Victor, Vanquished, Son (Of Crowns and Glory—Book 8)

by Morgan Rice

  “Besides,” Leyana said, “I think it’s amazing that so many people have turned out for your sister’s wedding.”

  It was certainly impressive, but Sartes knew just how much the people of the island loved Ceres. Not just them, because when Sartes wasn’t on the farm, Ceres had been sending him out to all corners of the former Empire, helping them to come together after the fragmentation of the wars.

  He was there because he cared about Ceres and Thanos. He wanted them to be happy more than anything in the world. He looked across at Leyana. Well, maybe not more than anything.

  “Maybe when this is done, we could ask the priest if he has time to marry us as well?” he suggested.

  It seemed that she was thinking along the same lines, because she leaned in close to him. “There is nothing I would like more.”

  Sartes kissed her. The future would hold plenty of things he couldn’t predict, but so long as it held Leyana as well, that would be enough.

  ***

  Ceres had never been this nervous. Not in the Stade. Not facing down the beast Irrien had summoned. Not even in the midst of battle. It was easy to think of all the tough moments of her life then. It seemed as though the last couple of years had involved more violence than she could imagine.

  Even growing up, she’d had to fight. Then there had been the rebellion, the Stade, the attempts to kill her that had only turned her into a symbol. The Empire had sent her to the Isle of Prisoners and she’d ended up with the Forest Folk instead. She’d learned to fight in a new way, and she’d started to learn what she was.

  She’d met her mother and returned with the power to overthrow the Empire. Then the invasion had come in the wake of its fall, and it seemed as though she’d been fighting one long battle since then.

  Walking out to say her vows in front of a crowd of onlookers was easily scarier than all of that put together.

  The size of the crowd was a part of it. The other times Ceres had seen this many people together, it had been in the middle of battles, and she had to tell herself over and over again that she wasn’t about to be attacked.

  Then there was the scale of the preparations it had taken to get to this point. Her dress of white silk was in fact a patchwork of pieces, because dressmakers from three different lands had insisted on playing a part in its production. The priests had fought among themselves until Ceres had picked one out to conduct the ceremony, almost at random.

  It had taken this long partly because of all the details that needed to come together, from the feast to the presence of the ambassadors, and partly because, before this, Ceres had felt as though she couldn’t justify the extravagance of it. There had been too much to rebuild.

  She stepped out, saw Thanos, and instantly felt better. He looked perfect there in the sunlight, so much so that it was hard to believe that she was the one who got to wake up beside him each morning, and who got to know more about him than anyone else. She could barely believe that she was the one who got to marry him, but she was.

  “Friends!” the priest called out as Ceres came forward. “We are gathered here in the sight of the gods, and all of you, to witness the joining of two lives into one.”

  Ceres let him take her hand, binding it to Thanos’s with a length of ceremonial cloth.

  “Thanos, son of Claudius, Prince of the Empire that was, do you take this woman to be your wife? Do you swear to love her for all this life, until you are parted by the gods? Will you be one life with her, one body?”

  “I will,” Thanos said. He looked at Ceres then in a way that said he meant every word of it, and more.

  “Ceres, daughter of Lycine, Queen of the New Kingdom, do you take this man to be your husband? Do you swear to love him for all your life, until you are parted by the gods? Will you be one life with him, one body?”

  Ceres thought back to the moment when everything she’d been had poured into Thanos, bringing him back from the brink of death and beyond. She was fairly sure that they already were, in every sense that mattered.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Then in the sight of gods and men, I declare you joined in marriage,” the priest said.

  The crowd roared as they kissed, there above them. Still holding one another’s hands, Ceres and Thanos made their way down from the platform, heading into the crowd. There were those who had argued against this part, saying that it was too dangerous without guards, but Ceres never wanted to cut herself off like that. There were too many people she wanted to see, and welcome, and talk to.

  She went down among them with Thanos, hugging Sartes and Leyana first. Her father was there, crushing her in a bearlike hug that reminded her of his sheer size.

  “I’m so proud of you,” he said. “Of you both.”

  They kept going through the crowd. It seemed that almost everyone wanted to speak with them, to wish them joy or to throw flower petals over them. There were so many people there that they seemed to blend into one, so that Ceres couldn’t keep track of who she’d spoken to and who was still to come.

  The music of street players started up and they danced, joining in with the crowd as they reveled and drank, ate and laughed. Like this, it was easy to get lost in the moment, and in one another. Ceres clung to Thanos, not wanting to let him go today, or tonight.

  Come to me, a voice whispered in Ceres’s thoughts, and she turned, instinctively knowing the direction it had come from. She turned to Thanos.

  “My mother is here,” she whispered.

  They picked their way through the crowd, although it was a slow process when so many people wanted to congratulate them, or be seen with them, or offer them wine.

  This way, her mother sent, and Ceres followed, heading out of the city to one of the hills nearby. People let them go, obviously guessing that she and Thanos wanted to be alone. They climbed a small hill that looked out over the city and the ocean beyond. A hooded figure stood ahead.

  “Mother?”

