Page 41 of The Oracle of Dusk

Theron nodded to his cousin, Batea, a woman sharing the rich, ochre brown skin and dark red hair of their royal lineage. But where her eyes were a brown bordering on black, his were gold.

“Court has concluded for the day,” she announced, her voice carrying to every corner of the great hall.

As one, all those still present knelt or prostrated themselves on the sunstone mosaic floors and chanted, “Triad preserve the sun of Aureum.”

“Your wishes have been heard. Go with the sun’s favour,” Theron replied.

As petitioners and courtiers alike filed out of the hall, Theron turned to Batea.

“Batea, with me.”

“It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty.”

“Polydorus,” Theron said, turning to his most trusted advisor, a fastidiously dressed, lean man with a streak of silver in his black hair. “Ensure any who were expecting that grain today are given some from the royal stores.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Polydorus bowed and went to his task.

His cousin followed him from the throne room to the balcony facing the Dragon’s Spine Mountains. Once alone, she sighed, running a hand through her long, burgundy strands.

“The Viridians grow bolder by the day.”

“The Viridian high priestess certainly does,” Theron snorted.

Batea clicked her tongue, disgusted. Neither of them held any love for the grasping Viridians, or their High Priestess Orithyia XI, the true power behind the Viridian throne.

“Then Queen Flora is worth less than the silks she wears. That merchant wore her colours, her royal silks, and bore her official seal. She’ll have neither power nor peace for much longer if that’s how she conducts her affairs.”

Theron grunted in approval. While the merchant had been yet another insult the fool queen had sent his way, it was just that—a petty insult from a petulant queen. The real danger lay elsewhere. Any monarch who bowed to the whims of the temples rather than balancing them was unworthy of their crown. It was a pity Flora had allowed such a detestably ambitious high priestess to take the helm of the temple of Knowledge and seat herself at the queen’s right side. No doubt the wretched temple bitch had already poisoned the minds of Viridis, just as she was poisoning the other realms.

Just as she was poisoning his lands.

Orithyia would pay dearly for her sins. And part of the comeuppance would come sooner rather than later. He smiled, spotting the ugly spire atop the Dragon’s Spine Mountain range, jutting out from the snow like a bone through bloodless flesh. Orithyia could lie about how the spire was in honour of Knowledge, a place to study the mountains, built without politics or scheming in mind, but he knew better.

It had been paid for with Viridian gold and built by Viridian clerics. And it was on his mountains.

The moment it had begun blighting his view, it had begun blighting his lands, drying up the rivers, polluting the waters that remained, and inducing sickness and disease amongst the animals, crops and farmers. Orithyia had angered the spirits with her spire, and had the temerity to blame him for the consequences. One would almost think she was one of the dualists she and her queen so ruthlessly persecuted, given how easily falsehoods fell from her lips.

As a result, the nobles of Aureum had begun eyeing Theron like a lamed stag, ripe for slaughter. For a king’s most sacred duty was appeasing the spirits and bringing plenty and fertility to the land through the magical connections bestowed upon him by the crown. A king who failed to do so was either too weak to rule without a powerful queen at his side, or too weak to rule at all. The vultures were circling—all because of that bitch high priestess.

“Do we have confirmation that the high priestess has received our message?”

“The birds delivered word of it just this morning.” Batea nodded.

“Excellent.”

Theron had warned Orithyia to keep her spires in her own territory. But by the time she’d come to him with the proposal, it was already too late to stop her. Whatever she had over the monarchs of Niveum, Gilvus, and Roseum, it was enough that the pressure proved impossible to ignore. While he often employed such a tactic to keep his own people in line, he was enough of a hypocrite to despise her for doing the same. She’d won that round, but she would lose this one.

“Do you know what I told her?”

“No.”

“That any structure built on lies is bound to crumble.”

Batea’s eyes lit up, a smile cracking her impressively severe façade.

“You didn’t.”

“I did.” He grinned back. “And I should be made a prophet any moment now.”

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