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Shan could concede that he now understood Onja’s lesson, but the ability of humans to be cruel did not justify Onja’s harsh desires.

“Would you have killed that woman?” Shan asked because that was really what was at the heart of his defiance.

Onja narrowed her eyes. She did not want him to belabor that point. She answered him mentally, “We will never know.”

Aloud she told him to walk with her.

Shan followed her on the walkway to where the wall met the Keep. A deep archway covered the door to the Keep and once inside the shady alcove, Onja stopped and set a hand on his cheek. She kissed his other cheek, and with a warm sad smile, she gathered one of his hands and held it to her chest.

“Shan, you are grown now. A rysling no more. We both know that,” Onja said.

Shan placed a hand over her hand on his face. Closing his eyes, he kissed her wrist, relieved to have her close again. The touch of her powerful flesh made him forget his anger and moral difficulties.

Onja continued, “To truly be my consort, you must shed your innocence.”

Her statement confused him. Shan did not quite conceive of himself as any more or less innocent than any other rys. In his defense, he said, “Onja, my Queen, it was not youthful innocence that made me not want to see you kill that woman.”

She arched her eyebrows and let go of his hand. “No? Are you sure?” she said. She turned toward the door, but before she opened it, she added, “My power is not pretty, Shan, but it is awesome. The humans respect me and the rys respect me. I am the most powerful and the rightful ruler of us all.”

“Yes, Onja. Of course,” Shan said.

He followed her into the Keep, but she did not take the stairs to the upper levels where she dwelled in luxury. Her steps led them downward.

In the lower places of the Keep, Shan knew there were store rooms and vaults, filled with centuries of treasure given up by the humans to their Goddess, and even lower, into the rocky bowels carved from the bedrock, were dungeons. At times, Shan had sensed suffering from these places, and the lingering ache of dark hidden sorrows clung to the cell blocks far beneath the regal grandeur of the throne of Jingten.

Occasionally, when Shan had been a rysling, scalpel sharp misery from the dungeon had slashed his perception, and he had sought comfort and explanation from Onja. She had told him that sometimes she punished criminals. It was an unpleasant thing, but he was not to let it upset him. Everyone, rys and humans, knew their place in society, and he should not pity those who defied the proper order of things.

The frightening episodes had thankfully been rare, and Shan had only once let his curious mind wander into the depths. He had seen a dead human, broken and starved, and he had not looked again.

But the memory shuddered through him now as he went with Onja through stairwells that became increasingly dark and damp. Tiny window slits allowed a little daylight in at the top of the stairs that descended into gloom. At the bottom of the steps, Onja opened a door that creaked on hinges burdened by thick timbers and rust. Inside was a guard room lit by several lanterns. Soot from the lanterns streaked the ceiling of the room cut from stone. A dozen sets of iron manacles and chains hung on a wall. Two rys of the Jingten Guard stood from the small table where they had been sitting and bowed to their Queen.

Onja selected a lantern from the table and told the guards that they would not be needed. She opened the door on the other side of the room and entered the hopeless dark. As Shan passed by the manacles, he reached out and touched a set. The essence of the humans that had been grasped by the ugly hard rings cut across his nerves. Shan revealed his discomfort with only a bat of his eyes. He looked at the other two rys. They did not speak to him. Rys rarely initiated conversation with him. He supposed they feared him because he was more powerful than they were. He lived and walked in Onja’s steps and few rys wished to involve themselves in the inner world of their Queen.

Shan hurried after Onja. They descended another long set of steps before reaching the wet smelly cavern where cells had been carved into the hard darkness. The lantern light swayed gently in Onja’s grip. Shan could hear water dripping from the high ceiling.

Near the cells, Onja stopped. “Do you feel her, Shan?”

Inside one of the cells languished a human female. Her presence was impossible for him to miss. Her flesh and her soul were bright and hot against Shan’s magical perception. A wave of sickness crawled up his stomach and throat as he recognized the unfortunate wife of Telender who he had thought that he had saved in the throne room.

Astounding horror raved inside Shan’s chest. “Onja, what have you done?” He wanted to shout but it was only a whisper.

Onja lifted the lantern between them. Its orange light burned across their faces. “We are going to finish your lesson, Shan,” she said.

Guilt robbed Shan of pride. And although Onja had told him not to pity the humans, he pitied the woman, and Shan fell to his knees.

He begged, “Let her go, Onja. Please. I am sorry I interfered in the throne room. I will make it up to you. Do not punish this woman because of my foolishness. Please.”

His reaction baffled Onja for a moment. Recovering from her confusion, she sneered, “See how weak your innocence makes you.”

“Innocence?” Shan said. “It was my indiscretion. Punish me instead of this human.” NEXT PAGE >>>