  It was her. Lycine of the Ancient Ones stood in front of her, drawing Ceres and Thanos into a hug that encompassed them both.

  Around them, the rest of the world seemed to slow down, turning into a thing where the crowd moved at a crawl, the noise fading to silence.

  “It won’t last long,” Lycine said, “but I came back one last time to see you both.”

  Ceres knew it still wasn’t the world her mother had expected. She’d hoped that Ceres would use the power she’d been given in other ways.

  “I have come to tell you how much I love you,” she continued. “How proud of you I am.”

  Then she fell silent.

  Ceres saw her mother’s expression shift slightly. She could see the worry there.

  “There is more, isn’t there?” Ceres asked.

  Lycine nodded.

  “Your children,” she added, ominously.

  A part of Ceres didn’t want to listen to it. Not now. Not today. Even so, she had to ask.

  “What about them?”

  Lycine looked away for a moment.

  “Fate shifts and changes, my daughter,” she said. “You pushed it back when you saved Thanos, but it will rise again. Your children will be powerful in ways even I can’t guess now. I see great darkness too. There are things coming for them that you will have to help prepare them for.”

  “What kind of things?” Thanos asked.

  Lycine just shook her head. Then she held out a hand, and something dangled from it: an amulet of white gold, set with clear crystal that seemed to swirl and change color as Ceres watched.

  “What is it?” Ceres asked.

  Lycine smiled. “For now, just a wedding gift. A symbol of a mother’s love. In time… maybe more.”

  She stepped away. Ceres wanted to ask her more, but there was no time. As quickly as she’d come, Lycine vanished, leaving Thanos and Ceres staring at one another on the hillside.

  Her mother’s prophecy was a lead weight hanging over the moment, but Ceres suspected that it was also intended to be a gift. With
time to prepare, maybe they could make the future into something more beautiful for them, and for their children.

  She certainly intended to try.

  NOW AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER!

  A NEW SERIES!

  A THRONE FOR SISTERS (BOOK ONE)

  “Morgan Rice has come up with what promises to be another brilliant series, immersing us in a fantasy of valor, honor, courage, magic and faith in your destiny. Morgan has managed again to produce a strong set of characters that make us cheer for them on every page.…Recommended for the permanent library of all readers that love a well-written fantasy.”

  --Books and Movie Reviews, Roberto Mattos (regarding Rise of the Dragons)

  From #1 Bestseller Morgan Rice comes an unforgettable new fantasy series.

  In A THRONE FOR SISTERS (Book one), Sophia, 17, and her younger sister Kate, 15, are desperate to leave their horrific orphanage. Orphans, unwanted and unloved, they nonetheless dream of coming of age elsewhere, of finding a better life, even if that means living on the streets of the brutal city of Ashton.

  Sophia and Kate, also best friends, have each other’s backs—and yet they want different things from life. Sophia, a romantic, more elegant, dreams of entering court and finding a noble to fall in love with. Kate, a fighter, dreams of mastering the sword, of battling dragons, and becoming a warrior. They are both united, though, by their secret, paranormal power to read other’s minds, their only saving grace in a world that seems bent to destroy them.

  As they each embark on a quest and adventure their own ways, they struggle to survive. Faced with choices neither can imagine, their choices may propel them to the highest power—or plunge them to the lowest depths.

  A THRONE FOR SISTERS is the first book in a dazzling new fantasy series rife with love, heartbreak, tragedy, action, magic, sorcery, fate and heart-pounding suspense. A page turner, it is filled with characters that will make you fall in love, and a world you will never forget.

  Book #2—A COURT FOR THIEVES—will be released soon.

  “An action packed fantasy sure to please fans of Morgan Rice’s previous novels, along with fans of works such as The Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Paolini…. Fans of Young Adult Fiction will devour this latest work by Rice and beg for more.”

  --The Wanderer, A Literary Journal (regarding Rise of the Dragons)

  A THRONE FOR SISTERS (BOOK ONE)

  A THRONE FOR SISTERS (BOOK ONE)

  CHAPTER ONE

  Of all the things to hate in the House of the Unclaimed, the grinding wheel was the one Sophia dreaded most. She groaned as she pushed against an arm connected to the giant post that disappeared into the floor, while around her, the other orphans shoved against theirs. She ached and sweated as she pushed at it, her red hair matting with the work, her rough gray dress staining further with the sweat. Her dress was shorter than she wanted now, riding up with every stride to show the tattoo on her calf in the shape of a mask, marking her as what she was: an orphan, an owned thing.

  The other girls there had things even worse. At seventeen, Sophia was at least one of the oldest and largest of them. The only person older in the room was Sister O’Venn. The nun of the Masked Goddess wore the jet black habit of her order, along with a lace mask that every orphan quickly learned she could see through, down to the smallest detail of failure. The sister held the leather strap that she used to dole out punishment, flexing it between her hands while she droned on in the background, uttering the words of the Book of Masks, homilies about the need to perfect abandoned souls such as them.

