The demon hissed again. We cannot burn this city alone.
“We’re not going to burn it at all,” Ethan replied pointedly. “We will drive out the Crell, and you can feast upon them as much as you like. But my people will be left alone.”
Of course, Master. I would never think of disobeying you.
Ethan grunted. “The High King may not be willing to help us, but there are plenty of other Asgardian clans searching for glory and honor. They won’t be able to pass up this opportunity. We’ll march upon the gates together, and Sovereign Verrator will have no choice but to surrender.”
And then you will kill him and Ascend, the demon said almost gleefully. The deepest secrets of the Aether will be yours. You will no longer need to rely upon the Solarian queen for your power.
“Yes, though Galvia will still need her as an ally. At least until the Crell are defeated.”
And then, Master?
“Then,” Ethan whispered, “we shall see.”
He glanced back over his shoulder towards Elissa’s grave. Half of the crimson petals had already wilted in the demon’s presence; the other half were like splotches of blood set against the white snow. Clenching his jaw, Ethan turned on a heel and strode out of the graveyard.
He did not look back.
Chapter One
“Talisham—the so-called ‘Empire of the Tali-Pah’—is an ancient, magical land rife with beautiful gems, rare silks, and powerful relics from ages long gone. Walking through the great trading hub of Shanizaar is like stepping through a portal into the world-that-was…and it is a stark reminder that the past is rarely as glamorous as we like to remember.”
—Marcus Hitchens, Galvian Historian, 1987 A.G.
“She does not belong here.”
Husam Shafri, Revered Cleric of His Majesty the Tali-Pah, frowned as he studied the movements of the strange female across the street. She flit back and forth between the various merchant stalls, stuffing her basket with a wide assortment of food and drink. “Why do you say this?”
“You cannot tell?” Basir, his first disciple, replied stiffly. “Dusk curfew falls in half an hour—she should already be indoors.”
“She is not the only female still shopping. She may be preparing dinner.”
Basir scoffed. “If this is another test, it is not a difficult one. She is a foreigner—I can tell from her movements and pale skin. She is also the only female not wearing an oquari.”
Husam smiled despite himself. His disciple was making progress after all. Soon Basir would undergo the ralhameth—the Bonding Ritual—and join the ranks of His Majesty’s most trusted servants, the Al’Rasaad. He was cunning and loyal, and he could recite the Dictates of the Pah with perfect accuracy.
But right now, Husam was more concerned about this mystery woman. She moved with a serene grace no matter how much she piled into her basket, and he couldn’t help but be enamored by her lithe figure. Basir was right about her flesh, however; the bare skin on her arms and belly were too pale, even for a female who spent most of her time indoors, and her lack of an oquari—a betrothal jewel worn in the navel—was a clear indication that something was wrong. No unwed female would be out shopping alone in Shanizaar’s wealthiest district.
“She could be a Crell spy,” Basir suggested. “With their embassy closed, they need to rely upon local informants more heavily than ever.”
“The Zarul would not forget a detail like an oquari,” Husam replied. “If she is a spy, she is an amateur.”
“Then perhaps she is Solarian.”
“The Solarians are too busy fighting for their survival to waste time and resources plodding around Shanizaar. They’ve already asked His Majesty for aid, and I doubt they’d risk offending him.”
Basir pursed his lips and took another sip of his tea. “Regardless, we cannot allow her to move freely. We should confront and detain her.”
“Not just yet,” Husam said, smiling. “First we shall follow her and see what she knows. Come.”
The two men fell in behind the mystery woman as she finished shopping and headed south along the street. They kept a discreet distance, but Husam still managed to get a better look at her disguise. Other than her missing oquari, it was quite convincing; she clearly knew something about the local culture. The fashion of all Talishite women was carefully ordained, after all. Females of birthing age were expected to wear a norja, a wrapped cloth blouse that hung over their shoulders but left the belly bare as a sign of fertility. Married women distinguished themselves by piercing their navels with the oquari in order to ward off prospective suitors. Husam could have learned even more from this woman’s hairstyle and makeup, but she had concealed her features behind a golden veil reserved for the daughters of important families.
