The Godswar Saga (Omnibus)

by Jennifer Vale

  “I need you to look over these reports with me, Belek,” Sir Alric said after a moment. “I would like your thoughts.”

  “Of course, sir,” Talroy said, taking a seat. “I am here to serve.”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  “They say we can trust the Bound because they are controlled by the king…but what if we don’t trust the king?”

  —Unknown

  A soft kiss on the cheek woke Krystia from her unintentional afternoon nap. Her eyes darted open and she flinched in shock at the man looming above her.

  “By Sol,” she stammered. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly six,” Darius said, glancing over his shoulder to the clock on the far wall. “When did you get back?”

  She sat up straight in the chair and stretched her back and leg muscles. “Just after noon. I don’t think I lasted long after that…”

  “Squire Talroy said you’d gotten in and were looking for me.”

  Krystia blinked a few times. Lack of sleep, it seemed, had finally caught up with her, and she was still tired. Much of that was mental fatigue, she knew, and hopefully Darius could help her sort some of it out.

  “We need to talk.”

  He leaned down on the arm of the chair and began to massage her shoulders. “Just talk?”

  As usual, the warmth of his hands felt amazing, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to relax until she got this off her chest. “Just talk,” she whispered. “There are some things I need to tell you.”

  Darius frowned. “Like what?”

  She gently brushed his hands away and rose to her feet. She paced about the room for a second to gather herself and grabbed a handful of almonds from her desk. “The last few months I’ve been doing some research on the Academy of Aether Studies—you know, the Unbound Asylum.”

  A flicker of recognition crossed his face. “That’s something you haven’t brought up in a while.”

  “I figured I would spare you the boring details. I know you aren’t that interested.”

  “Of course I’m interested,” he protested. “I just…well, we had other things on the table at the time. And we still do right now.”

  “I know, but this is important. Maybe even more important than the Crell.”

  His face creased with concern. “What’s this about?”

  Krystia crunched an almond and swallowed it. “I’ve visited the Asylum.”

  “What? How?”

  “I deceived the headmaster,” she murmured. “I convinced him that I was someone else.”

  Darius stared in disbelief, then eventually shook his head in confusion. “How? Surely he knows who you are. I mean, you’re both priests…”

  “The man hasn’t left that place in decades for anything other than a short family vacation. And just because we are all linked to the king doesn’t mean every priest is intimately familiar with one another. Besides, I went in disguise just in case.”

  The shock returned to his face. It had probably never occurred to him she was capable of such a thing. “What did you do there?”

  “I studied their records and talked to the headmaster. I learned some things from him, and then I met some of the students.”

  Darius sat in silence for a moment before drawing a deep breath. “Krystia…I don’t know even know what to say. Do you know how dangerous this is?”

  “Of course I do!”

  “Are you sure? If you were caught—”

  “If Areekan knew I went there, he would be worried. If he knew I lied to the headmaster about who I was and spoke to some of the students, he might stick me in there with them.” She eyed him coolly. “I’m well aware of the risks.”

  “Then why would you do it? What did you hope to gain from it?”

  Krystia folded her arms across her chest and paced back and forth in front of her desk. “I had to know more about them. I had to know who they were and what they had done.”

  He studied her carefully for several seconds before his shock finally melted into sympathy. “I didn’t realize how much this meant to you. I’m sorry I didn’t take it more seriously before.”

  “It’s all right,” she assured him. “This was something I needed to do on my own anyway. And I wasn’t caught, so there was no harm done.”

  “Judging by your reaction, I’m going to assume things didn’t go the way you planned?”

  “Not exactly. They’re a diverse group of people, Darius. Some are children, some have lived at the Asylum their entire lives. Some have amazing powers and others can barely read surface emotions.”

  He sank further into her couch and propped his boots up on the nearby footstool. “I suppose that isn’t entirely surprising. They’re as diverse a group as any other random people you could pick off the street.”

  “But they aren’t random,” Krystia said. “They’re Unbound. They’re just like me.”

  He frowned. “So what happened? Something else is bothering you.”

  She sighed and closed her eyes. “I suppose it all comes down to a basic question: how much power can one person be trusted with?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Just think about it: our entire society is based on limiting the power of individuals.”

  He shrugged fractionally. “In some ways, I suppose. The Council, the king, and the military all share power.”

  “Right, but it’s more than that. Our society—almost every society—is founded on the Ascendants and their Bound. We can’t function without them.”

  “All too true,” he lamented.

  “And why are beings entrusted with such power? Why are Areekan’s priests revered figures across the Alliance?”

  “Well, like you said, they hold society together. They’re responsible for so many parts of daily life it’s impossible to even function without them.”

  Krystia shook her head and gestured at him meaningfully. “No, that’s what they do, not why they are revered. Almost every Unbound at that Asylum could do exactly the same thing, and probably better. But if we were in that position we would be feared, maybe even hated. And why is that?”

  He mulled over it for a moment, eyeing her meaningfully. “They can’t be controlled.”

