The Apostate Prince (Godswar Chronicles Book 2)

by CJ Perry

  “Why can’t you just tell me the truth?”

  Justin stopped and James bumped into him. “And if I did have feelings for her. Why would I tell you? You’re just going to run back to Deetra and tell her every word I say. Tell your mother that the next time she wants to speak to me, to come do it herself.”

  Justin turned again and James grabbed him by the arm, eyes pleading. Justin glared down at his older brother until he let go. Shaking his head, James scoffed and walked back toward his post at the inner gate, giving up. He spoke with his back turned.

  “Deetra’s not the one getting into fights with everyone,” he said, and pointed back at Justin without looking. “That would be you.”

  Guilt gnawed at Justin’s belly. James hadn’t meant any harm. He was just looking out for Justin, as he always did. And in return, Justin did the same thing he accused Deetra of - put James in the middle.

  “Dammit,” he said, and headed back toward the keep.

  The sword was waiting.

  Chapter Eight

  Family Fires

  Ayla stood in the center of the courtyard as merchants and their helpers put the last touches on their carts, tents, and awnings. The low morning sun glinted off their wares. They ranged from simple swords, jewelry, armor, pots, pans, and beaded clothes, to the more exotic, like dried fruits from the elven kingdom thousands of miles away. The smell of sizzling sausage drifted past her nose, making her mouth water.

  Deetra knelt in front of a wooden chest the size of a breadbox at Ayla’s feet, yet another gift from a merchant, this one from Moonvale. Ayla recognized him but could not place his name. He had reminded her, but she already forgot again. Deetra said something that Ayla missed.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I said it’s full of gold. Dwarven mint,” Deetra said, running her hand through the pile of hexagonal coins within. They clinked and cascaded with the sound only gold coins made.

  “That’s obscene. Close it. What was his name again?”

  “Killian Smith. He said it three times. He’s a friend,” Deetra said.

  “I'm sorry. He was the one…” Ayla trailed off, the memory escaping her. She had checked Justin’s room this morning to find the door spell-locked and him gone. The guards had reported seeing him fighting in the street with Victor over an hour before she woke. Then they had gone down into the Children’s Garden and he had yet to return.

  “He was the son of Declan Smith,” Deetra said and stood to meet Ayla’s eyes. “You know, from Hillside? He was part of the first slave revolt.”

  Ayla remembered. She had stayed with the Smiths of Hillside after her mother died, a lifetime ago. Killian had looked very different then. He had since left Hillside and moved to Moonvale, closer to Freeport, where he had gotten rich trading with the Dwarves.

  He waved from the corner of Ayla’s eye. His merchant awning had a place of honor in front of the doors to Freedom Hall. He’d grown fat and taken to dressing in silk these days. Ayla smiled and waved back. She cupped her hands under her chin, as a thank you. He returned the prayer gesture, sweaty silk shirt billowing in the light breeze.

  Deetra lifted the chest with a grunt. “Where are you this morning?”

  “Wondering where in the Hells my son is.”

  Deetra rolled her eyes. “I'm going to bring this inside and have one of the Acolytes lock it up. I'm sure Justin’s fine. Victor knows better than to hurt him - too much.”

  Ayla gave her wife a disapproving look. “Justin can take care of himself.”

  Deetra stepped around her, straining with the weight of the chest. “Then what are you worried about?”

  As Princes, Victor and Justin had the unique ability to put a strain on the alliance with the Orc Hills, despite the loving friendship the High-Chief and Ayla shared. She kept her answer to herself, however, as Deetra shuffled past her. Ayla lifted her chin to a Red Knight, signaling for him to help his too-proud General carry the chest. He circled his way around her and over to General Deetra with haste.

  On the far side of the ward, the Red Knights at the entrance parted. Ayla stepped to the side to get a clearer view around a merchant awning. The merchants all stopped their preparations and took a knee as Justin passed them in his red robes. He waved for them to stand and nodded at each one as they stood. He was good with the people of Hornstall. His red robes made him one of the most recognized men in the city, and after yesterday afternoon the tales of his power had spread. Ayla smiled. He would make a fine Emperor one day. Of course, he had yet to make his oath to the Night Goddess, but he would. The Night Goddess had chosen him.

