Evensong (2 of 2)
Benediction
This story contains themes of religious hypocrisy, sexual predation, and revenge.
Reader discretion is advised.
Cedric opened the middle drawer of his desk, producing an ornate letter opener. Its hilt was polished ebony, inlaid with delicate patterns of mother-of-pearl that shimmered faintly in the flickering light of the fireplace. The pommel bore the engraved cross, rendered in fine silver. The blade was forged from sunsteel, an alloy that gleamed with a warm golden hue.
He opened two letters with it. The first was a typical letter from a remote rural temple begging for funds, which he wadded up and tossed into the fireplace without reading more than a few lines, scoffing as he did so.
He opened a bottle of wine, a rich sweet red from Tuscany. It wasn't his favorite, but he expected it would be more appealing to the young woman who would soon be joining him. He poured two glasses and recorked the bottle lightly, fully expecting that they would consume more than one bottle throughout the nocturnal activities he had planned for her. Being thirsty was expected.
He picked up the second letter, bearing a seal in red wax. He looked at the impression and frowned. It appeared as shield split down the middle with flames of fire flickering over its surface. Cedric read the letter twice and raised his hand to toss it into the fire, but stopped when there was a soft knock at his door.
"Come," he said loudly.
The door opened, admitting the postulant. "You asked for me, Your Reverence?" she said.
She was ravishing, even in the shadows.
"Yes," he said. "I'm glad you came. Come, sit with me."
She crossed toward his desk, stepping into the light. Cedric immediately became giddy with excitement. She wore a simple white chemise, the traditional undergarment of a postulant, as if she had hastily donned it upon receiving the summons. He admired the way it clung to her figure, her amble bosom casting shadows over her sensual silhouette. The neckline dipped only very slightly where a single button at the collar had been left undone, revealing just a hint of her collarbones and the soft curve of her left shoulder. A sheer shawl of light grey gauze draped loosely around her, providing an illusion of modesty, while barely concealing the contours of her arms and upper body. Her dark brunette hair hung over her right shoulder in a long braid.
It was as if she was speaking to him without words. He watched as she breathed in the scents lingering in the air, saw an expression cross her face that seemed to land somewhere between fear, delight, and anticipation. Her lip trembled as she came and sat in the chair on the opposite side of his desk. He knew immediately that she was both innocent and interested in no longer being so burdened. She had chosen not to wear a heavy cloak. She was not hiding from him. Instead, she appeared feminine and demure, a very delightful flower who, even though she might not know the end game, at least knew that the game was afoot, and that she was a willing, if nervous, participant.
"You sang beautifully tonight," he said. "More beautiful than has been sung in the cathedral during my time here. I enjoyed you—" he paused, momentarily. "It is my hope that I will get to enjoy you more. Would you like that?"
He passed her the second glass of wine. She declined it with a very subtle shake of her head, the nervous energy again appearing on her face as a shiver passed through her from head to toe.
"I find the taste unpleasant," she said.
"Some things can taste unpleasant at first, but you come to enjoy them after multiple tastings," Cedric said. "Wine is one of those. But I picked a sweeter wine for my sweet guest. I think you will enjoy it." He placed his fingers at the bottom of the wineglass, pushing it a little closer to her.
"Well," she said. "I suppose there's no harm in a small sip." She held the goblet in her hand, sniffing its contents.
Cedric admired her perfectly shaped fingers and noticed for the first time that her nails were painted an innocent shade of pink. He wondered at this. He had never seen a postulant with treated fingernails. Such treatment using beeswax or tree resins and natural dyes were available in the city, but normally costly. Perhaps she had befriended a wealthy parishioner, who might have treated her to that kind of thing. It was very unusual, but also alluring.
"It's good!" she said happily after a tentative sip. She took a second and set the goblet down in front of her, casting her eyes over his ebony desk. She glanced at the letter he had just read and his eyes narrowed.
"Do you know your letters, girl?"
"No, but I would like to learn," she said.
"Oh, there are many things I can teach you," Cedric said. "So you've only learned the canticles by hearing, not by reading?"
"Yes, your reverence," she said, letting her eyes drop to her lap.
"You needn't feel ashamed," he said. "Most postulants do not read Latin, but this is the place to learn, if you should choose to stay."
"Why would I leave? I love it here," she said. "I feel—I don't know. Content? I feel at peace."
"That's wonderful," Cedric said, watching as she picked up the goblet again, taking a longer sip of the wine.
"What was it you wanted of me, your reverence?"
He smiled at her, trying to sense how deep her understanding of the moment was.
"Can you think of why I might have invited you to my chambers?" he asked.
"Was it to talk about my singing, or your next sermon?" she asked. "I could pick a different hymn if you think something would work better next time."
"No, that's not it," he said. "I didn't invite you here for that."
She swallowed hard, picked up her goblet, and took another sip. She sighed, looking at him. "I don't know," she said.
"I think you might know," he replied, placing his hands on his lap.
"Did you want me for personal reasons?" she asked. There was just a brief pause in her question, and she could not bring her eyes up to his face.
"Yes," he said.
"What personal reason?" she asked.
