Promise of Blood

Adamat couldn’t take his eyes off the driver. She was young, perhaps sixteen, and had long golden hair, down to her waist. She wore a simple driver’s uniform, a smock, hat, and gloves to hold the reins—but they were all of translucent silk, and she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. The girl gave him a polite smile.

“Sir?” she said. “If you will.”

Adamat tore his eyes away and climbed into the back of the buggy. There was only room for one, and he turned to Siemone. Before he could inquire where the priest would ride, the buggy began to move, pulled by a single white pony. The priest jogged alongside.

Adamat clutched his hat as a brisk wind nearly tore it from his head. They moved quickly down a path into the vineyard, passing a number of workers. Despite their pace and Siemone’s long robe, the priest kept up with the buggy without seeming bothered. Adamat noted that Siemone kept his eyes on the ground at his feet or straight ahead, and it was clear why.

They passed a number of workers, pruning the grapevines or tending the grounds. All the workers wore basic tunics, but as with the buggy driver, they were all made out of sheer silk. Both men and women worked the vines. They were all young and beautiful.

How could such a place exist? Adamat thought he knew the worst pleasure dens in all of Adopest, but this… These men and women would be prize pieces at a millionaire’s brothel, each one worth a thousand krana a night. Yet they worked the fields in such clothes at the arch-diocel’s villa.

“You seem… awfully out of place here, Siemone,” Adamat said. He realized too late how that must sound and cringed. “Not that you aren’t a handsome young man,” he added quickly.

A smile flitted across Siemone’s lips, but he didn’t look up. “I know your meaning, sir,” he said. “This is my penance. If I act as the arch-diocel’s steward for just another year, my application for a marriage license will be approved.” A look of worry furrowed his brow. “If she still wants me, that is.”

The Kresim Church allowed the lowest orders of the priesthood to marry, only requiring them to remain celibate if they wished to gain more power within the Church. Even those that married often had to pay some kind of penance.

Charlemund was a cruel man to require this of a priest. “Tell me,” Adamat said, “has the villa always been like this? I’ve heard that it is a magnificent place with vineyards and stables. I didn’t realize it was so… unique.” He’d heard the rumors, of course. Everyone had. But he’d never believed them. A brothel in one of the outbuildings, perhaps, or a few beautiful women at his beck and call. This was beyond debauched.

“Yes, sir,” Siemone said. “It’s not new. The arch-diocel has a policy. His visitors may pick from anyone they see here—excluding myself—and do as they fancy. Oh, that includes you, sir, as you are a guest.”

Adamat felt his face flush. “Oh no. No.” He drew the word out long, embarrassed that it turned into a nervous laugh. “I’m a happily married old man. I’m quite fine, thank you.”

Siemone continued, “The arch-diocel’s policy is that anyone who speaks of his… servants… isn’t invited back.”

“There’s no way to keep track of that.”

“Oh, the arch-diocel knows, sir. He has ears everywhere.”

Adamat couldn’t help but smile wryly. “If that’s the case, then I can see how that would encourage silence. Does every one of the arch-diocel’s guests partake of his hospitality?”

“No,” Siemone said. “Not all. But those that don’t are generally the type with the taste not to speak of what they see.”

Or the shame, Adamat realized. No one talked because they didn’t want to implicate themselves in whatever sordid misdeeds could be found at the villa. It was the same reason a gentleman never speaks of the bawdy house he frequents.

He removed his hat to scratch his head, and spoke to Siemone in a flat tone. “So, you essentially work at the biggest brothel in all of Adro… by the pit, all the Nine… so that one day you can marry your beloved and remain a man of the Rope?”

Siemone giggled nervously. “Kresimir works in mysterious ways, sir.”

Adamat felt a little ill then. “I think that has more to do with the arch-diocel’s sense of humor than with God,” he murmured.

The buggy came out of the vineyards and crossed a small field to a chapel. The chapel itself was simple enough, built of small limestone blocks and no bigger than a medium-sized house. It was about two stories tall, with a steep roof and a balcony just above the main door. A gold-braided rope hung from the balcony. Adamat was relieved to see that the area was free of the arch-diocel’s servants.

Adamat disembarked the buggy and watched it roll around the corner of the chapel before he approached the door. He reached out just as Siemone touched his shoulder.

“Please, sir, they will be finished with prayer in a moment,” Siemone said.

Adamat sighed. “Was I just about to walk in on an orgy?”