  He wove his way through the ward, greeting everyone and shaking a few hands. When he noticed her, a wide smile spread across his face. Ayla returned it as he approached.

  “Busy morning,” he said with a glance to one side, indicating the bustling ward. He had smudges of dirt on his cheek and forehead.

  “You too. I heard you and Victor went for a walk,” she said, and pointed at the dirt on his face and his hair. “How did that go?”

  He grinned at her. “As well as can be expected. I needed some information for my research on the Guardian’s sword. And he says that he will be out in the forest training his pack to stay away from the road.”

  Ayla nodded. A merchant and his sons had been attacked on the road by red-eyed ‘demon dogs’ as they described them. Since then, Ayla had instructed Victor to stop Eggs from breeding with the coyotes near Hornstall. She appreciated the idea of an Abyssal coywolf pack to guard the forest, but if they could not stay off the road they would have to be relocated or put down.

  Deetra’s armored footsteps approached from behind, and Justin’s grin faded.. “I really should get back to my work.”

  Deetra stopped next to Ayla. “Did you run into James?”

  Justin leaned down and kissed Ayla on the cheek. “Sure did,” he said, the disdain evident in his dismissive tone. Ayla tapped him on the shoulder opposite Deetra in a quiet reprimand. He pressed his lips together and stood up straight.

  “And?” Deetra asked.

  “And he invited me to the funeral, and said you’re accusing me of having feelings for a murderer. Next time you have something you want-”

  “Stop,” Ayla demanded, and pushed Justin back a step with one hand. “Justin, I had the blood cleaned up in Freedom Hall but the rest of that mess is yours. Before you do anything else, it gets cleaned. Understood?”

  He opened his mouth but she spoke first. “Understood?”

  Justin stormed off, muttering under his breath. Ayla shook her head and turned to her wife. Deetra held up her hands, eyes wide.

  “Before you say anything, all I asked James to do was invite him to come to the funeral. I figured he’d be more likely to do it if James did the asking.”

  “And what about this accusation? That’s the same thing you said to me last night, and at dinner.”

  “James and I talked after I left the table. I didn’t think he would repeat it.”

  “Well, he did. And you just started a rumor.”

  James was a gossip. For all his virtues, keeping his mouth closed did not rank high among them. He lived in the barracks at the arena with his men. And while disciplined and well-mannered, when he drank or took a lover nothing he knew remained secret. Deetra ran a hand over her head and swept back a swath of brown hair from her face.

  “Say it,” Ayla said.

  Deetra sighed. “You just gave Justin permission to skip the funeral.”

  “He never attends them anyway. They make him uncomfortable.”

  “He’s going to have to learn to deal with it. If he’s ever going to be-”

  “His time as Emperor is many years from now.”

  Killian approached, waddling and puffing from the labor of walking a few hundred feet. She forced herself to smile. His timing could not be worse. Deetra loved him, but Ayla found his extravagant tastes and vulgar display of wealth revolting. If he wanted to make a donation of gold he sho
uld have done so in private, not in the middle of the ward for his fellow merchants to witness.

  Ayla spent the rest of the day with Deetra talking to Killian and others who had travelled the length and breadth of the Empire to take part in the Day of Freedom, which officially started at sunset tomorrow. Unofficially, the celebration had already started in taverns, inns, and markets all over Hornstall and the rest of the Empire.

  With Freedom Hall still closed in anticipation of Justin’s reveal of the dragon skeleton and the new heraldry, most knew to bring their donations and gifts to the temporary office in the arena. Still, some preferred to give their gifts to the Empress in person, so all day long she made trips back to the keep, giving the items to the acolytes so they could be placed in her quarters.

  By sunset, Ayla was back in her rooms. She sat on the edge of her bed, marveling at the number of gifts that she’d sent up. Her bedroom had become a dragon’s horde, sparkling in the light of the chandelier above. Jewels and gold littered the bed and spilled out of her foot chest.

