Say a Prayer

There was a problem, a huge, uncomfortable problem.

Rotenma Dufan, Esther's main suspect in the death of Marchioness Lillitu Masen, Lady of the Kloen province, was dead.

Her body had been discovered by a maid. It had been hanging by the throat in a bedroom.

Curious, and still very angry, Esther personally visited the pathologist assigned to that particular corpse instead of waiting for the paperwork to go through. There was some bruising on the lower back, which Esther thought could mean that a knee had been pressed there. Also, around the neck, the markings were not consistent with simply being hung from the rafters.

So, Esther decided that this must have been a murder. She kept her thoughts secret from the public, of course, because that's simply what is done with murder investigations. However, deep within her mind, she was always thinking of this problem.

Did Rotenma Dufan murder Lillitu, or was she the victim of the same assailant, or was this simply a coincidence, or what else? What else? What else could all of this mean?

As for how Lillitu was murdered, Esther believed she had a good hypothesis. The townhouse had several secret rooms and passageways. Esther knew because Lillitu had shown them to her a few times before. The murderer could have used those passageways to move around in the house without being seen. They could have taken the gun, loaded it, hid under Lillitu's bed, or in a wardrobe, or even in a secret room nearby, and waited. When the time was right, the murderer would very quickly shoot Lillitu and leave. Any able bodied person who took the time to study the townhouse could have done it.

Rotenma Dufan's possible murder was also fairly easy to understand. Someone likely surprised her from behind, strangling her with a rope. Then the body was arranged to look like a suicide.

Who did this? Why? And how long would it be before Esther could be satisfied, before she could see the killer's blood trickle down a wall. It didn't matter much to her that she was supposed to have the murderer arrested. She was too selfish for that. She wanted a death for a death. She wanted revenge. Even when she was putting her hand between her lover's thighs, listening to her wanton cries, Esther's mind was consumed by violent thoughts.

***

Nearly fathomless, his voice penetrated her mind as beautifully as a newly discovered favorite song. A rush of tingling excitement had heart pounding when he responded to her, scraping into her hair with his rough hands.

"Agonizingly delightful information. That's what that is." Erdgar was smiling. Danetta didn't have to see or feel it. She heard the smile in his words. "Again, you have me trembling, and again I don't know how to reward you."

"Simply go on as you have been," she told him. She hoped he would understand the compliment in her reply.

The warm kiss he gave her had her thinking that he understood very well.

It was a fairly convenient pregnancy. She would still have plenty of the Social Season to enjoy before her belly would become too large for the public. Despite the happiness, Danetta believed there was no harm in going to the Lotus Shell and expressing her gratitude to Hope.

On a rainy morning, she tugged Erdgar's hand as they entered the temple, and she led him to an empty prayer room. As she chose two cushions for them to kneel on, she heard her husband sliding a lock over the door.

Folding her skirts, keeping her bum roll at a mannerly angle, Danetta knelt down on her cushion and waited for Erdgar to take a position at her left. She was very pleased to see him wordlessly kneel down beside her, arranging his hands in an X shape. She frowned, though, when she noted the impatient expression in his eyes. He probably didn't think this was worth the effort, and he was only doing all this just to keep her happy.

With an exhale, Danetta put the backs of her hands together and started a prayer, knowing that her husband would at least pretend to listen to her. Maybe, just maybe, he'd find more faith in the gods one day. Did he not experience a prediction of Hope so many years ago? Did Hope not lead him to a wife he loved, a wife who happened to be quite well behaved and fertile? Why, why in the world couldn't he see what had pinched his face and dragged him about? Hope was right there for him, waiting for recognition. Good deeds should be recognized.

And ... well ... since the boys would follow their father's example, it would be best for the man to at least try to believe a bit harder.

Her prayer was finished. She fingered a hidden pocket. Then she pulled out a small pouch. Inside, there were a few whistles made of baleen. They were meant to be gifts for one of the Children of Hope.

As she tried to rise, Erdgar stopped her with a iron-like hand around her arm. Her pale eyebrows rose, and she asked, "What's troubling you, Honored Husband?"

Impatience wasn't in his eyes anymore. Instead, there was a struggling, scrunching pensiveness. "Danetta, I've realized something."

She smiled. "What is it?"