A part of him yearned to believe that she really was ripe and unmarried; his third wife had died during the Crell attack last year, and he had been seeking a replacement ever since. But no, she clearly did not belong here. And it was up to him to figure out the truth.
He and Basir trailed her for nearly ten minutes before she reached the end of the district and veered off onto the side streets. Traffic was still so congested that they should have been able to remain inconspicuous, but after another few turns Husam became convinced they had been spotted. He nodded meaningfully to Basir, and the two men priests steadily picked up speed and herded the woman into an empty alleyway.
“You carry a heavy basket this close to curfew,” Husam said. He didn’t bother drawing his weapon—she made no move to draw a weapon or flee. She simply bowed her head in deference.
“I run errands for my sick father, milord,” she whispered. Her accent was faint but noticeable, though he couldn’t quite place its origin. “I need to prepare dinner for him before nightfall.”
Basir leaned forward and lifted the lid of the basket. “Your father spends coin on foreign delicacies yet cannot spare a donation to His Majesty’s temple? His clerics can cure virtually any illness.”
“His condition is not serious, milord,” the woman replied. “He did not wish to waste their time on such a trifling matter.”
Husam eyed her more carefully. From this close, he could see slight blemishes on the skin of her arms and belly. She wasn’t as young as he’d first thought; she was probably closer to her forties.
“What is wrong with you?” he asked.
The woman froze in place. “I-I do not understand the question, milord.”
“You are far too old to not be wed, and yet you do not wear an oquari.”
“F-forgive me, milord, but I am barren. I bring great shame to my father.”
“Then why do you wear a norja?” Basir asked. He reached down to his belt and rested his palm against the pommel of his sword. “You know the punishment for lying females, don’t you?”
“I speak the truth!” she insisted. “I can take you to my father if you wish…”
“I’d rather you answer our questions,” Husam said coldly. “Now remove your veil—I wish to look upon you.”
“I am badly scarred, milord. You will not enjoy what you see.”
“That’s for me to decide.” Husam roughly grabbed her shoulder and then reached for her head. “Remain still—”
Her hand snapped up and caught his wrist just as he pulled back her veil. Her grip was strong—far stronger than it should have been for a female of her size. She looked up at him, and Husam gasped when he saw a pair of inhuman violet eyes.
“Turn and walk away,” she said. “Forget this incident ever happened, and you will never see me again.”
“Faeyn,” he stammered. “How…?
“Walk away,” the elf repeated. “Now.”
For a moment, Husam’s mouth couldn’t even form the words to reply. He had heard of her people, of course, but he had never seen one in person. As far as he knew they almost never visited Torsia…
Basir recovered first. “Foreign dog!” he snapped, unsheathing his sword and stepping forward. “Release him or�
��”
He never finished his sentence. The unmistakable thwang of a bowstring echoed down from the rooftops, and an arrow whistled through the air and pierced Basir’s hand. He shrieked in pain as his sword skittered harmlessly across the alleyway, but before his voice could carry, the faeyn woman struck. She blasted him in the chest with a surge of Aetheric energy, and Basir soared backwards and smashed into the alley wall. He slowly slumped down on the cobblestone, unconscious.
Panicking, Husam wriggled himself free from the woman’s grip and leapt backwards. The Aether coursed through his body, and he summoned a sphere of crackling flame to his hands….
“I wouldn’t,” a strong, contralto voice said from above him. He glanced upwards to see a cloaked figure perched on the rooftops, another arrow notched in her bow.
“For what it’s worth, I wish it didn’t have to come to this,” the faeyn said, taking a step forward. “But it’s time for you to take a nap.”
Husam started to protest, but then a flash of energy erupted from her palm. His muscles lost their strength, and he fell into darkness.
