Melissah perched on the edge of the chair, elbows on either side of parchment spread across Santiago's rickety table. A schematic of the temple of Sekhmet. Their growing contribution to setting Raven free. It'd been nine days since Alyssa's last message warning them to stay out of Olisgard. An army marched on the capitol—their home—and they had told no one. Sitting idle this long, awaiting her reply, had take a toll on their morale.
She tapped a spot on the temple drawing. The kitchen. "It's the only way."
Santiago lounged on the pallet of blankets in the corner of his one room abode, twirling a coin between long fingers. "Normally I'd argue against absolutes, but I'm fairly certain you're right."
From her persistent snooping and his recent visit with Khalimat, they'd deduced there were only two stairwells leading to the lowest level of the temple. The well-guarded route stemming from the temple proper, and a servants' tunnel from the kitchens, leading to a root cellar. She'd sketched the layout as best she could, plotting the measurements and counting bricks until her eyes ached. She was certain the wall at the back of the root cellar shared a wall with Raven's cell.
"I can slip into the kitchens and play the part," she said. "I'm good at deception."
"But not so good at subverting stone." He flipped the coin into the air and caught it. "Unless you've been hiding certain talents from your dear old friend."
"Nothing of note, at least." Getting through stone would be a problem. A pick and small spade would be helpful. And a mallet and chisel. And a means to carry the tools without invoking suspicion. She had a bag somewhere that would suffice. "How long would it take? Chipping a hole in the wall large enough to fit Raven?"
"If sound and location weren't an obstacle, I'd say an hour or so, depending on the stone quality. But what you're suggesting?" He moved the coin across his knuckles in a shimmering wave, over and over again. "Well. I really can't say. With the unavoidable noise you'd be discovered before you made much progress."
She needed a distraction. Something loud and boisterous to draw attention elsewhere. But, what?
"What if the market caught fire?" she said. "The temple's far too close for anyone present to not leave to aide the firemen."
"Not an optimal distraction. This city was built of stone, which as you know does not burn. The blaze wouldn't last long enough for you to knock a hole through that wall. Someone would hear you."
Indeed, demolishing a wall would cause quite the ruckus. She wasn't unfamiliar with manual labor, but swinging heavy tools was nothing she'd spent much time on in practice. It was called skilled labor for a reason. Stonemasons didn't flail about, swinging hammers and picks without care. They were strong, yes, but what made them so adept at their craft was their accuracy. And while demolition wasn't her chosen field, she was very well versed in precision.
"It still wouldn't hurt to try."
"I do so admire your ambition." Santiago rolled to his feet and paced to the window. Early morning light shone through the murky glass, highlighting a lock of black hair peeking from the edge of his mask.
"Admiration will get you taken advantage of. You told me that, if you recall."
He braced both hands on the sill, fixated on something beyond the glass. "I've said many things. Not all of them wise."
"What's troubling you?"
"All these years I've prided myself on cleverness. Three steps ahead with the endgame decided." His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. "But I've been played a fool all along. Her web is so well woven, I don't know if Khalimat can be beaten."
"Everyone can be beaten, Santiago. Khalimat's pride will be her downfall, and we've the wit and grit to see it through." She tapped a spot on her map. "And we'll start with taking away her prophet. One way or another. If it comes down to it, I'll sing and dance in the streets like a loony, and you can do the heavy lifting in the cellar. You've seen a shovel before, yes?"
He turned from the window, that one eye wide. "That's it!"
"I was joking. You know I can't carry a tune, and I suspect you've never dirtied your hands in actual dirt."
"No, no. Music playing in the temple proper would be plenty loud, let alone a sustained distraction."
Drums would mask the pounding. As would flute and strings. A loud conglomeration of sounds to muffle her excavating. Everyone in the temple would gravitate to the music. Perhaps even Khalimat. The idea began to grow on her.
"And do you know of any available musicians? Or have you been hiding certain talents, as well?"
"Of course."
"How? We're in Kebos. You've only been here two weeks and with me for most of that time, and—wait. Of course, what? To which question? Musicians or hidden talents?"
"My dear Rose," he said. "You know I never explain anything."
O.O.O.O.O
At sunset, Khalimat often found herself on the roof of the temple. Barefoot and alone, she'd paced the perimeter, enjoying the warmth still radiating from the sandstone. As the sun slipped past the horizon, torchlights and fires burst to life across the city, enveloping Kebos in a warm glow amidst the beautiful, moonless night. Beneath a cosmos of stars, she'd sit for hours, gazing. Contemplating. Locating her favorite constellations in her own private ceremony. One she'd created with Raven.