A second's worth of panic flashed in his face, and he licked his lips, his eyes lowering. "No. Something different must have been in my pipe. I regret bothering you during your most peaceful activities."

Danetta gripped his shoulder and took one of his hands. Her lips enjoyed the scars there, and then she said, "You should investigate that apothecary. I'd hate for you to lose your good health."

"Hmmmm ... you're not the only one depending on me. I should consider everyone else, but as I am now, you and the children are all I can fret over." Very slowly, his head moved back and forth, as if he was trying to rebuke himself. "I'd imagine that our pretty Dragonfly would be so pleased to know we're expecting a new child."

Nodding, her blonde eyelashes barely moving, Danetta said, "She always seemed determined to see you happy. She was an excellent friend."

Erdgar's free hand moved on top of the little hand on his shoulder, affectionately shielding the paler, softer, cossetted thing. "She wasn't a dragonfly in the end, though. She was a sad little worm hiding from the world."

Danetta's cheek twitched. "I wish I knew why she turned so bitter and miserable. She wouldn't even have us for tea. She was a thousand times worse than you were before you met me."

But, there was still Hope, wasn't there?

***

She hoped that Mr. Kuno would visit her.

He didn't, or at least he didn't on this morning.

First, a young girl of maybe thirteen years visited and asked for a friendly prayer. Then, an elderly man came to ask for a solemn prayer. Finally, Mr. Maino Roiters came, and he seemed mostly healed. Only vague hints of bruises were visible. He still had a splint on one of his fingers, though. The hand that didn't have a splint held a small package of fabric.

She really didn't want to see him. She thought he made her feel guilty.

His teeth, so white, so straight, they looked startling behind that calculating, devious grin. He looked down at Delma with confident eyes. "Good morning, are you well today?"

Nervously folding her hands, Delma rose and said to him, "Good Morning, Mr. Roiters. I'm well. I appreciate your concern." Her feet shuffled back a little. She had to be careful not to trip over her pillow on the floor. "Would you like a prayer?"

The man's blond hair swished behind himself as he shook his head. "I came to ask why you haven't visited me lately."

Well, thought Delma, just because one has a calling card doesn't mean one should make a visit. Her eyelid twitched. "Ah, please forgive me. I've been terribly busy."

Something gritty was in his voice. "Oh, is that right?" One of his eyebrows rose. He was smirking down at her. "I'm sorry to hear that. I've been looking forward to seeing you again." He held out his package towards her. "I have a present for you."

Very civil, Delma took the package with two hands. Then she opened it. There was a bundle of fine silk ribbons inside. With a dreadful sigh, she thanked him and put the package aside. "You've been very patient and kind with me, Sir, and that's why I must beg you to stop."

His thick, powerful form tilted to one side as if he was trying to stretch some of his muscles out. Gentle surprise was in his eyes. "Stop? You don't want me to give you my time?"

Delma wondered if something was touching her nape. A burning, licking feeling was dancing there, moving down and towards her back. She trembled. "Such a strong man with such an excellent reputation is more suited to a woman with more glamour in her charms."

Mr. Roiters' body straightened up. He frowned. Lines formed in his tanned brow. "What better option is there than a priestess, an example of faith and morality?"

A tumbling laugh hurt Delma's throat. She coughed into her fist. "Ah! I ... I imagine you could find a beautiful woman with sparkling hair and graceful feet."

His brow smoothed out. Then the savage grin returned. Delma thought of an ancient king seated on a stone throne, waiting for a prisoner before him to rebel, waiting to snap his fingers and send the prisoner off to a lifetime of hard labor. "Your hair's rather sparkly, and I've never seen you fall."

Her nostrils twitching, Delma impatiently told him, "You may take your gift with you, if you wish, but all I ask is that you leave me be. I have nothing to offer you."

The man's smile evaporated, leaving behind an oddly relaxed frown. He put one of his large hands on the door's handle. "You're not in a welcoming mood. I understand. I'll give you some time. Have a good day."

Delma's eyes narrowed as she watched him exit the room. She flinched when the door was slammed closed. Then she put a hand to her throat.

Men could be far too mysterious.

