He was standing as still and forbidding as granite as he watched the apprentice close the door and move toward the center of the room. The younger man did not yet have the shaved head of a convert. Such an honor would not be allowed unless he survived the trials. Many came to worship the Prince, but few survived.
His shrewd gaze easily pierced the modest demeanor of the younger man, discerning the sharpness to the countenance and the cunning in the pale eyes.
Oh yes, he would do quite well, he decided with an inward smile.
Clearly unnerved by the relentless gaze, the apprentice nervously shifted. "You summoned me, Master Rafael?"
'Yes, Apprentice Amil. Please, have a seat." Rafael waited until the student had moved to perch upon the uncomfortable wooden chair, then he slowly moved to stand before his guest. 'Tfou are comfortable?"
Amil shifted with a faint frown. "Yes, thank you."
"Be at ease, my son," Rafael drawled, folding his hands within the arms of his robe. "Despite persistent rumors among the brothers, I do not usually eat acolytes for dinner. Not even those who have dared to practice the dark arts forbidden even to us."
There was a moment of shock before the young man was abruptly sliding out of the chair and landing upon his knees.
"Master, forgive me," he begged in unsteady tones. "It was mere curiosity. I did not intend harm."
Rafael grimaced as the fool threatened to wrinkle the hem of his robes. It had been more fortune than skill that had led him to discover the overly-ambitious apprentice slipping from the tower to recite the black spells. His first instinct had been to rip out his throat. Not only would it have been a fitting punishment, but it would have provided him a great deal of pleasure.
But in the end he had hesitated. A man in his powerful position was always in need of faithful servants. And no servant was more faithful than one who knew he was a breath away from death.
"Oh, do get up, worm."
Shakily the man forced himself to regain his seat, warily regarding Rafael.
"Am I to be killed?"
"That is the penalty."
"Of course, master," the man obediently agreed, although his sincerity was open to question.
"Dark magics are not a toy. They are dangerous to you and to those about you. You endangered us all with your stupidity and risked exposing our temple."
"Yes, master."
Rafael's thin lips hardened. "But you are ambitious, eh, Amil? You desire to wield the power that beckons just out of reach?"
The pale gaze covertly flicked toward Rafael's potent medallion, before recalling he was on the knife's edge of becoming dinner. Or worse.
"Only if the Prince wills it so."
"I sense your talent. It runs deep within you. A
pity it shall be wasted before it can ever bloom to its full potential."
"Please, master. I have learned my lesson. I shall not stray again."
Rafael slowly lifted his brows. "And you believe I should trust your empty promise? You who have already displayed an inbred treachery?"
Perhaps sensing a glimmer of hope, Amil leaned forward, his thin features flushed. "All I ask is a second opportunity. I'll do whatever you ask of me."
"Whatever? A rather rash promise."
"I don't care. Just tell me what I must do."
Rafael pretended to consider the plea. He had, of course, known that the pathetic apprentice would sell his soul. He had depended upon it. In some ways the youth reminded him of himself with his burning thirst for knowledge. But unlike this fool, he had possessed the wits to keep his secret studies well hidden. And the wisdom never to place himself in the power of another.
"Perhaps I could consider being lenient upon this one occasion," he slowly drawled. "With one condition."