As a child, the curious Hudar would listen, enraptured as she explained the names of stars, the Gods they represented. One of the few moments in their existence when both she and Raven set aside their steadfast opposition and just enjoyed a moment of peace. A reward from the day's battle.
She'd never had children of her own. Never desired them. But when presented with that terrible little jackal child, she'd felt the first—and only—stab of maternal instinct. A crippling exhilaration and vulnerability all the same. She saw Raven's intelligence, her gifts. Something to be carefully cultivated. And she had. Being bound to the temple, priestesses abstained from commitment to anyone other than Sekhmet. A fierce warrior goddess, she demanded cunning, ruthlessness and absolute loyalty. As did Khalimat. And Raven had betrayed her.
It hurt more than she cared to admit. It was foolish to think anyone could take the wild out of a wildling, yet she'd allowed herself this weakness. Raven had first been a project, testing Khalimat's patience and skill. And as they both grew, she realized Raven's potential was not a novelty. Not a gift for the gods, nor a means of communicating with them. She was a tool. A weapon Khalimat had the mind and foresight to properly wield. And oh, had she ever planned well. Raven performed beyond expectations. Assimilating and upheaving Olisgard. Sabotaging Dominick Kenos' reign. Stealing his queen.
Khalimat hadn't, however, anticipated Raven falling in love. That bond meant a shift in loyalty. Devotion to another made the Hudar even more unpredictable. That emotional connection existed beyond Khalimat's control, and Raven would fight to the death to preserve that modicum of power.
She only hoped that time would remedy Raven's insolence without creating a larger problem. She'd invested so much in her, and despite the staggering work it would take getting her back in line, Khalimat looked forward to the challenge. Maybe she'd pull Raven back to the surface tomorrow, and see how well seclusion had subdued that rebellion. She did so miss their conversations.
"Priestess?" A temple adept approached from the stairs. "Santiago Succoci is here to see you."
Well, well. A pleasant change to her evening ritual. She'd love to pick his brain of a great many things. "You may send him up here."
"If you'll allow it, priestess, may I suggest meeting him in the temple proper?" The young woman did her best to conceal her excitement. "He's brought something with him you might find pleasing."
O.O.O.O.O
And so it begins. Two thousand Hudar awaited in the tree line outside Olisgard. Jarl took twelve za'hava and began the careful approach to the city, crossing the expanse of cleared land around the walls. Alyssa accompanied the seasoned warriors, dressed in the simple black robes she'd been given at the settlement. This undertaking had been her idea, and she would see it through to the end.
Moving in a natural depression in the field, all fourteen spread out in the shadows, they were nearly invisible. Alyssa scanned ahead, picking out the hidden watch posts spaced along the top of the wall.
"Shift them left," she murmured. "A little more and we'll be in their blind spot."
Jarl slowed and altered the direction of the entire group with a hand gesture, all twelve warriors understanding and implementing the command without a spoken word. Moving as one insidious entity, they crossed the open field with ease and hugged the boarder wall, stalking closer to the western gate.
She'd drawn the layout of the wall for them, noting all the places a soldier could be when they arrived. The location of the portcullis controls, and how many men it took to open. Where the archers and carrier birds lurked in the tower. Jarl and his men had everything they needed, including the cover of twilight.
The last time Alyssa crossed this gate, she had been sneaking one Hudar out of Olisgard. Now, she'd escorted two thousand skilled warriors to the capital. Her stomach twisted into knots, over and over again. They would swamp the city, overpowering the guards and anyone who stood against them. Countless Norrians would die. Some innocent. Perhaps even some she cared for. And the same fate could befall the Hudar.
Jarl halted his men beside the gate and touched her shoulder. "Are you ready?"
"Why did you agree to this?" She nodded to the dark horizon. "All of you risked your lives crossing a frozen mountain, and now you're prepared to charge the capital of the strongest military force in the land—because I asked you to. Because I'm trying to save one life and willing to risk thousands in the process."
He snorted and shook his head, the bones of his headdress clattering. "You only have one life to risk, Jinx. We came for our own reason. Some for revenge. Some, glory. The same happened when Norr's army invaded our land and forced us to come together to survive. We're all here because we want the same thing in the end."