***

The next week was ordinary, empty, lacking in anything exciting. Mr. Kuno didn't visit her. Nobody particularly interesting visited her, not until after the week ended. The Duchess Adurant came for a brief chat, and she handed Delma an envelope with a wax seal. Inside was a formal invitation to a ball the Adurants were hosting. According to what Delma had heard, the Adurants weren't known for hosting balls, but they apparently seemed confident enough to try it out at this point.

Delma couldn't remember the last time she was a guest at a ball instead of a hired priestess performing some silly religious duty. She knew she wasn't skilled with dancing, but simply being seen at the ball would be good for her reputation. She grinned at the duchess and accepted the invitation very eagerly. Then, once she was home, she looked over her finances and decided she could afford to order a new gown.

And still, during the days leading up to the ball, she lived an average life without Mr. Kuno visiting her. Not even Mr. Roiters came to her.

She hoped the party would cheer her up.

Her new, pale blue gown was carefully arranged on her body as she rode to the large dancing hall that the Adurants had rented, a white lace hand fan tied to her wrist. The sun was setting, and she noted that her gown seemed to darken in the waning light.

Being a single woman, she idly wondered if she would seem attractive to anyone. She had scrubbed her flesh, painted her lips, and put a plain white hairnet onto her head. There wasn't a single gemstone on her person, but a white ribbon around her throat would be pleasant enough, wouldn't it? Certainly, it would put elegance over her features, right?

She shook her head.

No ... best not to think of that. There was Mr. Kuno to think of instead.

The dance hall was glowing with candlelight. The air was hot from the body heat of all the guests and full of various scents. There were perfumes, food, fabric, and jewelry.

Delma took a long breath and headed for a grand buffet. She was very impressed by the selection there. A few moments of lazy eating later, she was asked to dance by a man she didn't know. During the set, she tripped at least twice, which had the man frowning at her. He left her very angrily once the set was finished.

Her throat burning from embarrassment, Delma took a seat against a wall and hoped that she wouldn't have to dance again. She wished she had been able to practice non-religious dancing more often in her life. Her black slippers pressed together as she sighed and played with the idea of marrying someone. The sort of person who would marry a priestess wouldn't care how she danced. They'd only care about how successful she was with her profession ... and whether or not she was fertile.

Her brow furrowed as she realized that, again, she was forgetting all about Mr. Kuno. That wasn't just! Didn't he deserve her thoughts?

"Miss Abnelon!"

Yanked out of her thoughts, Delma looked up and saw two people approaching her. To her right, there was Duchess Adurant, wearing an intensely pink gown with mint-green ribbons and multiple brooches of silver and black gemstones. One of her hands was enthusiastically waving at Delma. The other was neutrally resting on the arm of a man that wasn't her husband. It was Mr. Roiters, wearing a shiny outfit of tomato red with sandy brown stripes.

Delma gulped down a hunk of mucus in her throat.

The duchess led Mr. Roiters over to where Delma sat and said to her, "Oh, Miss Abnelon, I'm so glad to see you here! I've heard you've already been acquainted with Mr. Roiters, and I thought I should guide him to you. He speaks quite highly of you."

A wooden, nearly painful smile cracked into Delma's face as she purposely avoided looking at the man and focused on the duchess. "Ah, Her Grace is thoughtful."

Duchess Adurant turned her head to look at someone, probably her husband, and then she released the famous fighter's arm. "Do forgive me. I must go on to my other duties." Her pale hair bounced as she walked away.

Delma's eyes followed Mr. Roiters' shiny black shoes as he stepped a bit closer to her.

"Your body could use a dance, I'd imagine. Why not give me a chance?"

Refusing to roll her eyes, although she honestly wanted to do that, Delma blinked and said, "Certainly, you have many other women to choose from."

Stiffly nodding, Mr. Roiters countered her statement with, "Of course, but I've chosen you."

"I haven't chosen you, though." Delma's fingertips grazed some of the swirling shapes in her hair. "Can't you leave a woman be?"

She heard his shoes tap against the wooden floor as his weight shifted. "Don't be a cold prude. Won't you give me the opportunity to change your mind?" Razor-like scolding was in his voice. He sounded bitterly offended. If he wanted to make Delma feel guilty, then he succeeded. Her eyes dropped down as her fingers fell into her lap.