  Deetra sat down next to her, still clad in her red armor. James had sent word that the funeral pyres were ready. Deetra put her arm over Ayla’s shoulders.

  “I’ll have some knights come with a wagon to take all this down to the arena armory. We really should consider a proper treasury.”

  Ayla nodded. “Are you leaving for the funeral now?”

  “I am. Me and the others are going to grab horses from the stables. The pyres are to be set past the gorge. You won’t even be able to see the smoke from here.”

  “I’m going with you,” Ayla said.

  Deetra leaned back and met Ayla’s eyes, her eyebrows raised in concern. “Are you sure?”

  Ayla smacked her hand down on the bed, making the coins jingle. “I can’t stay in here. And I really should go. I'm not going to have time to visit all eight families tomorrow.”

  “And the fires?”

  “Just stay close to me,” Ayla said.

  Deetra leaned in and kissed her lips and Ayla sighed as the anxiety of the cluttered room and prospect of funeral fires melted away. She put a hand on Deetra’s cheek, the only part of her not covered in red steel.

  Deetra broke the kiss and gave her a peck on the nose. “You ready?”

  Ayla nodded.

  An hour later, Ayla, Deetra, and a company of a hundred red knights rode across the flagstones of Hornstall Bridge, a few miles south of the city. Ayla rode in the center of the formation, Deetra on one side, and the color-bearer carrying the flag of the Empress on the other. The families of the knights rode at the front. The clop of hundreds of hooves echoed in the gorge below, with the sun throwing its last colors across the sky to the west. . On the other side of the bridge, the road turned into a pair of wagon ruts as it disappeared into the southern hills.

  She had not been this close to Hillside Village - her birthplace - in years. Ayla did not enjoy her trips back there. It always invoked sad memories of her mother and the horrors of Goreskin, Justin’s rapist minotaur father. The whole village had burned to the ground after the slave revolt but the people of Hillside eventually returned and rebuilt it.

  The knights spread out as they reached the other side of the bridge. Eight beds of stacked wood, four on either side of the road, held the bodies of the fallen knights. James and Victor stood in the center of the road, burning torches in hand. Soldiers busied themselves setting up tables of food, wine, and ale not thirty feet from the base of the pyres. The families took their place at their respective tables, each group led by a knight.

  Ayla led her horse to the right, as far from the pyres as possible and as close to the gorge as she dared. Deetra rode alongside, helm over the horn of her saddle.

  “You alright?” she asked.

  Ayla nodded and stopped her horse in the patchy grass. “This is not about me. How are you?”

  Deetra shrugged one shoulder, and dismounted. “I have to go pay my respects to the families.”

  Ayla climbed down off her horse, Eve, and followed Deetra to the road. At least the fires had not yet been lit. James came down the pair of wagon ruts, patting the pauldrons of his fellow knights and giving words of encouragement. He handed his torch to one of them when he saw Ayla and jogged over to them.

  “Empress,” he said, gracing her with a formal bow. “I had no idea you would be joining us or I would have prepared a separate table. Let me-”

  “Don’t trouble yourself, James. I would just like to pay my respects before the fires are lit, if that’s alright.”

  James nodded and escorted Ayla and Deetra over to the families’ tables. The Red Knights snapped to attention as they passed. At the first table, three other Red Knights - all brothers - sat with their gray-haired parents. The mother wore a black veil and leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder. They attempted to stand when Ayla arrived but she motioned for them to remain seated.

  Deetra approached them first, her eyes already edged with tears. She knelt before the mother and father. The father looked to James, then to Ayla, unsure of how to react. Their sons all moved from their seats. Ayla stepped back as they surrounded Deetra and each placed an armored hand on their General’s back. Deetra kept her head bowed.

  “I'm sorry,” she said, her voice thick with grief. “A knight approached the gate and declared the city under siege. Helen accompanied the Empress, me, and the other knights to investigate.”

  A lump rose in Ayla’s throat. The knight’s name was Helen. This family had lost their only daughter. Deetra told the story of how the Guardian advanced on the gatehouse, intent on killing the Empress. How Ayla had called down lightning but the Guardian had been unfazed. Deetra had battled the Guardian first, with the other knights remaining behind to guard Ayla. But the Guardian’s blade had been too powerful and they had been forced to fall back.

