Blood Of Gods (Book 3)

by David Dalglish

  The right side of Cleo’s lip twitched while Romeo gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly his fingers turned white. Neither said a word, and she saw the lump in Romeo’s throat rise and fall with each gasp of air he took in. They were afraid. Of a woman. Catherine chuckled softly at the thought.

  “Don’t look so pathetic,” she said, folding her arms. “Even though you wished to overthrow me, I bear you no ill will. I know who and what you are, and you needed to learn that I am just like you, if not your better.” She smiled. “If anything, you should be thanking me. All those plans you dreamed up will come to pass.”

  “How so?” asked Cleo, sweat beading on his bald pate.

  She smiled wide. “I’m a widow now, and I will soon remarry after the grieving period is done. When that time comes, I will marry Ki-Nan Renald, your own protégé, and take his name.”

  Once more, both brothers gaped.

  “We have been lovers for a long while now,” she said, answering the question before it could be asked. They mustn’t learn about Ryan and the pregnancy, she reminded herself before continuing. “All while Matthew toiled and stumbled, nearly losing all of the wealth his family had built over the last ninety-odd years.” She leaned back, regaining her womanly posture as she placed her clasped hands in her lap.

  “And you will marry him?” asked Cleo.

  “Yes,” she replied. Though Romeo was still scowling, she could see the hint of a smile play on Cleo’s face. That was good, even if maddening. She hated revealing so much to these men, but she had no choice. If she didn’t prove herself worthy of their respect, or even their fear, all her plotting would be for naught.

  “The dark-skinned bastard,” muttered Romeo. “That’s what happens when you take a savage from Paradise and show him the world.”

  “He simply learned well from us,” said Cleo. “Too well, perhaps.” He turned back to Catherine. “And what will happen if our dear Ki-Nan doesn’t return from the war?”

  Though the question killed her on the inside, she couldn’t let it show. She shrugged and spoke the most painful lie of the many she’d told in her life. “Life will go on. Perhaps that would even be best. I will still be regent, and without a husband who holds loyalty to you.”

  “Why, then?” asked Romeo, dumbfounded. “Why treat with us at all?”

  “Because you’re the strongest merchant house,” she replied simply. “Your holdings are double mine, even considering how much Karak has stripped from you. I would be a fool to turn my back on that sort of power. Not if we are to endure the coming chaos.”

  “And if Karak returns?” asked Cleo.

  “Then we’re fucked, and all the plotting in the world won’t matter.”

  At that, Cleo clapped, his jollity returning. “Such language! What do you propose we do, sweet Catherine, should Karak fail to return?”

  She leaned her head against the back of her chair. “I see it thusly: When the god who created us disappears, this land will endure unrest never before seen. Every family, no matter how small, will seek to conquer another. But those who are ready—those who bond together in unity and mutual self-interest—those could reap wealth beyond imagining. Therefore we must decide who is trustworthy, who is worthwhile, and who is expendable. You know that Trenton Blackbard, the slimy bastard that he is, will move against us all if given the opportunity. Tod Garland is noble, but pious and beholden to Karak’s law. Tomas Mudraker is ambitious but a dullard. Peytr Gemcroft is wily and bold, but he is also unpredictable.”

  “What of Cornwall Lawrence?” asked Romeo in his sullen tone.

  “That house has been all but wiped off the map,” she told him. “I received word that a renegade cousin of Trenton Blackbard butchered the entire family. Of them, only the youngest daughter is still alive, and she is trapped in Veldaren, unable to lay stake to her claim.”

  Romeo’s eyebrows lifted. “That is no good,” he said. “If Blackbard has control of Omnmount . . . ”

  “He doesn’t,” Catherine said, cutting him off. “The cousin—and his men—were brought to an end.”

  “By whom, pray tell?” asked Cleo.

  “Moira, and five other sellswords I sent north.”

  Cleo sat back and clapped once more. “I should have known! How splendid! You said you sent the lost Crestwell away, but never why or where. You truly are a devious one, sweet Catherine!”