Opening and closing her hand fan, staring down at it as if the little device would somehow give her a witty phrase to throw at the man, Delma sighed and thought of telling him that she had her heart set on another person.

But ... that other person hadn't really been showing up, and she had no idea where to look for him. She didn't know his real name. She didn't even know what he looked like.

Did it matter? Loyalty is still an important quality to have.

And hope was still worth leaning on, wasn't it?

"Please," she said with the beginning of a grimace, "leave me be. I have nothing else to say to you."

"Nothing else? Nothing else?" Something tense was there, pulling his voice into a nearly frenzied state. He took a standing position before her. She felt his voice on the top of her head like it was a beacon. "Are you honestly going to live on like a harpsichord, only there to comfort people with whatever sounds the player wants to hear? You could try being anything else. Even a harpsichord could be used as a table, or a weight, even a wall, but you're not a harpsichord. You're a woman."

What sort of nonsense was he going on about? Delma's nose crinkled. Her head tilted upwards and she stared into Mr. Roiter's eyes. They were hooded with frustration. "Sir, I don't understand."

His tongue dabbed at a corner of his lips, making her think of a wolf. "You're a priestess now, but there's potential for you to do something else, and if we work well together, you could be a leisurely woman on my arm with your only concern being how others can comfort you. I'm a good man, Delma, a fine man, and I'm looking for a wife. What do you think of that?"

Her head lowered. Her eyes closed.

A man with a career, a man with a good reputation, a strong man, a capable man, a man who earned great amounts of money.

How could it compare to a man with too much mystery?

Was her hope incorrectly placed?

Her voice was watered down. "One dance ... would you settle for that?"

His voice was thicker, but smoother too. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

***

Delma visited his home the following afternoon. It was a middle class sort of townhouse, not luxuriously huge, but still comfortable. There were a few servants, including a butler. Delma was surprised about that. She would have expected a few maids, but a butler? That seemed particularly expensive to her. Just how much money did this man have?

She was received in a pale green drawing room decorated with garish things. Ornamental plates almost haphazardly placed on shelves, flowers too large for their vases and arranged with thoughtless color combinations, paintings that seemed to be hung on the walls simply because they looked expensive with no care for the subjects, all these things were in the room for Delma to pretend to admire. Meanwhile, the master of the house, Mr. Maino Roiters, made small talk with her as they sipped at acceptably bitter tea and nibbled on thin bread.

At one point, he said to her with a triumphant curve in his lip, "I have a special appointment tomorrow. The Adurants, you know them, right? His Grace has asked me to help his tutor his eldest in combat. He'll pay well, you see."

Delma's thoughts clicked into place, and she realized that, along with the income from the tournament matches, a beloved fighter could apparently function as a teacher, and with such a wealthy clientele, there was no wonder he had a butler. She cringed at her thoughts from before, disliking her reflection in her tea. "Ah, that seems to be an excellent way to improve the world. Boys do need to learn such lessons, but I do wonder why that one isn't in school by now." She shook her head. "Although, I admit that's none of my concern."

A rough scoff, and then Mr. Roiters put on a smile that didn't feel true. His fingernails tapped on the side of his cup. "An overprotective mama, no doubt. She'd ruin all the boys if she wasn't married to a man. It's the nature of women. They can't help it. They have good intentions, but boys need men to guide them, and women can't do that alone."

None of that seemed particularly foolish or offensive. Delma shrugged and said, "I can't find a lie in anything there. Boys do need men, if not a father, then someone else."

One of Mr. Roiters' thick index fingers rose up as his eyes broadened and his mouth shrunk a little. "Now, don't assume His Grace is less of a man because he's leading his son to another man. He's being shrewd. He seems capable enough, but add his own teachings to mine, and his son would likely grow into an excellent version of a man. Any good teacher will tell you to seek out another."

Reaching for a serving of bread, Delma sighed and agreed.

"But I think girls need women," he continued.

Delma took a bite so she wouldn't have to speak. She was afraid she might accidentally say something disagreeable. He was in a very talkative mood. It was best to let him go on and on.

Mr. Roiters' folded his legs in a very proud way, clearly comfortable in his home. "When children don't have good role models, they become the worst of society, and they can't be good role models themselves. So, it becomes a cycle of degeneracy."