Wicked Empress: The Onic Empire, Book 4 Read Online Free PDF Page B

those wrongs rose up in him. He deliberately quashed that yearning. He was not a hero. He was not responsible for fixing what he knew in his heart was wrong. If he could do something, he would, but if he alone rose up to decry the injustice, he would be put to the stone. Ambo himself would crush the very breath from his body until he spoke no more. Of all the most vile masters on Diola, Ambo was notorious for his cruelty and perversity, which often went hand in hand.
    With a sigh, Viltori closed his eyes, letting his awareness shift outside his mind. If he could, he would happily spend the day here, floating on his back. He did not care for the temple. Drugged air hurt his chest and caused bizarre hallucinations. Still, there was something sensual about the rituals that he enjoyed, something deeper than just the feel of the oils and fabrics, but nothing as profound as an actual connection to the gods. Viltori did not believe as most acolytes did, mainly because he was not truly an acolyte.
    They allowed him to wear the white robe and serve in the temple, but before the magistrate discovered his talent for languages, he’d been a recruit. High hopes of becoming the Harvester had been dashed when he’d entered the training rooms. Every man there seemed bigger than the last. Viltori, who’d always felt massive, felt almost puny in comparison. He would never master these men. He would languish just a few steps below greatness until he grew too old to compete. Then he would become a palace guard, forever trapped in service to the empress.
    All of that changed when the magistrate, Ambo Votny, had heard him translating a dispute between two recruits from different regions. Viltori could not explain how he understood what each was saying. He simply did. Given a chance to leave the obscurity of becoming a palace guard behind, Viltori had eagerly taken up Ambo on his offer to travel to a far distant world. Immersing himself in the customs of a unique and completely different culture had helped him grasp the subtleties of their language. He wasn’t an expert by any means, but he would do to teach the future consort to Empress Bithia.
    Just thinking of her made him smile. There were those who said she was the most vulgar woman. They disdained her unique look and mocked her awkwardness. They said she should not be allowed to sit upon the throne, not with her lascivious nature. Viltori adored her from afar. She was the only high-ranking person in the entire palace who said what she thought and did exactly what she felt like doing. She had whatever man she wanted and never let decorum or anything else stand in her way. So bold was she that Bithia had seduced several acolytes who’d been sent to teach her the language of the ancients. How he’d delighted in hearing the tales of her wild adventures. True, some stories were probably exaggerated, but if even a modicum of them was correct, she was a lusty woman indeed. He had sought a position to be her teacher but withdrew when he found out the men she seduced were quietly shipped to faraway regions. Viltori did not wish to lose his position in the palace.
    In a way, he felt close to Bithia, for he had taught Drahka, her now eternal bondmate and primary consort. Viltori hoped he’d done well enough that their first night was up to her demanding standards. Viltori knew he’d still be teaching Drahka, but they would not spend as much time together as they had been. A shame. He enjoyed the man and took pleasure in each burst of insight, each shining grasp of understanding that crossed Drahka’s stern face. As of yet, Viltori hadn’t seen the man smile, but he knew it was simply a matter of time.
    A great splash of water covered Viltori’s face and he sputtered himself upright.
    “Dangerous to sleep here.” Rown splashed water with a hard sweep of his right hand across the top of the pool.
    Swinging his head away, Viltori retaliated with a great blast of kicks from both his legs.
    Rown