"I think you know," Cedric said, suppressing a smile.
"I have heard some things," she said. "From the other postulants."
"What have you heard?"
"That you bring them to your chambers to—teach them."
"Teach them about what?"
"Things of a private nature," she said shyly.
"It's just the two of us here," he said. "What private things?"
"I can't say," she said.
"I need you to say it."
She gazed at him and he held her with his eyes until looked back down at her lap and didn't speak.
"Katira," he said.
She looked up at him
"I need you to say it."
"I can't."
She was shy, and he loved it. He would take her from the beginning to the end, and what an end it would be! Before it was over, she would go from timid to begging him to use her, as they all had done before.
"Come here and sit on my lap, and we can whisper to each other," he suggested, pushing his chair back from his desk to give her room.
"I shouldn't," she said.
"Come here," he said more firmly.
She looked at him, not taking her eyes from him, as she stood. She adjusted her chemise, causing it to stretch enticingly across her breasts before releasing it to hug her body. She picked up her goblet and drained it. Cedric did the same as he watched her, setting his empty glass down on his desk and reaching for the bottle.
"Let me?" she asked, reaching for the bottle.
He handed it to her and she moved around the desk, standing between his chair and the ebony desktop, giving him a glorious view of her buttocks. She shivered when he grabbed her hips, one in each hand. Cedric heard the pop of the bottle as she removed the cork with her teeth. She poured both glasses with her back to him, letting him grope her.
"Here," she said, turning around and handing him his goblet.
He grinned. She had poured very tall glasses for both of them. She wanted to be a little tipsy when he took her, and it excited him. He raised his glass and clinked it to hers. Looking into each other's eyes, they each drank a large gulp as if challenging each other.
"You're really going to enjoy this, aren't you?" he asked, his eyes rising to her breasts.
"You have no idea!" she said.
And while her voice seemed excited, her face said something entirely different. She turned and set her goblet down on the desk and looked at him, as if waiting for him to do something.
Cedric felt a kink in his neck and turned his head side-to-side and then opened and closed his jaw. It felt like he was getting a stiff neck, which would just not do. No matter. After he satisfied himself with her, he would sleep for a long time and the neck problem would be gone by tomorrow.
"I've wanted you from the first day," he whispered, reaching for her head with his hand to pull her lips to his.
He drew her to him for a first kiss, but she resisted as he tugged at her bringing her lips close to his. He removed his hand from her head and looked at his fingers, which were tingling with numbness.
"I am the age of consent," Katira said. "I'm sixteen, so this would be okay, if I really wanted it. But your reverence is forty-six years old, and I am far from the youngest you have corrupted. Isn't that true?"
Cedric tried to cry out, but his jaw locked mid-breath, his tongue thick and useless. A wet gargle escaped instead—a drowning sound, wet and obscene.
"What you are experiencing," she said, "Is paralysis. It's an infusion of Aconitum—ground Monkshood. Some call it wolfsbane. It works quickly when put in a goblet of wine, especially with that very large drink you took. All it took was a few drops."
He just looked at her, unable to move or shout. All he could do was moan, his eyes wide and beginning to become bloodshot.
"I have to admit," Katira said, "This went much better than I anticipated. I thought I would have to bed you, which would have been an easy task. Although doing it without vomiting would have been a bit of a challenge. I thought you'd want the wine after you deflowered me. But you're greedy. You started with wine, which made this much easier to do."
Made what easier?
"At this moment," she continued, "You're looking at me and wondering why I look familiar. Why my eyes seem to bring about remembrance, and I'll tell you. Her name was Rachel. She was twelve years older than me, but at the time, she was just fifteen. You abused her in the catacombs. When she turned twenty-four, she became too old for your liking. To keep her silent, you strangled her and tossed her body in the pond. But this wasn't the first time. You've gotten away for it for decades, haven't you?"
Cedric could not answer. He felt bile rising from his stomach.
"Katira is, of course, not my real name. My real name is Bethany. And Rachel was my sister, stolen from me too young by your evil hands. But I want you to remember me as the goddess Nemesis. I am here, bringing justice. At one point, I hated you, but that means I would have to think about you, and after tonight, I promise you that I will not do it again. Justice has been served."
Unable to move, he did not respond, but there was a look of panic in his eyes and the pace of his breathing was increased.
"This is a lovely letter opener," she said, looking over the object before returning her eyes to him. "You're a disgusting little man. You thought you were going to take my innocence tonight, but you were sadly mistaken."
She paused and looked in his eyes one more time.
"I am not innocent," she said.
She offered him a final benediction in the shape of a smile—gentle, serene, and utterly merciless.
Then, she opened his throat from ear to ear with the sunsteel blade.
Two minutes later, he was tucked neatly in his bed, his bleeding corpse intermingled with saffron and rose petals, the covers over his face.
Bethany was in the back of a wagon, headed to Florence. The breeze through the wagon slats smelled of olives and ash.
Stephen B. Anthony is the author of Transmigrant, an epic science fiction thriller, available on both Amazon and Audible. The first seven chapters are available on this website for free.
Powerful characters. It was nice to follow them along in this story.