Page 17 of Ashen Torment

“Evander, have you noted who presides over the voices today?”

I follow his gesture, and my eyes cannot help but immediately fix upon Elijah Lirael, the celebrated operatic singer and virtuoso of international renown. His strong masculine features and perfectly composed posture convey a total mastery of his craft, as if the entire world were contained within his voice.

“I thought he was not accustomed to lending his voice during sacred functions.”

“Accusto—”

“Reverend Fallow entreated him with great persistence to join the choir,” Lord Dorian interjects, keeping his gaze fixed forward.

“And how are you aware of this?” Richard asks, curious.

He slowly turns his gaze toward me, brushing back an ivory lock that had fallen over his brow.

“Mr. Lirael was present at Silverbrooke Manor.”

“The Epistle is taken from the first chapter of the Epistle of Saint James, beginning at the twelfth verse.”

I look at Reverend, and it seems incredible to me that he, an emblem of rigor, could ever bend to entreat anyone.

“I had the privilege of witnessing that scene,” he continues, “after you, Viscount, granted me the honor of conversing with the Reverend.”

For an instant, his gaze shifts slightly, the gray of his eyes grows darker.

Somewhat sensitive and tremendously gratified to show it to me.

“Blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him.”

“And the young virtuoso yielded in the end, after observing a man of the Reverend’s standing nearly kneel before him,” Lord Dorian concludes in a smug tone of voice.

“But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed.”

“I imagine the Reverend desired to have a virtuoso such as Mr. Lirael present. After all, one cannot blame him.”

“...and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death.”

“In truth,” I murmur, “no one possesses a voice quite like his.”

He slowly turns his gaze toward me.

“Are you perhaps an admirer of his?”

“I admire art in every form.”

He returns his attention to the front, but his words do not escape my ears. “That would hardly seem the case.”

As Reverend Fallow opens the sermon, the conversation between us dies away naturally.

“Again, the devil taketh him up into an exceeding high mountain, and sheweth him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them...”

The Reverend’s words spread slowly through the aisles. Everyone is absorbed, listening intently.

“...and saith unto him: All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.”

How insidious power is, when offered in exchange for devotion.

“Then saith Jesus unto him: Get thee hence, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt shalt thou serve.”

I let my back fall against the cold wood of the pew and, though I am unable to fathom the reason, my gaze shifts toward Lord Dorian. He remains motionless, concentrated; his hand, resting on the edge of the pew, imperceptibly grips the rim. A gesture almost invisible, yet one that betrays the control he struggles to maintain.