***
“This is getting ridiculous,” Sarina Zharrs snarled as she slammed the door shut behind her. She tore off her cloak and scarf and sucked in a deep breath of the house’s artificially cool air. “Sooner or later the Al’Rasaad is going to track us down, and then we’ll be in serious trouble.”
“Yes, I know,” Selvhara whispered. As usual, she seemed largely unfazed by their encounter; her preternatural calm could be downright infuriating sometimes. “We have already overstayed our welcome. We’ll need to leave the city soon, preferably by tonight or tomorrow.”
“Where in the hell are the men, anyway?”
“I assume Jason and Gor are still meeting with their contacts. Tam is likely spending time with his new friend.”
“You mean his whore,” Sarina grumbled, shaking her head. “Galivar’s blood, when they get back I swear I’m going to punch each and every one of them.”
Selvhara grunted, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. “When we first got here, you complained that you couldn’t go outside. Now you seem upset that you’re going outside too much.”
“I’m upset because I have to wear three layers of clothing when it’s hotter than a bloody smelter outside.”
“It’s not that hot. Just imagine what it’s like in the summer.”
“No, thanks.”
“How did you ever survive in Ikara for so long? It’s much hotter down there.”
“For one, the ocean brought in a nice breeze,” Sarina said. “For two, I could go out at night and wear whatever I wanted.”
Selvhara shrugged. “I could always get you a norja. I think the skirt would look good on you.”
Sarina snorted in disgust. “I’m not going to play their stupid dress-up game. Besides, I’d have to break the arm of the first man who propositioned me.”
“You could always take it as a compliment.”
“I can’t believe you’re enjoying this horrible country,” Sarina muttered, tossing her cloak on the floor. “I’d rather trudge around the ghettos of Drakendaar.”
“I don’t enjoy being here, but I do understand that it’s necessary. Without this artifact, we won’t be able to track down Jason’s father—”
“Yes, I remember,” Sarina insisted, raising her hand and letting out a deep breath. “I just can’t wait to head back north…and I’m not convinced this ‘Eye of the Pah’ even exists in the first place.”
“Jason believes it does.”
“Jason believes a lot of things,” Sarina grumbled. “I’m going to draw a bath. Feel free to soften the men up for me if they get back early.”
Shedding her third and final layer of clothing, Sarina shuffled through the closest doorway and activated the crystalline spigots along the wall. If nothing else, at least Jason had coughed up enough coin for a cozy estate while they were stuck here in Talisham. This bathing chamber was by far the most extravagant one she’d ever seen; the gold-plated pipes and authentic marble tub were so nice she could almost ignore the sweltering heat, rampant misogyny, and barbaric social customs. At least until she stepped back outside.
Clenching her jaw, she slid down into the large pool and allowed the magically-chilled waters to soothe her temper. She hadn’t wanted to come here to Talisham in the first place, of course, and neither had the others. But after spending a month searching for his father after the battle at Garos, Jason had eventually decided that the group needed some help. Without Elade’s assistance, they had no means of tracking Ethan’s demons, and by now he could have been anywhere in Torsia.
Sarina had suggested they simply let him go. With the war between the Alliance and the Crell raging in full force—not to mention Jason’s growing powers as a burgeoning demigod—they had plenty of other concerns to focus on besides one man’s unresolved daddy issues. But Jason had made up his mind the moment he’d learned his father was still alive, and Sarina had known better than to try to talk him out of it. The only real question had been whether or not she’d wanted to accompany him on his latest fool’s errand.
Not that her decision had ever truly been in doubt. There was nothing for her back in Asgardia, not after the fuss she had caused by leaving the first time, and she wasn’t about to abandon her friends again, either. Not even when Jason was being an idiot.
The artifact they were looking for, the Eye of the Pah, was allegedly capable of locating anyone anywhere in the world…a claim which seemed dubious at best and outright fraudulent at worst. According to legend, a trio of ancient Talishite princes had buried the relic in the desert to hide it from their ruthless father, and naturally the Eye had never been heard of since. Jason was convinced that another band of relic hunters had located the burial site just last year, but then they had “mysteriously vanished” before returning to civilization.