  “Precisely. We trust the priests because they have accountability. If they violate the will of the king or the Council, His Majesty can snuff out their powers just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “But he can’t do that with Unbound—no one can. Society has to live with our mistakes; it has to trust us not to go astray.”

  “That’s why the Academy was created in the first place,” Darius said. “Anyone who’s heard of it knows that. The question I know you’re asking is whether it’s right to lock away people whose greatest crime is being born different.”

  Krystia nodded. “A week ago—by Sol, maybe even yesterday—I would have told you no. But now…”

  “What? What happened?”

  She folded her arms again and looked away from him. Sovan’s shadowy face popped into her head, but it wasn’t just him she was thinking about. She recalled all the cautionary tales the Headmaster had shared with her, the stories of children who had hurt their families, some without even knowing it. And others…

  “Some of them have done horrible things, Darius,” she whispered. “They might not have been able to control it, but they did it anyway.”

  “They lost control?”

  “Some never had it. Some killed their loved ones without even realizing it.”

  He shuffled in his seat, though she wasn’t looking at his face to read his expression. “So now you think maybe you were wrong.”

  Krystia stared at the mirror on her dresser at the far side of her room. Somehow, the person looking back at her seemed older than one she had left only days before. Lack of sleep had darkened her eyes and tightened her cheeks, but the changes were more than just physical. For most of her thirteen years here at this temple, she had understood herself and her place in this kingdom. She was a revered priestess with many fr
iends and the respect of the people. She had a brilliant lover and a future that seemed brighter by the day.

  What had changed?

  Krystia’s first impulse was to blame Ethan. The man had quite literally emerged from the shadows whispering treason in her ear. With all the problems at the border and an insidious enemy at their doorstep, almost everything he had said made sense. He had played masterfully at her fears, from her moral outrage at the Unbound to her desire to see the Imperium destroyed. He had planted ideas in her from the very beginning, knowing they would eventually blossom. But in the end, of course, she was the one who had listened. She was the one who had actually made the choices.

  “What if I am wrong?” she whispered. “What does that mean for me?”

  “You don’t think you deserve to be here?”

  “I’m no different from them. In many ways, I’m worse.”

  Krystia turned towards him and met his eyes. His face was expressionless. For a moment she wasn’t looking upon her lover—she was looking at General Iouna, a calm and calculating leader of men.

  “I killed them, you know,” she said quietly. “At Isen, back during the war.”

  “The Crell? I know, you saved our lives.”

  “My parents,” she corrected. “And another family along with them. My magic destroyed them. I destroyed them.”

  His eyes softened, and he was Darius once more. “I know.”

  Krystia froze. “What?”

  “I’ve known for a long time.”

  “How…?”

  He let loose a deep sigh. “After we were rescued and started rebuilding the fortress, Tevek and the others surveyed the battle damage. He said it was obvious the explosion had come from inside the tower.”

  Her mouth was dry, and it felt as if someone had slipped a dagger into her gut. “Tevek told you this?”

  “Not until years later,” Darius told her. “I’m not even sure anyone else knows outside from Tevek and the king. He told me it was one of the reasons he pushed so hard for Areekan to keep you out of the Asylum.”

  “That makes no sense,” she whispered. “He should have locked me away the moment he realized how dangerous I was.”

  “Tevek knew it was an accident. You were an eight year old girl in the middle of a warzone with powers she couldn’t fully control. He knew you had saved lives when you didn’t have to. He thought it was important for someone like you to have a real chance to prove herself—or maybe just to redeem herself.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If you became something wonderful, if you turned into the woman you are today, then it would prove to Areekan and the other doubters that the Unbound deserved a chance—even those nearly consumed by their own powers. The war made it very hard to identify young Unbound, especially in Galvian refugees. You went without training and guidance for far too long.”

  Darius paused and reached out for her hand. She placed it gently into his grip. “You know Tevek. You know how he thinks and what he stands for. He believes in giving people a chance—sometimes even a second chance.”

  Krystia squeezed his hand and didn’t bother to hold back the tears welling in her eyes. A moment later she slid into his arms. He held her tightly.

  “The difference between you and those at the Asylum,” he murmured, “is you were given the chance they were not. And you’ve exceeded Tevek’s expectations in every way imaginable.”

  “So you think they still deserve a chance?”

  “They do,” he said. “And you know it.”

  She held him closely for a long moment, curled up warmly in his embrace, before tilting her head up to face him. “I’m the only one who can give them one.”

  “Areekan won’t budge,” he agreed. “We both know that. And not just with the Unbound, either. The Crell tried to kill Tevek and Elade and wipe out the resistance, and His Majesty was barely willing to even send a cover team into Lyebel to help them.”

  “He’s a coward,” she said flatly. “What good is all this power if you aren’t willing to use it?”

  “The moment is now, and the Council can’t see it. Areekan can’t see it.”

  Krystia nodded. “Things have to change.”

  “If they don’t,” he said gravely, “then sooner or later we’ll all pay the price for it.”

