Page 64 of Vows of Sacrifice

I jumped, then my fingers hurried to unfasten the velvet purse from my belt. It was a purse I’d sewn when I was younger. The only sewing job I’d ever completed successfully, in truth.

Suddenly, King Elendur touched the sheath of my dagger.

“He gave you Cinder,” he remarked thoughtfully.

My eyes instinctively dropped to the weapon.

“I . . . Yes, indeed.”

Was this such a surprising gesture from Dovah? Elendur presented me with the empty pouch, into which I placed the gifts for my mother and sisters, as well as a letter I had sealed.

The king immediately took the latter.

“May I?” he asked rhetorically, before unsealing it and skimming it quickly.

I was too shocked to even try and stop him. Besides, this was the king I was dealing with, not a mere guard. Under my frightened gaze, he refolded it and placed it with the combs I’d bought that morning in town.

“Don’t hold it against me. You’re still the princess of an enemy kingdom. I had to check that you hadn’t written a letter . . . Well, you understand.”

Yes, I “understand.” Above all, I understand that even after marrying Dovah, the king of this country’s hand of justice, I remained a Muvarian capable of plotting against Osacan.

“Is His Majesty reassured?” I asked, in a drier tone than I would have liked.

Elendur did not seem to be offended and even granted me a broad smile which, as usual, didn’t reach his eyes.

“More than enough. I’m glad you’re more loyal than I expected.”

Ah. A nice jab, perfectly executed. If I’d ever had any doubts about what he thought of me, I had none now.

He closed the pouch, placed a small golden helmet—well, what I assumed was also solid gold—on Epione’s head, and she let out a scream. He then spoke a few words to her, the meaning of which I didn’t understand, and the bird flew off almost immediately.

“"And when the Great Patriarch’s burning fire is propitious to set the world ablaze before leading it to its downfall, we will be the new gods of the heavens,” King Elendur whispered in my ear.

I froze instantly. He was so close that I could feel his warm breath on my ear.

“I . . . I don’t know this poem,” I stammered, trying to create some distance between us.

“It’s Osacanian. One of my favourites. It’s by Krozhar the Immortal, a great visionary philosopher, a prophet even, who is said to have lived in a cave for so many moons that we’ve lost count. He predicted the fall of the first gods, the so-called Patriarchs. Have you heard of it?”

“The Patriarchs born of the Father of the Universe and the Source of all things?” I say, stepping further away.

But Elendur was quicker and managed to grab my hand to intertwine his fingers with mine. My gaze met the golden one of the King of Osacan. His irises stood out strangely in the dim light of the eagles’ shelter, as if illuminated from within by a flame that was anything but ordinary.

“Yes. I never imagined that a worshipper of the Cult of the One God could be interested in pagan beliefs.”

Elendur gave me no time to reply and continued:

“If the first gods, the dragons, were born by the Source to make our world grow, there’s a legend in our religious texts that affirms that the god Wulous, the primordial god of Osacan, fell in love with the mother goddess, the sun lioness, and that from their carnal union was born the wind, Gryphe. According to Krozhar the Immortal, Gryphe’s rebirth heralds the end of the dragons’ reign. What do you think?”

I opened my mouth to tell the king I didn’t really have an opinion on the subject when I saw him narrow his eyes to observe me more closely through his lashes. In that precise moment, I thought I could feel the darkness of his soul running over my skin until it sent endless shivers down my spine. Elendur smiled. A slow smile devoid of humanity. His beauty, that of his physical appearance, resembled those beautiful poisonous plants, the mantis, that I had discovered in a book dealing with the flora and fauna of the land of Gulan, in the castle library back in Muvaria. Large and superb shimmering green plants in the shape of a lantern, with a devouring bulb located at the end of a thick stem, and a stomach two metres below ground. They were magnificent, certainly, but deadly, and could at best swallow up a rabbit, at worst a small child. The King of Osacan, in a way, reminded me of one of these plants, and I had no desire to be swallowed up.

“You’re still here. That’s good.”

Dovah! I turned in his direction as the king released my hand, as if he’d never held it at all, in fact. I was so relieved that my husband had decided to join us. Although he smiled with detachment, lively flames seemed to dance in the darkness of his gaze, capable of burning you.

Once close enough, he deftly slipped an arm around my waist. It was a possessive gesture that spoke for itself. If the king understood it, he didn’t show it.

“If you don’t mind, Your Majesty, I’ll take my wife. We need to discuss tomorrow’s ceremony.”

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