angry over the latest extortion they were imposing on us desperate males.

I would send him gems when I returned to Svengrod. I wouldn't have a choice in the matter. I paused as an unwelcome thought of Tzar-Than and his ridiculous plan popped into my head. There was another way. A tempting way. More so now than before.

"Good, good. My servants will show you to your quarters for the night; you should spend the time praying that Vorag will show himself merciful and give me insight on who would make a perfect mate for you." He waved at his servants. "I will let you know in the morning."

I fumed. He had dismissed me like a beggar, like a servant.

Father , I closed my eyes and prayed for strength. Be with me. Otherwise, I might kill that pompous bastard after all .