A strong hand grabbed his elbow, holding him upright when he stumbled. He gazed up to find Eno’s concerned eyes on him.
“I’m okay,” he murmured, trying to wipe away the worry. “Though I would prefer if we avoided horses for a few days.”
A half smile lifted one corner of Eno’s mouth. “We can see if we can rent some scooters. That’s probably a fun way to get around the city while we’re here.”
Caelan nodded. He would prefer if they were in Temit for only a night, but he suspected it would be much longer as they tried to figure out how they were going to get past the gate and up to Mrtyu next.
Stiff and groaning, they all shuffled into the hotel while workers in neat black-and-purple uniforms whisked their horses away to nearby stables. Caelan nearly stumbled over his own jaw as he followed Vale and Rayne into the hotel she’d chosen. It was stunning.
When Vale had described the people’s preference for eschewing material wealth, he’d been expecting something simple and plain, but opulent was the only way to describe it. His feet sank into a thick carpet that rivaled the carpets that had filled his mother’s private chambers. The stone walls were covered in exquisitely wrought tapestries and thick curtains to keep the cold out during the brutal winter months. The lobby was filled with beautiful honey wood furniture that had elegant damask cushions. Cheery lights glowed from elegant lamps. All of it appeared to be handmade by talented artists.
“I thought you said these people didn’t go in for material wealth,” Eno muttered, his thoughts clearly traveling on the same path as Caelan’s.
“They don’t at home,” she emphasized with a chuckle. “When they are out in the world, everything around them needs to be a feast for the senses. Even the humblest restaurant will serve you the best meal of your life. If you are living your best life to give to the Dead God, why would you ever waste your time on the mediocre?”
As they continued across the lobby, their attention was drawn to a small group as they exited the hotel bar. A woman in a clingy gown that sparkled in various shades of purple was in the lead. She laughed loudly and twirled across the floor as they headed toward the main doors. Her laugh was suddenly cut off by a harsh cough followed by a loud gasp. She stumbled and the man who had been walking beside her lunged forward to slow her descent.
Her gasps grew fainter and she clawed at her throat. Caelan stepped quickly forward, his heart hammering in his chest. The woman couldn’t breathe and was choking to death, but no one was doing anything to help her. Only the man kneeled at her side, his face growing pale as he watched her struggling. The other companions in their group stood watching her, expressions of what seemed to be hopeful anticipation on their faces.
Rayne roughly grabbed Caelan’s elbow and pulled him back. Caelan jerked his head to see a stern warning in his advisor’s eyes.
“She’s dying,” he hissed in a low voice.
“And that’s their religion and right,” Rayne sharply countered. “Your help will not be welcomed if you step in and save her. You will have intervened between the woman and her god.”
Caelan clenched his teeth to hold in the argument that it was idiotic, but Rayne was right. No one was shouting for help. No one was looking for her to be saved.
He managed only a sharp nod. Rayne stared at him a second longer to make sure that he wouldn’t do anything rash and then retreated, allowing him to view the woman’s final moments.
When the death rattle finally escaped her parted red lips and her dark-brown eyes gazed up at nothing, her friends sent up a loud cheer. Only the man on his knees seemed to be struggling with her death. Tears steaked down his pale cheeks while he gave up a rough, choked shout of so-called joy. Was this her husband? Had he watched his beloved wife die and no one had done a damn thing to help her?
No. This was insane. If that had been Drayce or any of his close friends, he wouldn’t have just sat by and let death steal them away. He would have fought to keep them there. If the Dead God so desperately wanted their souls, he’d have to pry them from Caelan’s steely grip. He would not give up those he loved so easily.
Rayne’s hand landed on Caelan’s shoulder and squeezed, pushing him toward the main check-in desk, while liveried workers of the hotel hurried forward to take the body with a practiced ease. The revelers were already moving on. Only the husband appeared slow to leave, his watery eyes still locked on the corpse.