Did they? She swallowed the gravel in her throat. "And what's that?"
"To live."
A tingle zipped down her spine. She drew the short, curved sword from the sheath at her side and hefted its weight. Balanced, easy to maneuver, and sharp enough to flay to the bone. The Hudar's deadly weapon, that when paired with their skill and nimble horses, had decimated Norrian troops for years. She'd never been in battle, never even seen one. But that didn't matter. Her purpose wasn't to lead or rule.
It had taken a lifetime to discover how unjust Norr had been to the Hudar. She had accomplished so very little while queen. But now she knew what needed to be done. Her purpose was to level the playing field, redistributing power. A wildfire to scorch the earth and start anew. The chaos in opposition to order.
"Then let us live," she said. "Or die trying."
Jarl grinned, all teeth and bones and black scarves. "To the wind, brothers."
In the blink of an eye, all twelve men had vanished, leaving her and Jarl alone beside the gate. The twenty-foot walls were useless against their ability to jump through the veil. Had the Hudar unified earlier in their culture, they'd have made an unstoppable force. Who knows how the world would have changed?
Well, she watched the top of the wall. Better late than never. She'd prepared for screams. Some sort of struggle, at least. Nothing stirred but the cold breeze humming through the open field.
Two bodies crashed to the ground on either side of her.
"Shit!" She leapt back, heart pounding in her ears, and leveled her sword towards one figure.
"Easy," Jarl chuckled. "They're dead."
Two Norrian soldiers lay in boneless heaps of armor. Fallen—or thrown—from their post at the top of the wall. She nudged one with her boot. Undoubtedly dead.
A groan of wood and metal followed, pricking the hairs on the back of her neck. The massive gate swung open into darkness. Unbelievable. They'd breached the walls with twelve men and without a sound.
Then came the thunder of hooves. Hundreds and hundreds pouring from the forest like dark, rushing water. The ground trembled, growing with the size and momentum of that terrifying Hudar wave.
"Wait for the riders to pass," Jarl said. "Then follow me."
"Right." Throat tight, she waited by the gate as the first Hudar warriors in history invaded the city of Olisgard.
O.O.O.O.O
Long robes clasped in one hand, Khalimat descended from the roof and paused at the bottom step. A lone string instrument hummed a haunting tune, beckoning her down the hall. Her skin pricked and heart sped. That man.
Two dozen musicians awaited her, seated at the feet of Sekhmet, amongst the fire and daily offerings. A myriad of drums, flutes, and strings. At the forefront, Santiago played a seven-stringed lyre, drawing the bow with the confident skills of a virtuoso. He'd forgone his usual full mask for one that left his jaw uncovered.
And what a jaw it was. Strong, tanned and peppered with dark stubble. He met her gaze and grinned perfect white teeth.
Her stomach warmed. She tilted her head, trying not to return the gesture. "Is there a reason you've invaded this sacred space, Santiago?"
"We're celebrating, of course." He continued to play, pressing strings with one hand while the other worked the bow.
A temple adept approached, carrying a chair, and set it down beside her. Khalimat glanced across the space, finding servants and guards peering into the room. Gravitating to Santiago's beautiful melody. She couldn't blame them.
"Why is there cause for celebration?"
"The night is young, the gods are merciful, and you, my lady, deserve your own special offering."
He was playing more than just that lyre.
Santiago closed his eye and composed in earnest now. Sawing the strings, evoking sounds she'd never heard before. The tempo quickened, music swelled, and when the rest of the musicians joined in, the awe-inspiring presence took her breath away. She eased into the chair, enraptured.
O.O.O.O.O
Madness had officially descended. Swallowed in darkness, in a quiet so complete, the rhythmic rush of blood in Raven's ears became deafening. The never-ending whoosh—whoosh—whoosh battlingwith the incessant voices in her head.
How long had it been since Santiago had visited? Four meals ago? Five? Were those meals spaced per day? Every-other day? What was Alyssa planning? Had she truly found the remaining Hudar? She had to get out of this cell.
Chink!
A new sound added to the strain on her threadbare sanity. Loud and sharp, it echoed at a frequency just below unbearable.
Chink!
Was it even real? Or had she not suffered enough in this hellhole that her mind needed something else added to the agony?
Chink!
Gods be damned, she couldn't take much more of that sound. As pleasant as a pickaxe to the forehead.
Chink!