  For a woman, she thought dismissively, but let it go unsaid.

  “As of now, young Elias Gandrem is keeping hold of the settlement,” she continued. “His father has sent a party to assist him at my request. However, this doesn’t matter. All that matters is that this tragedy is something we can use to our advantage. None but Elias and Moira know that the Blackbard cousin acted on his own, and that story can be . . . twisted to suit our needs. The way I see it, Trenton is our greatest threat. And with the Gandrem house beholden to Peytr Gemcroft and now myself, it is another coin in our pockets. We can use this against Blackbard and convince the others to do the same.”

  Both brothers leaned forward, assuming similar poses with their elbows dangling between the draping fabric of their frocks. “House Gemcroft will be in turmoil soon,” said Cleo. “We have seen to that . . . ” He trailed off there, eyes flicking over his shoulder. Catherine glanced over their heads, at her maids and the two crossbow-wielding lute players, and nodded. The five girls bowed and exited the room, leaving her alone with the brothers Connington.

  “What is it you propose?” asked Romeo. The man sounded truly intrigued, even awed, which filled Catherine with pride.

  “First, we must decide whom to deal with, and whom to cast aside,” she said. “When the gods no longer walk the land, it is up to us, the people, to guide our own fates. Those who feed our citizens, keep them safe, will be loved the most.” She smiled wide. “And those who gain the most love? Why they will be us, and we will have the power not only to sway kings, but to choose them.”

  “The truth in those words is inspiring,” said Cleo, inclining his head in respect. “However, I regret to tell you that there is no guarantee Karak will lose this war. Even with all our preparations, toppling a god is no easy task. How can you be so confident?”

  “Because I’m a mother,” she said with a casual wave of the hand. “Everyone seems to forget that Dezrel is a world of three deities, not two. And the strongest one is the one who created it. The goddess is the mother of her children no less than I am to mine, and mothers are protective of what they’ve birthed. When this conflict between the brother gods threatens all she has created, she’ll end both of them forever.”

  “Are you certain of this?”

  Catherine grinned. “Would you like to ask my dear beloved Matthew that question?”

  CHAPTER

  32

  Darkness was Aullienna’s only companion, and it was a poor one at that. It whispered evil into her ears whenever she felt a glimmer of hope, suffocating her though she lay in open space. Her cell was kept dark at all times, even when food was brought to her. Those who brought it were formless in the black, invisible demons offering her disgusting slop. Every noise she heard was haunting, from the skittering of rats to the sound of footsteps tramping the soil above her head. With not even the faintest light to meet her keen elven eyes, her mind created the scenes for her, and each one was horrific. Monsters with tentacles whipping around them, hounds with fangs dripping blood and saliva, shadowy phantasms whose presence would make her shiver in her skin; each nightmare was worse than the last. It became nearly impossible to tell when she was dreaming or awake.

  Yet the thoughts of her loved ones were far worse than the monsters in her mind. They came to her in waves: her nursemaid, Noni, with a knife popping out of her skull; Aaromar with an arrow through his eye; her mother’s face, bleeding and covered in bruises; Kindren, her love and betrothed, whose fingers had been sliced off by Aully’s wicked brother. Kindren’s fingers. She felt around the dirt floor of the cellar that was now her prison unti
l they fell on a swathed clump of rolled fabric. She held the fabric close to her, beneath her chin, and felt the knucklebones of the fingers inside. The thing reeked of decay and was slimy to the touch, but she dealt with the stench and discomfort until her stomach inevitably cramped. Please, Celestia, help me stay strong, she pleaded with the darkness. Give me the strength to fight.

  This time, just as most others, she received no answer.

  The stench of the rotting fingers became too much, and Aully gently placed them down beside her. Not that the smell improved much. She’d been forced to both relieve her bladder and defecate right there on the floor. The whole place smelled wretched, of sweat and shit and piss and death itself. She didn’t think she could ever get used to the reek.