All in all, this expedition was eerily similar to their many misadventures in years past, and Sarina didn’t really expect to find anything. But then again, she had never expected Jason to find the soul of an ancient Immortal inside a Galvian ruin, either…
“If Jason can’t find the information he needs by tonight or tomorrow,” Selvhara said as she slipped into the room and dipped her legs into the massive tub, “then it might be worth traveling across the border into Elashi. We’ll be safe from the Al-Rasaad, and the men will be the uncomfortable ones, for once.”
Sarina grunted. “Not uncomfortable enough. And once we cross the border we probably won’t be able to come back. It’s much easier to leave Talisham than it is to enter.” She sighed and dipped her head into the water, then popped up and pulled her auburn hair back into a ponytail. She had let it grow out a bit these last few months, and she’d even untangled her Asgardian-styled dreadlocks for the first time in years. “Besides, if this Eye exists, it’s here. If we can’t find it, we might as well go home.”
“Wherever that is these days,” Selvhara whispered.
Sarina nodded soberly. Ever since they had first come together, their group had always been a motely band of exiles. Sel had effectively been banished from Sorthaal, the faeyn homeland back in Calhara, and Sarina was in a similar situation with her own people. Jason and Tam weren’t welcome in Galvia, given that the Crell still occupied most of the country, and Gor…well, he wasn’t welcome anywhere. Talisham was probably one of the safest places for a free chagari, oddly enough. Slavery was ostensibly illegal, and many of the Shanizaar merchant houses hired chagari as bodyguards and hunters.
“I’m sure Queen Krystia would welcome us back,” Sarina said after a moment. “I wonder how the war is going these days.”
“Not well, I’d wager,” Selvhara murmured. “Without outside assistance, I don’t see how the Solarians can possibly hold out.”
“Which makes me feel even worse about being so far away. The fighting could be over by the time we make it back.”
Selvhara turned and cocked a silver eyebrow. “Would you re
ally prefer to be on the front lines? You’re not Galvian or Solarian.”
“Neither are you, and you still fought in the last war,” Sarina countered. “The Crell need to be stopped, and here we are chasing after a single old man.”
“The Eye could help aid in the war effort beyond just finding Ethan.”
“Assuming it works. Assuming it exists. Otherwise we’ve just wasted a whole lot of time for nothing.”
Selvhara didn’t reply, and Sarina closed her eyes and released a long, slow breath. The water wasn’t helping to soothe her fury as much as when they’d first arrived. She had never been particularly good at tempering her emotions in general, which wasn’t surprising given her upbringing. All Asgardian children were taught to nurture and harness their anger at a young age. Learning to let it go, unfortunately, was a much more difficult prospect.
“Sorry,” she muttered into the silence. “I guess I’m just in a particularly bad mood today.”
“‘An axe is but a tool; rage is the weapon,’” Selvhara said. “That is the old Asgardian saying, yes?”
“One of many idiotic ideas my people have embraced. Sometimes I feel like we belong in a different era.”
“That’s not always a bad thing.” The druid closed her eyes and seemed to melt into the water. “And you are not wrong. We all warned Jason of the risks from the very beginning, but he felt the Eye was worth the time. It remains to be seen whether he was correct.”
Sarina nodded and dunked her head a second time. She spent the better part of the next hour in the tub, and by the time she got out and changed she had mostly calmed down. Gor and Jason showed up not long afterwards, and judging from the self-satisfied smirk on the latter’s face, Sarina guessed they’d finally struck proverbial gold.
“Hello, ladies,” Jason said as he wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel. His skin had tanned considerably in the week they’d been here, and he’d let his beard grow out as well. Sarina hadn’t quite decided whether she liked the new look or not. “I come bearing good news.”
The Godswar Saga (Omnibus) Page 89