  “In this place, you learn to be useful,” she intoned. “In this place, you learn to be valuable, as you were not to whatever fallen women gave birth to you. The Masked Goddess tells us that we must shape our place in the world through our efforts, and today your efforts turn the querns that grind the corn and—pay attention, Sophia!”

  Sophia flinched as she felt the impact of her belt as it cracked out. She gritted her teeth. How many times had the sisters beaten her in her life? For doing the wrong thing, or for not doing the right thing quickly enough? For being pretty enough that it constituted a sin in and of itself? For having the flame red hair of a troublemaker?

  If only they knew about her talent. She shuddered to think of it. For then, they would have beaten her to death.

  “Are you ignoring me, you stupid girl?” the nun demanded. She struck out again, and again. “Kneel facing the wall, all of you!”

  That was the worst part: it didn’t matter if you did everything right. The sisters would beat everyone for the failings of one girl.

  “You need to be reminded,” Sister O’Venn snapped, as Sophia heard a girl cry out, “of what you are. Of where you are.” Another girl whimpered as the leather strap struck flesh. “You are the children no one wanted. You are the property of the Masked Goddess, given a home through her grace.”

  She made her way around the room, and Sophia knew she would be last. The idea was to make her feel guilt for the pain of the others, and give them time to hate her for bringing this on them, before she got her beating.

  The beating she was kneeling there waiting for.

  When she could just leave.

  That thought came to Sophia so unbidden that she had to check it wasn’t some kind of sending from her younger sister, or that she hadn’t picked it up from one of the others. That was the problem with a talent like hers: it came when it wanted, not when called. Yet it seemed that the thought really was hers—and more than that, it was true.

  Better to risk death than to stay here one more day.

  Of course, if she dared to walk away, the punishment would be worse. They always found a way to make it worse. Sophia had seen girls who had stolen or fought back starved for days, forced to keep kneeling, beaten when they tried to sleep.

  But she didn’t care anymore. Something inside her had crossed a line. The fear couldn’t touch her, because it was swamped in the fear of what would happen soon anyway.

  After all, she turned seventeen today.

  She was now old enough to repay her debt of years of “care” at the hands of the nuns—to be indentured and sold like livestock. Sophia knew what happened to orphans who came of age. Compared to that, no beating mattered.

  She had been turning it over in her mind for weeks, in fact. Dreading this day, her birthday.

  And now it had arrived.

  To her own shock, Sophia acted. She stood smoothly, looked around. The nun’s attention was on another girl, whipping her savagely, so it was but the work of a moment to slip over to the door in silence. Probably even the other girls didn’t notice, or if they did, they were too frightened to say anything.

  Sophia stepped out into one of the plain white corridors of the orphanage, moving quietly, walking away from the workroom. There were other nuns out there, but so long as she moved with purpose, it might be enough to keep them from stopping her.

  What had she just done?

  Sophia kept walking through the House of the Unclaimed in a daze, barely able to believe that she was actually doing this. There were reasons they didn’t bother locking the front gates. The city beyond, just outside its gates, was a rough place—and rougher still for those who had started life as an orphan. Ashton had every city’s thieves and thugs—yet it also contained the hunters who recaptured the indentured who ran and the free folk who would spit on her simply for what she was.

  Then there was her sister. Kate was only fifteen. Sophia didn’t want to drag her into something worse. Kate was tough, tougher even than her, yet she was still Sophia’s little sister.

  Sophia wandered down toward the cloisters and the courtyard where they mixed with the boys from the orphanage next door, trying to work out where her sister would be. She couldn’t leave without her.

  She was almost there when she heard a girl cry out.

  Sophia headed toward the sound, half suspecting that her little sister had gotten herself into another fight. When she reached the yard, though, sh
e didn’t find Kate at the center of a brawling mob, but another girl instead. This one was even younger, perhaps in her thirteenth year, and was being pushed and slapped by three boys who must have been almost old enough to sell off into apprenticeships or the army.

  “Stop that!” Sophia cried out, surprising herself as much as she seemed to surprise the boys there. Normally the rule was that you walked past whatever was happening in the orphanage. You stayed quiet and remembered your place. Now, though, she stepped forward.

  “Leave her be.”

  The boys paused, but only to stare at her.

  The oldest set his eyes upon her with a malicious grin.

  “Well, well, boys,” he said, “looks like we have another one who isn’t where she should be.”

  He had blunt features and the kind of dead look in his eyes that only came from years in the House of the Unclaimed.

  He stepped forward, and before she could react, he grabbed Sophia’s arm. She went to slap him, but he was too quick, and he shoved her to the floor. It was in moments like this that Sophia wished she had her younger sister’s fighting skills, her ability to summon an instant brutality that Sophia, for all her cunning, just wasn’t capable of.

  Going to be sold as a whore anyway… might as well have my turn.

  Sophia was startled to hear his thoughts. These had an almost greasy feel to them, and she knew they were his. Her panic welled up.

  She started to struggle, but he pinned her arms easily.

  There was only one thing she could do. She screwed up her concentration, calling on her talent, hoping that this time it would work for her.

  Kate, she sent, the courtyard! Help me!