  A wave of dizziness hit her, and Aully curled into a ball. She felt bile in the back of her throat and gagged on it. Sensations such as these had been happening more and more often of late. She assumed it had something to do with whatever it was Carskel was feeding her. But in a way, she didn’t mind the discomfort. When she vomited, at least it was clear to her that she was awake.

  A sound reached her ears—a real sound, the creak of a door being opened, footsteps moving slowly down the darkened hall. She lifted her head from her arms, and her stomach cramped once more. She reached blindly into the black, desperate for sustenance. It didn’t matter if what she was being fed was killing her. She needed to eat.

  The footsteps ceased a few feet in front of her, and for a few languishing moments there was no sound at all. “Aullienna?” a voice asked. It spoke in a muddled whisper, and she couldn’t tell if it was male or female.

  She croaked out a reply, her constricted throat not giving enough breath for words.

  “There you are,” the whispering voice said.

  A flame struck, filling her world with wonderful light. At first Aully recoiled from it, but then she lurched forward, reaching for the source of the illumination like an elf lusting for water after a week in the desert. But her hands never found the light. Instead, they rapped hard against the wooden planks that held her prisoner.

  She sat back and drew her knees to her chest, gazing at the flickering light through the gap in the boards. The light revealed her accommodations—a twelve-foot-by-twelve-foot room surrounded by earthen walls on three sides. The cellar had once been used to store wine and tobacco, but now it stored only her. The dirt floor was covered with her bodily waste instead of skins and broad leaves. It was disgusting, but given that she could see for the first time in a long, long while, there was a part of her that found it beautiful nonetheless.

  “Oh Aully, look at you. I’m so sorry.”

  She squinted and inched along the slatted wall. Grabbing one of the boards, she pulled herself up and gazed through one of the lower gaps. The light was so bright out there in the passage that it seemed almost as bright as the stars in the heavens. The source of the light was high up, held in the hands of an immensely tall, shadowy being.

  “Celestia?” she whispered. Tears formed in her eyes.

  The form squatted down, and a hand touched hers. Three fingers and a thumb squeezed her palm. Aully squinted, trying to make her eyes adjust. Eventually her vision cleared and she saw the face of her Uncle Detrick staring back at her.

  “Not Celestia,” she grumbled. Her hand slipped out of his, and she slid down the boards until she lay flat on the soiled ground once more.

  “Aully, please,” her uncle said, pleading. His voice rose. “Sit up. Talk to me.”

  Aully groused, inaudible to her own ears.

  “What was that? Aully, I couldn’t hear you.”

  She lifted her head. “Go away, Uncle.” Her voice was rasping and weak.

  Shuffling came from the other side of the boards, and soon the light assaulted her face once more. Detrick was kneeling now, looking at her through the bottom slat. She simply stared back at him, her mind blank. Her uncle opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut. He reached beneath the boards, feeling the opposite side with the fingers of the hand Carskel had mangled, his mouth curving into a grimace of concentration. The thick boards were positioned in even intervals, with a seven-inch gap between each one. Detrick worked his way up, touching each board, steadily moving the light away from her as he rose.

  “Bring it back,” she whispered.

  “Bring what back?”

  “The light. Please.”

  Once more Detrick knelt down, and the wonderful light bathed her again. Aully tried to smile, but she wasn’t sure if she knew how to anymore.

  “Carvings on the boards,” her uncle said. “Magical wards.”

  “I know,” Aully said. She’d realized that the first time she’d tried to cast a spell. Her wicked brother had placed the same sort of protective net around the cellar that existed inside her father’s old study.

  “How long has it been?” she asked. Despite the coldness she felt toward her uncle, he was still alive, and carried both voice and light. She had to keep him there, keep him talking.

  Detrick sighed. “Twenty-eight days,” he said, the disgust plain in his voice.

  Twenty-eight days.

  “Where is Kindren?” she asked meekly.