  Ayla shuddered as she recalled Deetra’s scream that day, telling her to run for the temple. The other Red Knights had advanced to assist their General and cover Ayla’s escape. One by one, as Ayla ran for the keep, the Red Knights cried out as they fell to the Guardian’s blade. Deetra had only barely escaped with her life.

  Ayla shook off the memory and tried to focus on her wife’s tear-stained face. Deetra, who had before now been looking at the ground, finally lifted her chin and met the mother’s eyes. The woman removed her veil and used it to wipe Deetra’s tear-streaked face. The father placed his hand on Deetra’s armored shoulder and nodded at her, swallowing back tears of his own.

  “She died saving her General and her Empress,” he said, shaking his head as the tears fell. “There is no greater honor than that.”

  Ayla stepped forward, hands over her heart. She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice wasn’t ready. She cleared her throat.

  “After the funeral, I would like to invite your sons back to the keep. The temple received many gifts. They are welcome to all they can carry.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Empress,” the man said, and nodded at his sons surrounding Deetra. “We have everything we could ask for.”

  Ayla swallowed again, but the lump in her throat stayed put. Her voice came out husky. “Then please, tell me what I can do.”

  The man nodded and Ayla extended a hand. He took it and gave it a gentle squeeze as he met her eyes. His face had deep laugh lines from the corners of his nose and on his brow.

  “Where is the Guardian now?”

  “In the dungeon,” Ayla assured him.

  The mother looked up from tending to Deetra, her face horrified. “She’s still alive?”

  Deetra averted her eyes from Ayla, leaving her to explain on her own.

  “Good,” the father said after she had. His hand tightened around Ayla’s. “I want to watch her die for killing my baby girl.”

  The family, Deetra, and James all looked at Ayla for her answer. She had never permitted such a thing before. A sacrifice was not a public spectacle; not intended to satisfy a voyeuristic need for revenge. But Ayla had no cho
ice. She only hoped the Goddess would understand.

  “Tomorrow at sunset, come to the keep.”

  He kissed Ayla’s hand, gave it one last squeeze, and let it go. Ayla smiled and then offered Deetra a hand to stand up. She took it, and the brothers stepped away from the General.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Deetra told them, and she, Ayla and James took their leave.

  Ayla made sevenmore visits to the families’ tables, each as heart wrenching as the one before. James rejoined Victor in front of the pyres, and Ayla and Deetra returned to their horses, arm in arm, in the dark. Fireflies blinked, lighting the field in their intermittent ethereal green.

  Ayla climbed up into the saddle and sagged, her eyes puffy, with tears still drying on her face. She was emotionally spent and the funeral had just gotten started. Deetra walked her horse over next to Ayla, and climbed into her own saddle.James lifted the torch over his head, and his voice over the crowd of knights and families: “We commit these brave knights to the Night Goddess. May they serve her well in the Abyss.”

  He and Victor separated and carried their torches to each stack of wood, lighting each one. The pitch-soaked wood caught quickly, and within moments their towering flames outshone the stars above. The whoosh and crackle made Ayla’s toes tingle in her boots. The stink of burning pitch turned her stomach.

  Deetra reached out for Ayla’s hand, and Ayla held on tight. The knights headed for the tables of wine and ale. Deetra tipped her head in their direction.

  “You want some wine?”

  Ayla nodded, but held onto her wife’s hand for another moment. Deetra smiled at her. “I’ll be right back.”

  The fire illuminated the field between the hills and the gulch and flickered on the armor of the men. Sparks drifted up from the top of the flames, high into the night sky. Ayla waited, but Deetra did not return as fast as she promised. Ayla tried not to watch the flames, or to remember the day Dylan put her to the stake but the images kept returning. Her ears rung, the sound of Dylan’s voice replacing all others.

  ‘For the crime of witchcraft and invoking the Evil One, Ayla of Hillside, you are condemned to burn at the stake.’