A . . . pickaxe? She felt along the walls, trying to locate where the sound originated. Palm pressed to the rough stone, she counted the cadence of strikes, absorbing the unknown possibilities of their existence. A new form of torture? Construction elsewhere in the temple? What awaited on the other side of that wall?
Over and over again. Time passed. The sound changed frequency, becoming deeper, more hollow. Louder. Closer. And closer. Until—a beam of light shot into her cell, blinding as the sun. She fell backwards, shielding her eyes.
"Raven?" A voice filtered through a small hole in the wall, muffled and familiar.
Had she lost her mind? Was this really happening? She scrambled to the hole, no bigger than her fist, and peered through. "Who's there?"
"Oh, my mistake. I've broken into the wrong dungeon. Let me just put this stone back."
"Melissah?" She shifted her head left, then right, trying to get the angle right. "How did—where are you?"
"The root cellar."
"Where's Alyssa?"
"Leading an army of Hudar to demolish Olisgard. We haven't heard back from her in several days, but I imagine she's a tad busy at the moment."
Hold out, my charming dark traveller. I bring vengeance. Pride and fear and longing surged through her veins, fierce and overwhelming. She rested her head against the wall, sides heaving with each breath. Alyssa was alive. She was coming back for her. They would be together once again. Nothing would stop them. Nothing.
"Raven?"
She licked her lips. "Yes?"
"Here." The light through the hole dimmed. "Have some figs. This is going to take me a moment."
Stretching her fingertips into the hole, she plucked several dried figs and shoved them into her mouth. The tart sweetness nearly brought her to tears. Khalimat was starving her, a tactic she'd used to break her will in the past, but it had never lasted this long before. Weakness had seeped into her bones.
"Watch yourself," Melissah said. The pounding resumed, amplified by the opening in the wall. Each hit growing louder than the previous, accompanied by Melissah's heavy breathing. Chips and chunks of stone tumbled into her cell. Slowly, the hole grew larger.
"I can help." The prospect of escape set her heart at a frantic pace. "Hand me a tool."
The pounding stopped. "What?"
"Give me a tool. Something—anything. I can work on this side."
"Okay," she panted. "Good idea." Melissah pushed something through the hole. "Try this."
Raven pulled the heavy object free, running it through her hands. A steel mallet. The weight of it solidified her resolve. She would be free of this place. And then?
She had her own vengeance to unleash.
O.O.O.O.O
"We're under attack!"
Kenos lurched upright in bed, blind and disoriented. Torchlight poured from the open door as a silhouette rushed towards him in his darkened bedroom.
"You're grace, the western gate's been breached." A young soldier, one of the newer recruits. "They're flooding the city!"
The words took a few moments to register. "What? Who's charging?"
"Hudar. Hundreds."
Was this a nightmare? Surely he'd awaken any moment now.
"You're grace?" The young soldier's hand trembled on the grip of the sword at his waist. "Did you hear me? Hudar have overtaken the city. They're everywhere."
The following chills reaffirmed his wakefulness. He scrambled out of bed and stumbled to his wardrobe. "Where's Captain Roberts?"
"Downstairs with the last of the guard. We've barricaded most of the doors to the palace."
"How many men are with him?" He fumbled with the buttons of his tunic and turned back to find the boy frozen. Too young for battle. Too young for anything, really. His stomach churned. "What's your name, soldier?"
"G-grayson" The word thawed his stance. "Richard Grayson."
"A southern family. Proud and loyal." He clasped a hand on his shoulder. "Now, how many men does the captain have?"
"Thirty-two."
Sweet gods above. "Listen to me. Go to the aviary. Send word to Northgate and Kebos. Tell them Olisgard has fallen—Grayson, I need you focused."
"Yes, sir." The soldier nodded, chin trembling. "Send word to Northgate and Kebos. Olisgard has fallen."
"Make sure those birds make it over the wall." He pushed him towards the door. "Go!"
Grayson skittered away, armor creaking. Chances were slim the boy would complete his mission. Chances were slim for them all.
Kenos threw on his coat, grabbed his sword, and barreled into the hall. How had the Hudar breached the walls? How had they crossed the frozen Targantis? Was Raven with them? Was this her doing?
At the top of the stairwell he paused to look out the window. Down below, a writhing mass of barbarians overtook the streets, fields, and vacant spaces between the outer walls. Thousands of them ravishing Olisgard.
