20.11

Zyrdicia sat upon the enormous black slab of her temple's altar as though it were a very high bench, her long legs dangling over its exquisitely polished edge. The hellfire she used for illumination glittered enchantingly upon the reflective black surfaces of the temple's walls. She frowned unhappily as she looked around.

Dirk smirked, "I had thought bringing you here would please you."

"I can't believe the workers just stopped construction entirely," she answered, dejected. To her, it was an unforgivable slight, a sign they did not properly revere her as a goddess. She pouted, "I want them all dead."

"The entire populace, or just someone in particular?"

"Everyone. All of them. When I'm offended, people die."

"You had seemed to have abandoned them." The edge to his voice suggested the Karteian peasantry was not the only thing she had seemed to have abandoned during the past season.

"Fair-weather worshippers," she scowled, ignoring the implication. "They're too busy celebrating Yule." She uttered the final word as though it were a curse.

"Could it be that you are jealous of a holiday?"

"Yes."

"Shall I outlaw the holiday for your sake, my pet?" He draped his arms loosely about her shoulders. He petulance amused him. "Upon penalty of death?"

"Yes!"

"As you wish. But only if you first reveal exactly why it upsets you so."

"I hate this time of year. That's why I wanted to send poisoned food to Baaldorf."

Dirk blinked, masking his surprise. He had thought the poison was merely another useful strategy to defeat the South and cause suffering. It had never occurred to him that she had an ulterior motive. He stared at her a long moment, taken aback that she could still surprise him. He knew her better than he had ever known another human being. It unnerved him to think there were facets of her psyche he had yet to discover. "Why?"

"Pick a world, I have a reason. Every place I've ever been, there has been some form of the celebration to anger me."

"And Lyr?" His eyes narrowed as he regarded her. He certain that this must all have its roots there.

"Last year I deliberately spoiled it by calling for a Temple sacrifice, demanding one child from every family in each of seven residential districts. The streets ran red with blood."

"And what exactly bothers you so much about the holiday there?" Dirk prodded, noting the attempted evasion. There was an emotional undercurrent to this that piqued his interest. It was a weakness he had never sensed in her before. His gloved hands settled on her knees.

"Lyr's Solstice Festival is abhorrent. People hide in their homes with their families. For thirteen days, Lyr is a ghost town. They live happy, debaucherous lives for three-hundred-fifty-two days a year. But they think the new year cannot begin if they fail to fast and hide for the last thirteen."

"What happens if they leave their homes?"

"Nothing! But there's an old story that when the city was founded thousands of years ago, the first Priest made a pact with Time Lords, ensuring that Lyr would last for eternity as long as everyone who lived in the city observed the Thirteen Days of Darkness at the start of every new year. The ritual requires fasting during daylight hours. No magic may be cast within the city walls. There can be no contact with anyone outside one's blood kin. It's like prison."

"And if they disobey?"

"They think if they do not still observe the old ritual, the new year will never come. Time will run backwards and the world will end. As long as they play along, on the thirteenth night, the new year is born. Life becomes bearable again that night. I hate the entire enterprise."

"Of course you do," he purred, understanding immediately what this was really about.

"What is that supposed mean - 'of course I do'?"

"You have no family in Lyr. All of your dimwitted companions there slither back under their rocks, leaving you quite alone. You despise being alone."

She met his gaze silently. He was, of course, entirely correct. It was not as bad now as it had been when she was younger. Now at least there were plenty of transplanted foreigners in the city who paid no attention to the ritual. For many years, though, it had been a bitter two weeks of wandering deserted streets and talking to no one but the dragon.

"You couldn't command them to cease observing the ritual?"

"I tried!" she snarled in agitation. "I even changed the calendar so that the official new year doesn't start until my birthday. All that accomplished was havoc with two systems of dates - one used in official, civil matters, and another used in common affairs. If I knew how to make the solstice stop happening, I would have done it. Spoiling it with bloodshed was almost as good."

