The Godswar Saga (Omnibus)

by Jennifer Vale

  He closed his eyes as another welling of tears burst free. He curled into her arms, and she held him just as firmly as when he’d been a boy.

  “I should have told you a long time ago,” Selvhara whispered. “I always assumed you would figure out that your father and I had been together a long time.”

  “There’s nothing to feel guilty about,” Jason soothed. “Dad might have seemed gruff and distant, but he was still a man. When his wife died he turned to someone else.”

  “Jason, we were together long before your mother died.”

  He winced as the memories he’d stolen flashed back to the front of his mind. “Did you know he had a wife?”

  “Not at first,” Selvhara said. “It never occurred to me to ask. I had just come back to Torsia for the first time in years, and you know my people don’t marry. I didn’t understand the gravity of the situation until much later.”

  “But you didn’t walk away.”

  She shook her head. “No. I loved him, just as I loved Tevek. I assumed Ethan could do the same with me and Elissa.”

  “What about her?”

  “I don’t know,” Selvhara said. “But it was clearly a mistake.”

  Jason clenched his teeth and let out a deep breath. “My father’s more than yours. He betrayed my mother…and I bet he doesn’t even regret it.”

  “I think he always wondered if I allowed Elissa to die so that I could have him to myself. He never came out and said it, but I could tell he wondered.”

  “No one who ever knew you would believe you’d let someone die on purpose.”

  Selvhara closed her eyes. “Half her chest was crushed. I couldn’t even—”

  “I don’t want to know,” Jason said. “I don’t doubt you for a second and never have. That’s enough for me.”

  He clutched her more tightly against him, and she melted into his arms. He could sense her guilt slowly ebbing away, and the Aether swirled around her almost as if it were responding to her shifting emotions. As always, he was amazed that he had spent his entire life unable to perceive the powerful force surrounding them, and he couldn’t imagine what it was like for her to suddenly lose that ability. Sighing, he turned away…but then he belatedly noticed a pair of strange, misty tendrils twirling away from her like the strands of a tattered cloak wafting in the breeze.

  Jason frowned. The Aether really shouldn’t have been clinging to her this tightly, not without her Ascendant bond, and these tendrils made no sense whatsoever. He stretched out with his mind to try and touch them, but they felt...different. While the rest of the Aether was little more than a cloud of loose vapor, these tendrils were much more concentrated. It was almost like they were alive.

  Alive…and wounded.

  That made even less sense, but he couldn’t ignore what his new senses were telling him. Reaching out again, he poured some of his healing power into the tendrils just like they were living flesh…

  Selvhara gasped and stiffened. He pulled away and watched as the tendrils swirled together and merged into a single thread reaching off into the distance.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “I saw something…I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Goddess,” she whispered, and suddenly a crackle of electricity sparked around her body. Her eyes glowed even more fiercely than normal, and a gust of wind abruptly whipped through the house and tossed the plates and glasses off the table.

  Selvhara lifted off the couch, the gale holding her body upright, and the widest smile he had ever seen stretched across her face.

  “Elush kala ma’tien,” she breathed. “Anvira be merciful, your servant has returned.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “The more her powers continue to grow, the more nervous I become. We cannot afford to let her out of our sight, not even for an instant. She is still Unbound, Your Majesty. Never forget that.”

  —High Priest Kaeldar to King Areekan, 2011 AG

  Krystia hadn’t seen King Tyrius Areekan in person for several years. Even his direct Bound servants were rarely admitted inside his chamber. Only his Voice and his royal guardsmen had complete access, and the former had taken some serious convincing to let her through this time. She could communicate with the king telepathically, of course, but that made prolonged conversations awkward, and direct mental discourse was supposed to be reserved for emergencies anyway. Besides, the whole point of this trip was to see his chamber again first-hand. She needed to understand her limitations here with the dampening crystals in place, as well as get a fresh view of what she and Ethan would be up against.

  She also needed to do this for herself; she needed to plead with the king and his Voice one last time before she could make the final emotional leap towards murder. Even at this stage in their plans, with she and Ethan poised at the king’s doorstep, she could stop it all. A simple whisper to Elade would send her charging in after Ethan, and his death would remove all traces of Krystia’s involvement. And so she was willing to give her king one last chance at redemption, one last opportunity to prove his worth. If he refused, she would be able to look him straight in the eye and condemn him.

  High Priest Kaeldar led her past the dozens of guards, locked doors, and sealed corridors to the bottom of the King’s Tower. Most of the defenses were designed to stop a small army of enemy soldiers, but even in the middle of an attack, her station as a priestess and power as a telepath would allow her to bypass almost everything—until they approached the king’s private chamber. That would be another issue altogether.

  Two heavily armored, broad-shouldered men stood in front of the chamber doorway, both draped in elaborate white tabards and flowing golden capes. There were only twelve royal guardsmen in total, four of whom stood watch over the chamber at any time. They each received special training from the Last Dawn in defensive channeling techniques, as well as the best instruction the Alliance military could offer. Krystia doubted that even Ethan’s strongest demons would be a match for these men. Brute-force combat wasn’t going to be an option, so she needed to test their minds instead.