His knees nearly gave out.
O.O.O.O.O
Santiago's music drifted in the air, making it's way down the narrow staircase from the kitchens. Stunning music. Something Melissah normally would've found fascinating, had she not the important task of releasing Khalimat's most prized possession. She'd been swinging away for sometime now. Pausing often to listen for trouble. Collecting the chunks of stone and hiding them in a basket of wheat. She'd purposely chosen the spot on the wall between two tall shelves and started the demolition at knee height, hoping to avoid detection should she need to quickly hide the evidence. Coupled with the dim light from three oil lamps spaced about the cellar, her confidence slowly grew. They were making great progress.
Voices caught her ear over their rhythmic hammering. Her heart leapt to her throat. She leaned over to speak through the hole. "Stop, stop! I hear someone."
"It's almost wide enough," Raven said. "Just a few more hits and I can squeeze through."
"Just wait—they're coming down the stairs! Hush."
"Fine." Her disembodied voice was not pleased.
Melissah set her tools aside, then moved a wooden crate to obscure the hole. By the time she stood and brushed herself off, footsteps had reached the bottom of the stairs. Gods above, be merciful. She grabbed a clay crock off the nearest shelf and turned.
A middle-aged woman strode into the root cellar. "Sweet Sekhmet!" she startled, hand to her chest. Dressed as one of the temple adepts, she carried herself with an air of importance that would be easily pandered to. "What are you doing down here?"
"Salted mackerel, my lady." Melissah lifted the crock. "Brother Zacari requested fish and pickled vegetables. Something to snack on while watching the musicians, I suspect."
"Fine, fine." She waved her off and moved to the shelf on the far wall, near the wooden crate. Near the almost-freed Hudar.
Melissah's hands trembled. She swallowed and stepped closer. "My lady, may I help you find something? I inventoried this store today."
"That won't be necessary. I'm just browsing." The adept sifted through jugs of wine and mead, moving closer to the crate. "Go see to Brother Zacari."
Stealing was more like it. She could solve this problem. "Yes, my lady." Melissah took one step towards the stairwell, lifted the crock to eye level and let go. The clay shattered on the floor, scattering salted fish everywhere.
"Have a care!" the adept yelped.
"Apologies, I—I lost my grip." She dropped to her knees, scrambling to sweep the dehydrated fish into a pile without much effect. "Gods damn me, I'm a clumsy fool."
The woman stormed over to her. "You better hope that wasn't the last of the fish."
"It's not. There're four more on the—" she looked up and froze.
Raven appeared behind the adept like a wraith emerging from shadows. Long black hair matted. Tan servants' robes dusty and torn. Face streaked with grime, sweat, and fresh blood oozing from a scrape on her cheek.
"On the what?" the adept barked. "What are you gawking at—"
Raven jerked her backwards, into a headlock. One arm hooked beneath her chin, the Hudar held tight while the woman gagged and flailed and—snap! The adept's lifeless body dropped to the floor with a meaty thud.
Melissah cleared her throat. "Well. It's nice to see you—oh god, no—"
Raven stalked over the body, snatched her by the arm and pulled her into a fierce hug. She blinked, cheeked pressed to the rough-spun cloth of Raven's tunic.
"Thank you." Raven sobbed into her shoulder, trembling like a beaten animal. "Thank you."
"Shh, none of that." She held her back just as tightly, feeling how thin and boney she'd become these long, dark weeks alone. Gods, this poor woman. "Hold it together. We're not out of danger yet. I need you strong, Hudar."
"Right." Raven eased away and caught her breath. "Right. Gods, I thought I'd die in that cell."
"I imagine that was the desired effect." She eyed the adept crumpled on the floor. "Now, let's get you changed into something a little more presentable. Those will do nicely."
Raven stripped the robes off the woman and replaced her torn rags with much haste. She fussed with her long mats of hair, trying to throw it into a simple braid. "What's happening in the temple?"
"A musical performance. Most everyone's preoccupied. Stop, stop." She swatted her hands away and tended a few wild strands, tucking everything down. "There. That'll suffice. Now, we're going up these stairs, to the left, down the rear corridors to the stables. We've horses waiting, tacked and full of supplies."
Raven nodded, fiddling with her robes. "I'm . . . too weak to make it to Olisgard. But I'll try."
"I'm not sure there will be an Olisgard by the time we get there. We're going west. Santiago has a safe house on the outskirts of Kebos. We'll await word from Alyssa and go from there. Now enough fretting, we've no time to waste."