  ***

  Less than six hours earlier, Admiral Onar Tenel had been sitting in the Sovereign’s chamber, witnessing the outcome of the battle in Lyebel as it unfolded on her crystalline mirrors. It wasn’t so different from commanding a fleet of ships on the Perilous. He would stand to the side and make tactical decisions while the Bound officers handled communication with the troops and projected a rough image of the battle in front of him. He always felt a bit awkward as the lone vorhang in a group of people who had so much power, but it wasn’t an insurmountable obstacle. Their adversaries in the Alliance military had relied upon “conventional” communications for centuries—their Bound weren’t allowed to serve in the highest officer ranks as a matter of law. While it was popular in the officer’s mess to lambast the Solarians for being foolish and old-fashioned, Tenel had always sympathized. There were still advantages to being detached from a situation. Commanders telepathically linked into the battles often treated the fights personally and lost their objective edge. Sovereign Damir had apparently agreed with that assessment, given how receptive she had been to his tactical recommendations thus far.

  With the way the battle in Lyebel had unfolded, however, he wondered if she might have changed her mind.

  The attack had gone horribly wrong in almost every way imaginable. Three quarters of their agents had been killed or captured in the assault. Even her new weapon, the Breaker named Kroll, had been defeated. Worst of all, Moore had used the cube and Ascended. The potential long-term tactical ramifications for the Imperium were obvious, but on a personal level it made Tenel bristle in fury. Moore’s Ascension was the ultimate insult—the son of his greatest enemy had now attained god-like power after a failed mission Tenel himself had overseen.

  “I hope you were able to get some rest, Admiral,” Sovereign Damir said as he approached from behind cautiously. Her throne was faced away from him, and the crystalline mirrors flashed with activity.

  “Some,” he murmured. The air in her chamber seemed especially cold today, and as he stood awaiting her final assessment, he couldn’t help but remember his first impression of this building and the hollowness of its aseptic walls.

  “It’s time to move forward with our other plans.” Her voice was surprisingly cool, and she slowly spun her throne around to face him. It certainly wasn’t the response he had been expecting.

  “In what way?”

  “Lyebel was a setback, but nothing we can’t endure,” she explained. “Whether we obtain the spark or not, the invasion will still go forward soon.”

  Tenel frowned. “You don’t wish to capture the spark?”

  “Of course I do,” she assured him, “but we can afford to be patient. Its power will likely overwhelm Moore, at which point the rebels will descend into chaos as they fight for a successor. Given the losses they suffered, I imagine their desperation will flare out of control, especially since their strongest allies have been crippled.”

  Tenel nodded. He had taken some solace in knowing that Ethan Moore’s witch had been spayed, but of course it wasn’t enough, not considering their other losses. “I don’t disagree, but they will have substantial Solarian and Last Dawn reinforcements soon. We also have to consider the presence of the vaeyn.”

  “Yes,” Damir said, nodding, “we do indeed. I admit she intrigues me.”

  “I had no idea the knights even trained Unbound paladins.”

  “They don’t. Like the Solarians, they are blinded by the misguided notion that power is a curse rather than a gift. Instead of creating deadly weapons, they bury them.” Her face twisted faintly in a rare display of emotion. “It is a backwards belief unfortunately shared by some of my colleagues.”<
br />
  “I wonder,” Tenel said thoughtfully, scratching at his chin, “what if the other paladins don’t know what she is?”

  “That is hard to believe. The Unbound are obviously capable of telepathically linking with an Ascendant, but their bond is not the same. Surely the knights would have noticed this during her Binding Ritual with Maeleon.”

  “Maybe some do, but not all,” Tenel mused. “Their god isn’t even alive, at least not like you or the other Sovereigns. They bind to his essence, not to his lingering consciousness…he wouldn’t be able to communicate her true nature to his followers.”

  Damir cocked an eyebrow. “You believe this is a weakness we could exploit?”

  “Assuming it’s true, yes. If we could drive a wedge within the ranks of the Dawn, we could keep them from interfering with our other efforts.”

  “Indeed. We will definitely have to consider our options more carefully. Well done, Admiral. Once again I am impressed with your thoughtfulness.”

  Tenel felt his cheeks warm. “Thank you, Your Eminence.”

  Damir pivoted back to the mirrors along the wall. “For the moment, however, our focus needs to remain on Moore. If by some chance he manages to survive Ascension, he will likely still be incapacitated for several weeks. Unfortunately, it will take some time for us to gather enough reinforcements for another attack.”

  “We could call upon the city watch,” Tenel suggested.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “As I said before, I do not wish to burden Sovereign Verrator with this matter. Besides, that is a very…military solution, and it brings me to my next point.”

  Tenel frowned despite himself. The obvious tactical option was to use the watch to crush the rebels and any of their sympathizers in the docks, just as it had been months ago. He still couldn’t figure out why she was so insisted upon using only Zarul assets.

  “Your talents are best spent on the open field of battle, Admiral,” she went on, “not assisting with urban warfare.”