The Cost of Betrayal

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T he room was dark and plain, a strange combination for a supposed holy place.

“Take my hand, child,” Aresh said. He stood inside the doorway, the noisy streets of Veldaren behind him. His polished armor shone bright, and the chainmail beneath the large sections of plate clinked from the movement of his outstretched arm.

“I’m no child,” the woman said, refusing his hand but entering anyway. On either side of the wood walls were hard oak benches covered with thin blankets, stitched golden mountains across their lengths. There were no windows, and only the one door. She knew she should be worried, a girl trapped alone with a strange man. But he was a priest of Ashhur, and she was no normal girl.

She smiled at the priest. He was middle-aged, with thinning hair around his ears and a nose much too large for his face to be attractive. He smiled back, his lips parting to reveal clean, straight teeth.

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