"You sound just like her." Raven lifted her chin. "Lead the way, little queen."
O.O.O.O.O
What better way to finish off an exciting evening than a hot bath? Lounging in a carved granite tub, filled to the brim with eucalyptus and spearmint scented water. Browsing from a plate of fruit, cured meats and cheeses. Sipping the finest sweet wine the north could produce.
Khalimat had always suspected Santiago's tastes of the flesh. His appreciation of the arts and finer fares, coupled with obsessive attention for detail could only deceive for so long. That one clever eye spent little time observing the opposite sex.
And yet, here he relaxed beside her, sated and naked, save for that mask. She adored his anonymity, paired with a sharp mind and enticing physique. He'd been the most satisfying man she'd ever had in her bed, and she'd never gazed upon his face. A clandestine lover without attachments whom she wouldn't mind seeing again. And again.
"It's true, what they say." She plucked a grape from the tray and slipped it between her lips. "You're full of surprises, Santiago."
There came that smile again. "You're not without your own revelations." He lifted her foot from the water, rested the heel on his shoulder and slid those strong hands down her calf, kneading and caressing as he went. "I didn't think a lowly thief would be worthy of the high priestess. Especially one planning on shedding that title for something a little more . . . sovereign."
"Don't get too comfortable. I might require more from you than sweet nights." She flashed her own lazy smile. "Should you be interested in games larger than your circle of thieves, that is."
Loud footsteps approached, echoing in the hall. Rhet skidded into the steamy room, eyes wide and dark skin paled. "Priestess, there's—" He averted his gaze and backtracked for the door. "Apologies. I did not think."
"Clearly." She sipped her wine. Santiago continued his soothing ministrations. "Well, what have you come to disturb me with?"
"This just came from Olisgard." He inched close enough to hand her the message and retreated. "It wasn't addressed to or from anyone."
"And what excitement befalls our capital now?" She unrolled the tiny scroll, written on bloodstained parchment in near illegible handwriting.
—Hudar have breached the walls. Thousands. Olisgard has fallen—
A glacial chill washed over her despite the steam rising from the bath. Hudar? Thousands? There hadn't been any sightings of Hudar along the southern routes or passes. Where had they come from?
She exhaled a flutter of anxiety and steeled her jaw. "Summon the commander of the citadel."
"He awaiting you downstairs, priestess," Rhet said. "I've already alerted the guard and requested a company of soldiers to defend the temple."
"Good." She handed the scroll to Santiago.
He sat up and read the message, lips pressed thin.
This changed everything. She'd planned on the Hudar remaining in their land and slaughtering Norrians as they continued to pillage the desert. The logistics of moving thousands of Hudar across the frozen mountain defied all comprehension. How had they united? And why?
"Go see to the commander." She waved Rhet off. "I'll be down shortly."
He hesitated near the doorway. "There's something else."
"What?" she snapped. "Out with it."
"Raven's gone."
Goddess, no. She blinked. Blinked again. Yet there he stood, frozen dumb and terrified. Rightly so. It took every ounce of composure not to scream. "Explain."
"She escaped sometime during the performance. The guard on duty went to feed her and found the cell empty. She'd cut a small hole through the wall shared with the root cellar. We found one of the adepts dead beside the food stores, stripped of her clothes."
"Cut through stone?" Khalimat launched to her feet, water cascading down her dark skin. She stepped out of the tub and strode towards him, hands trembling. "Are you an idiot? She didn't escape—someone set her free!"
"We had the stairwell guarded, priestess." He clasped his hands behind his back, jaw tight and gaze on the floor. "There's never been a need for the guard to patrol the kitchen. Nearly a foot of stone separated the cell from the storeroom—"
"Is the kitchen not in this temple?" She fisted her hand in the front of his robes and jerked him close. "Are you not a guard—the head guard of this temple?"
His bottom lip trembled. He would not meet her gaze. "Yes, priestess."
If anyone else had delivered this news, she would have already parted their head from their shoulders. His loyalty and years of service granted him this momentary reprieve from her wrath.
"You will find her, Rhet, and you will not return until you do. And if you set one foot in this temple without her I will flay your skin from bone and leave you in the desert for the buzzards. Do you understand?"
"Yes, priestess."
"Go!"
He darted from her presence like a man fleeing an angry lion.