"There will be no Yuletide sacrifices of people here in the North," he ordered sternly.

A hint of a pout returned to her pretty lips. Her fingers hooked loosely around the heavy, metal scales adorning his sword belt. She looked up at him with deliberately imploring eyes. "Just a little?"

"You may do as you please with the population of Camerand," he winked. His hands slid from her knees up to her hips against the stone altar. He drew her towards him, his hands tightening around her.

Her pout dissolved into a coy smile when she recognized the peculiar gleam in his eye. "Careful," she teased in a whisper. "The last time you kissed me on a sacrificial altar, I disappeared."

"A decision you bitterly regretted," he countered smugly.

20.12

By the time Dirk and Zyrdicia left the new temple, the guards they had left outside it were nearly undone by the cold. The men had been standing outside on the snow-covered ground a long time. They shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot, trying to maintain feeling in their legs. Dirk cast them a disdainful glance as he pulled his gloves on, exiting the temple.

Zyrdicia blinked several times as she emerged from the darkness inside the building to the bright torchlight of the entrance. The snow reflected the light, making the compound seem surprisingly bright. She glared at the torches, and the flames withered obediently.

A rosy afterglow still lingered in her cheeks. "What a perfect way to consecrate an altar to myself," she sighed pleasantly as her hand entwined in her husband's.

Dirk let a whisper of a smile escape his lips, though he said nothing. His eyes moved to the nearby guards and the throng that had gathered just outside the temple grounds. He had no intention of giving the onlookers any morsel of gossip.

The royal couple made their way back toward central Geshna's market district, unhurried. Zyrdicia was now in a marvelous mood now. She had forgotten all about her outrage at the construction delay.

The crowd followed their meandering path back into the city's heart. By now the entire city knew the Blackpools were in town for a visit. The need for Dirk's soldiers to clear a path through the throng slowed their progress.

A few hundred yards away the market, Zyrdicia stopped, sniffing the air. She pulled her hand away from Dirk abruptly. She slowly turned around, scanning the crowd cautiously. Her eyes took on a predatory gleam. Her nose twitched as she sniffed the air.

"What's wrong?" Dirk demanded suspiciously.

"Someone I recognize. . ." she whispered almost inaudibly, searching in her mind through thousands of invisible threads of thought for the vaguely familiar one she had sensed a moment ago.

"From Lyr?"

"From the South."

Dirk watched her silently, letting her concentrate. He was pleasantly surprised by her ability to sense a single southern intruder amid the hundreds lining the streets. She was still a delightfully potent weapon, despite her recent difficulties.

She sniffed the air again, frowning. The icy breeze brought the faintest hint of a recognizable scent to her amid the chaos of sensory perception. She turned and stared in the scent's direction. "Piggy!" she murmured quietly, searching through the faces in the crowd.

"Greystone's is vassal here?"

"Mm," she answered, moving slowly toward the crowd on the far side of the street, fixated on the prey using it for cover.

Her glance sent five bodies at the front of the crowd hurtling through the air. As they left the ground, each burst into purple flame. Once she cleared them away, she found her quarry instantly. She smiled at the formless mass of crippled man, crouched within his brown cloak as though he could not stand upright. "Do you think your Wizard will save you this time, piggy?" she challenged, towering over the man.

The man stood up suddenly, casting back the cloak to reveal a sword in his hand. His grim expression was his only reply.

Zyrdicia smirked at Erik's vassal, Marko, as though she had fully expected such a movement. Her otherworldly eyes fell upon his sword. In an instant, the blade's steel exploded in a shower of molten metal. Nearby soldiers and peasants alike howled in agony as the hot drops fell upon their skin.

"Damn!" Zyrdicia grumbled crossly to herself. "It wasn't supposed to explode like that."

Marko did not hear her. The bulk of the liquified metal had run down his forearm before he could even drop the weapon. The strongest man in the kingdom fell to his knees and screamed in agony. A moment later, he lost consciousness.