  As the Voice set to manipulating the door’s Aether locks, Krystia drew upon her powers and reached out into the guardsmen’s minds. They were strong and disciplined, and she knew they were trained to resist all types of attacks from direct physical confrontation to the more subtle intricacies of telepathy. Their minds were considerably tougher to crack than the priests at the Asylum, and even a week ago Krystia doubted that she would have been able to glean even a single stray thought from them.

  But now things were different. Sovan and Malacross had taught her more than she’d ever thought possible, and after just a few heartbeats of searching she could sense the tiny gaps in the guardsmen’s mental armor. With just the right amount of pressure she could slip into their minds and warp their perceptions…

  Krystia stopped herself before they sensed her probing, and a faint smile tugged at her lips. Yes, she could deal with these men easily enough. The only true obstacle that remained was the so-called “purification chamber” and its dampening crystals.

  The Voice bypassed the first Aether lock and stepped inside the empty, twenty-foot log steel corridor. He visibly flinched the moment he neared the thrumming crystalline walls, but after a moment he beckoned for Krystia to follow. Her hope was that her newly enhanced powers would allow her to withstand the worst of the draining effect, and so she took a deep breath and followed.

  The sensation was every bit as awful as she remembered. Her stomach churned and her knees weakened, and she nearly lost her balance before the Voice reached out a hand to steady her. It felt as though something was sucking the air out of the room even as she struggled for breath. Closing her eyes, she huddled into Kaeldar’s embrace as he hauled her through the chamber…

  And then suddenly her powers returned. Her eyes flicked open, and she expected to be clear of the chamber...but they were still only halfway through. The Aether was almost completely absent in here, yet somehow she no longer
needed it. She could sense the thoughts of the High Priest as his own powers weakened; she could sense the thoughts of the guards behind her and the others beyond the door. She could sense almost everything she normally could. There was only one possible explanation.

  Malacross. The Immortal had split a tiny fraction of her essence between Jason and Krystia, and that must have been what was sustaining her now. She wasn’t quite as powerful as normal—she definitely still felt some of the effects from the dampening crystals—but the fact she still possessed any of her powers at all was a miracle. She wasn’t going to need Ethan’s demons to survive this room after all. She could do it all herself thanks to Jason.

  Krystia smiled at the thought even as they finally exited the room and the Aether returned in full force. She acted weak for Kaeldar’s benefit, and the old man squeezed her hand reassuringly as he brought her before the king.

  Tyrius Areekan swiveled towards them as they approached. Krystia hadn’t seen him in at least three or four years, but he looked like he had aged twenty. He sat on the throne as little more than a shriveled husk of ancient flesh, his back hunched from age and his eyes glazed over from atrophy. Yet despite his obvious physical weakness, she could still sense his raw power.

  No, not his power—the power of an ancient Unbound nestled inside his mind, granting him the abilities he needed to run a country. In many ways this man was no better than his Bound; he was still a parasite leaching his channeling ability from another. Despite his pity-inducing appearance, Krystia needed to remember what he truly was….and what he stood for.

  “Your Majesty,” she said, kneeling before him. “I’m humbled you have granted me this audience.”

  “It is good to look upon you once again, my child,” Areekan rasped. “I’m afraid I see little these days, but your heart is as bright as ever.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Krystia stood and loosely clasped her fingers together in front of her. “I’ve come to speak with you about Highlord Dracian.”

  His face was so addled it was largely unreadable, but he did seem to wince. “I…regret what has happened to him.”

  “Lord Alric claims he has been relieved of duty and dismissed from the Dawn,” she said incredulously. “Is there no way you could speak on his behalf?”

  “We have no authority over the Last Dawn, as Lord Alric enjoys reminding us,” Kaeldar said. “If they wish to replace Tevek with a new Highlord, there is nothing we can do about it.”

  “But it’s not right,” Krystia insisted. “I am no different than Dame Devarath. He asked you to take a chance with me, and you have. I would like to think I have not disappointed any of you.”

  “You have exceeded all my hopes and expectations,” Areekan said warmly. “The priesthood looks up to you, and the people respect you. As you grow older, I’m sure your reputation as a healer will only grow across the Alliance.”

  She put on her best embarrassed smile. “I thank you for the kind words, and I hope they serve to prove my point. Dame Devarath has proven herself an excellent paladin. She served alongside us at Serogar, and many of our forces owe her their lives.”

  “They do indeed,” Areekan agreed soberly.

  “So then how can we stand by and let she and Tevek by dismissed so easily?”

  “Krystia,” the Voice said quietly. “There is nothing we can do.”

  “I’m just asking if you would be willing to speak with the Conclave,” she protested. “You might not have any official power over them, but I’m sure they’d listen to the recommendations of their closest ally.”

  “It will not change anything.”

  She frowned. “Are you sure that’s the only reason you don’t wish to get involved?”

  “What else would there be?”