She turned, finding Santiago beside her, still naked and message in hand. "This might be a blessing in disguise."
"How? How can I overtake a kingdom when the stronghold of the crown's overrun with Hudar?"
"Simply." He pulled her close and brushed his thumb along her jaw. "You come to Olisgard's rescue. Lead the southern troops to slay the barbarian hoard. It's in your blood, priestess. You're born of fire and fury, just as the goddess. You were meant to rule this kingdom. What better way to start than cleansing the land with fire?"
An appealing notion. She hated the north. Hated Olisgard. Why not let the Hudar ravage the land, then scorch the earth and plant anew, from the safety of the sandstone kingdom she already ruled? The desert far suited her.
"And what of Raven? She's dangerous. Unpredictable. Capable of untold atrocities. I need her. "
"She's a marvelous specimen, yes, but she is undeniably your creature. With your charmed silver band keeping her in check, she's powerless. And from what you've told me, she's required your guidance to manage and suppress her madness. I don't think she'll stray far, for fear she will deteriorate without you. We will find her. Reshape her to her former condition, and you will have your Hudar witch at your side once again."
That subtle we. It would be difficult to rule alone. Difficult and lonely. She traced her nails down his chest, following the marks of passion she'd left behind. Maybe he was worthy after all.
"Come with me to meet the commander." She cupped his cheek, gazing into the depths of that one dark eye. "I've another use for that mouth."
Santiago grinned like a snake charmer. "I'd thought you'd never ask."
O.O.O.O.O
Alyssa strode through the streets, following the throngs of Hudar invading Olisgard. She'd given the za'hava no orders, no direction. They were here on their own accord, acted however they saw fit. Remains of Norrian soldiers littered her path, throats slit and stomachs eviscerated. But there were no fires. No senseless destruction. The warriors move swiftly and with purpose, slaying those who fought and leaving those who yielded.
As the neighborhood grew denser, she passed whole families sat on the streets, hands bound and seemingly unharmed. No one recognized her. With her braided hair covered with a scarf, she blended in with the Hudar. A blessing, because she needed to make it into the palace without much affair.
The western entrance door had been obliterated, by force or za'hava magic, she couldn't say. Shards of dense red oak scattered the ground, impaled the walls. Just inside the corridor, four dead soldiers laid in a creeping pool of blood. Poor souls who died doing their job. Following orders. Protecting the king. She continued forward, following the ingrained pathways she'd always taken through the palace.
Past the great hall, where the infamous sword and wolf skull helm had been removed from display. The toppled, granite thrones reduced to rubble. Bodies lay everywhere, Norrian and Hudar alike, illustrating a brutal battle where not four months prior, all of Norr had come to celebrate. She stepped over an armor-clad body, catching a glimpse of the captain insignia on his shoulders. Roberts, the king's right hand.
She continued past the kitchens, where a group of cooks and servants huddled in the corner, guarded by several Hudar, while others feasted on whatever they could find.
Past the courtyard, where she'd watched Alyssa spying on the young men sword fighting. Where she'd enlisted the young woman's help in acquiring a package from Santiago Succoci. Where she'd last kissed her husband, the very man she now sought.
She marched up the western, spiral staircase. Down the long hall dotted with bedchambers. Her pace slowed near one closed door, and the faint glow of light seeping through the cracks. The room given to Raven after Kenos' supposed victory in Hudar.
Her heart fluttered with a rush of memories. The first moment they'd kissed. The following nights spent with Raven, bodies intertwined. Their prolonged and secret affair had led to this moment. Her very own becoming.
She depressed the handle, drew a deep breath, and opened the door.
An oil lamp burned on the desk beneath the window, illuminating the spacious room. Kenos stood beside the bed, sword in hand, dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, tattered and covered in blood.
He blanched. "Alyssa?"
"Hello, Dominick."
"My gods, you're alive!" He sheathed his sword and stepped towards her. "I've—" Then his gaze roved across her, shifting from surprise, to confusion, and finally . . . understanding. "No." He retreated until his back hit the wall. "No. You—you brought them here?"
"I did." She remained just inside the doorway, sword at her side. "They spared as many as were willing. You should set an example and surrender."
"What?" He lurched towards her, hands trembling. "Why? Have you gone mad?"
She raised her sword. "You've no idea just how mad. Step down from your title and you may yet live."
"Alyssa, you're my wife—my queen. What are you doing with those barbarians?"
