Once alone he gingerly put a glove on his right hand, careful not to touch anything with his left. When his right was safely covered, he peeled off the dark, flesh-colored glove on his left hand and threw it into a charcoal brazier. Then went through the same ritual again, putting another glove on the opposite hand before using it to remove the other.
Finally he peeled off the robe he had been wearing, careful to not let the folds around the cuffs touch any skin.
The Grand Master was alone in his study. The ceremony for the ending of day would occur within the hour, and he would, as required, go to attend. The poison on Hazin’s left glove, placed on the door handle, would still be damp and should penetrate the skin of the palm. It was subtle. He would not even notice it against the cool metal.
Death would take awhile, a day perhaps, but then the convulsions would come, mimicking a brain seizure. Of course, he would carefully avoid going anywhere near him. No one would suspect, or if they did, they would never dare to speak without definite proof.
Hazin realized he was shaking for the first time in years, and he felt a surge of anger against himself for such lack of control.
The old one had sealed his fate on two points. First, he had been foolish not to kill Hazin immediately once he was in the room. Having sent him once to his death, he should have seen it through to the conclusion. That was a sign of hesitation, perhaps even of sentiment, a feeling unworthy of a Grand Master. Second, he had not seen the true danger that came with peace. If Yasim, who had masterfully engineered his plot over years of conflict, no longer had someone to plot against, he would now turn on the Order. He would do it subtly, cautiously, and then strike with blinding fury.
A diversion would have to be offered, one that would refocus the attention of Yasim, and all the others of the Golden Family, and Hazin realized that fate, if such a thing existed, had dealt him the perfect choice.
It was paradise.
A voice whispered to him that it was all illusion, drugs in his drink and food, but the sensations were so intoxicating that he no longer cared.
Occasionally the one with the blue eyes would come, smiling, speaking softly, reasonably, explaining how clear and simple his course; to submit fully to the Order, to become one of the Shiv and, most tantalizing of all, to one day return home to rule, to no longer be the forgotten son.
How Hazin knew these things Sean was not sure. It was hard to tell what he had actually said, what Hazin already knew, and what he could somehow sense, for he now knew that Hazin’s powers were beyond that of anyone he’d ever met, human or Horde.
Someone touched his shoulder and, half rolling over, he looked up at her and smiled. He didn’t know her name, he wasn’t even sure if she was the one who had come to him the night before, but it didn’t matter.
What she said was unintelligible, but that didn’t matter either. She was above any dream of loveliness he had ever hoped to know, almost inhuman in her perfection. He wondered if she, like him, had tasted of the lotus.
The land of the lotus eaters, he remembered his mother telling him of that myth.
Perhaps that is where I am now. He looked past the compelling green eyes of the woman to the garden. The riotous bloom of flowers had an iridescent quality to them. They actually seemed to glow with their own inner light. The sight of them made him laugh, and she laughed with him.
She stood up and walked ever so slowly-to his eyes she seemed to float. She plucked a flower and returned, offering it to him. He almost wept with the beauty of the precious violet and red blossom. She leaned over and peeled off a petal, holding it up, brushing his lips with it, then slowly ate it.
He smiled and did the same. She went to fetch another, and he waited with anticipation, feeling a stirring of desire, dreaming of what he would do next with her even as she floated across the garden.
A gentle whisper of a voice, and she seemed to disappear into a cloud, replaced by Hazin.
For a moment he wasn’t sure if he had drifted off to sleep, whether he and the green-eyed girl had made love or not. It was hard to remember now.
“I could send you away from here,” Hazin said, sitting down by Sean’s side.
He felt a flash of panic, but then, looking into those impenetrable blue eyes, he knew that Hazin would not be so cruel. Why would he grant such a gift only to take it away?
“But you know I would not, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You can leave at any time. In fact, I give you your freedom, O’Donald. You can awake in the hour after dusk. I will give you an airship and you can wing off to home, to your people, to the land ruled by your father and his friends.”
The way he said it made the mere contemplation of it revolting. Sean felt light-headed, his stomach knotting.
“That choice would always haunt you, though, wouldn’t it? To know that this paradise is here, to be tasted at any time. Instead you would live in a land of barrenness, where those who passed behind you would cover their mouths and whisper, ‘There goes the son of the drunkard, the senator who is only thus because he hangs on to the power of others. There goes the son of the uncouth, the loud mouth, the braggart, and fool. And he shall one day be the same’.” Sean lowered his head and began to openly weep. “Your mother endured that, you know, and you were powerless to stop her from feeling that pain, weren’t you?” Sean could not even answer. He merely shook his head as the tears continued to flow.
“Stay with me,” Hazin whispered. “Stay with me, and I promise that you can one day return to right such wrongs, but do so on your own terms.”
Sean looked up at him.
Hazin reached out and lightly touched Sean’s shoulder, tracing a finger along a still open wound from the torture. “Unfortunate, that, and I apologize.”
“Apologize?” Sean was confused. It was as if this one before him now was someone else, not someone to be feared, but to be trusted, followed, even to be loved.
“A mistake. As soon as I realized who you were, I had to make amends, which I am now doing.”
Sean could not reply, overwhelmed with gratitude.
Hazin offered him a cup, and he drank the golden liquid, which was sweet but laced with a touch of bitterness.
“That should ease any unfortunate pains you still might have. Soon you will awake, but you will remember. Do you know where you are, Sean O’Donald?”
Sean struggled to focus his thoughts. What did the question actually mean? Here, was that the question? He remembered coming off the boat, the vastness of the city, its gleaming temples, spires, arches, and columned buildings. It reminded him somehow of the stories of how Roum might have looked before the destruction of the Great War, a destruction that his own father had taken part in.
.. Was that what the question was?
“Kazan. We are in the Imperial City of Kazan,” he finally replied, even as the world about him began to drift in a soft, diffused light.
Hazin laughed softly. “So literal in your thoughts, even now. A sharp intellect, which is good at certain moments.
“No, I mean here, now.” He extended his hand, gesturing to the garden, the walls embedded with precious gems that caught and bent the sunlight, the fluttering curtains of silk, the lush green grass upon which they sat, and the bubbling fountains that splashed and played a soft musical chant.
“Paradise,” Sean finally replied, and Hazin smiled approvingly.
“Yes. You are enjoying paradise and I hold the key to it.”
“You?”
“Yes. I can open the gate wide to any who so desire it, or close it forever and cast those who fail into the fire of eternal suffering.”