  “Tevek placed me into your care so that I could have a normal life, but he also wanted me to be an example to you. He wanted you to see how Unbound could be valued members of this society.” Krystia glanced between the two men. “I feel that I’ve proven this to you already, and I wish you to extend the same sympathy to Elade. Please, advocate for her. Defend her rights and those of the man who gave her a new life. If the Last Dawn will not accept her, then let her fight for you, Your Majesty. Let her be our champion if she cannot be theirs.”

  Kaeldar’s face tightened, and he exchanged a long look with the king. She didn’t have to probe deeply to know what they were thinking. She knew exactly what they were about to say.

  “You are an exception, my child,” Areekan whispered. “You are a favor for an old friend and loyal ally. I do not regret what I have done or the opportunities I have given you, but there will never be another like you. For every sweet and gentle priestess like Krystia Tharule, there is a malicious, power-hungry revolutionary like Sevel Thorean waiting for the opportunity to seize power. Temptation is humanity’s greatest vice, and those without the restraint of an Ascendant cannot be trusted.”

  “Devarath already displays some of those tendencies,” Kaeldar murmured. “Alric is concerned with her disobedience, and that is another reason he does not trust her. Besides…she is a vaeyn.”

  Krystia scowled at him. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

  He raised an eyebrow at her tone. “I realize you are still young so I’ll forgive your ignorance, but her people are demon-worshipping savages. They defile their bodies with markings, and the knights of the Matriarch Queen are the most sadistic soldiers in all of Obsidian.”

  Somehow, Krystia managed to hold back a derisive snort. “You don’t know anything about them. Ask General Iouna—he fought with her at Serogar and—”

  “This is irrelevant, Krystia,” the Voice interrupted with a tired sigh. “I should never have brought you here. You will just have to learn to accept His Majesty’s decision.”

  “It’s all right, old friend,” Areekan said with a gentle smile. “She loves Tevek, and she needed to do this for herself. I do wish things could be different for you, my dear, but they can’t. In time, I believe you’ll understand.”

  I understand perfectly, you racist old bastard, she thought to herself. But Areekan was right about one thing: she had needed to do this, but not just for herself. She owed it to Tevek to try, both for his sake and Elade’s. She had given Areekan a last chance, and he had spit in her face—in all of their faces. So be it.

  “Then I’ll take my leave of you, Sire,” she said quietly.

  The Voice led them out of the chamber, but he didn’t speak until they reached the upper levels of the tower. “In the future, I would appreciate more honesty about what you wish to discuss with His Majesty,” the High Priest said sternly.

  “He seemed happy enough to see me.”

  “That doesn’t mean it was the right decision.”

  Krystia grunted softly and stopped. “I hope you’re willing to accept Lord Alric’s politics if he is chosen as Tevek’s successor.”

  “As I’ve said several times, it is not our decision.”

  “Maybe not, but I doubt the Alliance will ever find a more resilient or loyal ally than Tevek Dracian,” she said. “Keep this in mind if and when the Crell decide to invade.”

  “Mind yourself, priestess,” the Voice scolded. “It is not your place to question His Majesty’s will or that of the Council.”

  “I thought it was the place of every citizen to question their leaders. Isn’t that the entire purpose of the Council?”

  “You are not a citizen—you are a servant of the king,” Kaeldar reminded her. “Now I suggest you relax during your sabbatical. You have a lot on your mind, and when you return I want you clear and focused on the task at hand.”

  “I will be,” she promised. “Don’t worry.”

  The Voice eyed her carefully for a long moment before nodding and striding away. His footsteps echoed softly off the marble walls, and Krystia couldn’t help but wonder if killing him would be as gratifying as it seemed.

  ***

  Onar Tenel sipped at the glass of cold re
d liquid and grimaced as it burned its way down his throat. His father had once claimed that the local malt was the only way the families of Thesik got through the harsh winters, but Tenel had never particularly cared for it. Still, the taste summoned so many old memories that he couldn’t resist. They were the only things he had left in of this sleepy little town.

  Much had changed in Thesik since the last war. Several cavalry raids had gone after the town’s silos during the first months of the conflict, and near the end an aerial assault had wiped out three of the largest fields. Thesik and its surrounding farms were one of the breadbaskets of the Imperium, though that little tidbit was often forgotten by the imperial elite living in Drakendaar. General Moore had exploited that weakness—instead of attacking more heavily-guarded military targets, he had gone after civilian farms. And the strategy had worked…at least for a while.

  By now everything had been rebuilt, of course, and most people’s lives had gotten back to normal. But Tenel couldn’t believe how foreign everything felt to him. He was only able to visit his family farm once or perhaps twice a year, and each time the old cabin felt less and less like home. Even Chalandra and his children had become strangers.

  Perhaps that was why, in the middle of only his second day here, he had already found his way into this tavern instead of spending time with his wife. Perhaps that was why he felt he needed a few more glasses of whiskey before he could go back and face her.

  Tenel finished the glass and tapped it on the table. He didn’t recognize the bartender anymore, nor any of the handful of other people in here getting drunk far earlier than was socially appropriate. Their anonymity shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did. He felt like he should have been able to pull up a chair and have a conversation with them.

  “Somehow I figured I’d find you here,” a familiar voice said from behind him.

  “Karl!” Tenel gasped, turning. “By the gods, what are you doing here?”