  Her uncle went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “He is a bastard, Aully, a sick bastard who will do anything to get his way. I should have known from the start with that one. I almost told your father when first I laid eyes on him as a screaming babe that he should toss the hideous thing into the Corinth and be done with.” He looked away. “I never did,” he said, “but I wish I had.”

  “Kindren,” she whispered again. “Where is Kindren?”

  Detrick blinked at her and reached through the gap. She shuffled away from his grasp. Her uncle sighed and leaned back.

  “Kindren is safe,” he said. “He is in my chambers within Briar Hall. Your brother left him in my care.”

  “His hand,” Aully sobbed, more to herself than to her uncle.

  “I know,” said Detrick. “He was feverish for days after Carskel dumped him on me. I burned and bled the stumps of his fingers, but infection took root. For quite a while I thought I might lose him, so high was his fever. But your betrothed is a strong one, Aully. He pulled through.” Her uncle lifted his own mangled hand, gazing at the stub where his discarded finger had once been, and a solemn smile crossed his face. “We have bonded through our mutual disfigurement.”

  How wonderful for you. You bond, while I lay here and rot, slowly poisoned with each passing day.

  Suddenly annoyed, she inched closer to the slats and cleared her throat. “Why are you here?”

  “To make sure you are well.”

  Aully laughed, and with her coarse voice she sounded much older than her fourteen years. Her uncle tilted his head at her, moving closer to the gap, a frown on his lips.

  “So tell me,” she rasped. “Do I look well?”

  Detrick leaned closer to the boards, angling the candle he held through the gap and straining his eyes to look into the area beyond. Seeing the precious light up close, Aully mindlessly moved toward it, reaching out like it was a holy relic promising immeasurable power. Her uncle’s gaze found her.

  “My goddess,” he gasped. “Aully, you are all skin and bones!”

  She grabbed an empty clay bowl off the ground—she kept it close to the wall of boards, for if her jailers couldn’t find it when they came to bring her more slop, she would be left unfed until they returned the next day—and jettisoned it through the space between the boards. The bowl missed her uncle by inches, shattering when it struck the wall behind him. He fell back, almost losing hold of the candle when he withdrew his hand from the gap.

  “I’m being poisoned, uncle,” she said. “Each day I grow sicker. My brother is trying to kill me.”

  Detrick sighed and rubbed at his temple. “He is not trying to kill you, Aully. That would defeat his purpose for placing you in here.”

  “If that is so, why am I sick?”

  He waved
his hand at her. “You have been living in your own filth, breathing it in. It is painful, yes, but not fatal . . . so long as you are allowed out of here soon.”

  A gasp froze Aully’s throat. Just the thought of freedom made her feel dizzy.

  “Uncle, please,” she said, pleading. “Please, release me. Break those boards and let me out. Let me gather up Kindren and my mother and flee this place. You can come with us! You’ve long told me how much you despise Carskel . . . and after what he did to your hand, after how he betrayed your brother . . . please, please, Uncle, help me! We can run away and find a safe place where we never have to look at his face again!”

  Detrick looked away. His eyes watered.

  “I am sorry, Aullienna. I cannot.”

  Aully deflated, her moment of hope dashed. She crumpled again on the soiled ground and rolled into a ball, squeezing her eyes shut. “Go away,” she whispered, but it was so quiet she didn’t think her uncle could hear.

  “My sweet niece,” Detrick said. His hand was on her then, his fingers running through her muck-soaked hair. “It would do no good to flee. The gods clash not two hundred miles from us. The lands to the east are burning. There is bedlam all around us. The only safety we have is here, in our forest.” She opened her eyes and saw him shaking his head through the gap. He smiled, and it was forced. “As much as I hate your brother, as much as I wish him dead, he is right. The only way to guarantee our safety is to change, to conform. It may not be so bad. Carskel was young and brash when he hurt our dear Brienna. With you, he may be gentle. With you, he may be noble.”

  “Go away,” she breathed.

  “What was that?” her uncle asked.

  “I said go away!”