Footsteps strode in from the hall, preceding the imposing frame of Jarl. His presence made the large bedroom drastically smaller. The za'hava thrust his chin towards Kenos, bone headdress rattling. "Is this him?" he said in Hudari.
She nodded. "He won't surrender."
"Good. Kill him."
Her heart pounded, straining within the confines of her tightening chest. So many years spent together, and it had come to this. Dominick was handsome and unfaithful and utterly pathetic. Still.
"I don't know if I can."
"You can," Jarl said. "If it's right, you can."
"Unbelievable!" Kenos barked. "Listen to you, grunting in their tongue. Alyssa, please. You've been through a terrible ordeal. I understand that. You did what you had to and survived. You survived! Don't do this now. Call them off and we can fix this."
"I am fixing this. Mending the mess you've made of the world." She lifted her chin. "Be a good king and surrender."
He shook his head. Laughed. Ran a hand over his face, gaze fixed on the bed. "How long had you bedded that Hudar before you ran away with her?"
"Every night she spent in Olisgard."
He clenched the footboard, shoulders heaving. "Gods, you're an unfaithful bitch."
"As are you. The only difference being I've far better taste."
He scoffed. "And where is your pet witch now?"
"Don't you know? Khalimat has her."
Something passed over him, a cold, disturbing revelation. He looked away, working his jaw.
"Ah, so you didn't know. All these years you've been her pawn."
"What are you saying? Speak plainly."
"Dumbing it down, as you wish." She smiled coldly. Cold as that night on the mountain, waking to find Raven gone. "There was no Daskis of the Hudar. They weren't scattered to the winds. Khalimat's pitted Norr against Hudar for the last thirty years for her own personal gain. We've been played."
"No, I've been played—by Khalimat, that fucking Hudar witch, and you. Of all people, you." He drew his sword. "You made a mockery of me!"
Jarl stepped towards him.
She held up her hand. "Would you give me the room?" she said in Hudari.
Jarl chuckled and left, footsteps thudding away, joined by others in the distance.
Kenos stared like he'd never laid eyes on her before. "Why are these people fighting for you?"
"You're a fool. An entitled, arrogant, willfully ignorant boy with a crown. Lower your sword. I won't ask again."
His face flashed red. "Who the fuck do you think you are? A spoiled northerner, raised by servants in your perfect countryside estate. Doted on and catered to your whole life. I gave you everything, everything you could dream of! How dare you threaten me!"
"I dared." She spread her hands wide. "And eagerly await your reply."
Predictably, he rushed forward, sword drawn back for attack.
She looked to the large stained-glass window. Cleared her mind. Directed that negative energy to a deserving target with a flick of her wrist.
The window exploded inward, pommeling him with glass and pressure. He stumbled and fell to his knees, sword bouncing from his grip. It clattered to the floor at her feet.
"How did—" He hissed, pulling a shard from his arm, then scrambled to his feet. Blood oozed from a dozen fresh gashes in his chest and face. Shoulders heaving, he started her down while a kaleidoscope of emotions washed over him. "Why did you leave me?" It erupted from him, hot and terribly fragile. "For her? For them?"
"We're the barbarians." The words flowed calmly, but her chest burned with molten rage. "Cruel, greedy savages demolishing the land, stealing children and murdering innocent lives. The Hudar aren't fighting for me. I'm fighting for them."
"You're fighting for her!" he spat. "You ruined everything for a bitch you hardly know!"
"That's the hardest to swallow, isn't it? Not me forsaking my marriage, my wealth, or my standing in the kingdom. But that I did it for a woman. What a blow to your ego."
He quivered, scorching gaze darting to the sword at her feet.
Drumming in her ears matched the building pressure at her fingertips. "We've spilt enough blood already, Dominick. Don't do this. Just surrender."
He rushed for her in an explosion of speed.
She flicked her fingers and stepped out of his path.
The sword launched from the floor as if shot from a crossbow, striking his chest. He choked, staggered past her and crashed into the wall. The tip of the blade protruded from his back, glistening in the lamplight. Shoulders heaving, he turned to face her, supporting himself on the edge of the desk.
He gurgled, blood staining his teeth. His eyes had never been so blue, so clear before. "You . . . witch."
"Zvenya, actually." She grabbed the sword and wrenched it free. He collapsed to the floor, reaching for her, even as the life bled from him. "And I go by Jinx now."