Mm…There was an almost feline satisfaction in the Morrigan’s tone.Blood, all blood, feeds me, but I do like the taste of yours. Strong, it is.
My sight showed me that Selene had swept in, catching Jan before she touched the altar, and she had directed her back to the game, bending low to pluck each dice from the stone floor.
And you can have all of it, I promised rashly,if you just do this. Keep them safe.I hadn’t specified who because I didn’t need to. It was my mates and my children, the Maidens and my grandfather. It was Flora in the keep and Annis and all the other refugees. Even Higgins and his unruly band of cultists.All of them, I urged.
“What are you doing?” Gael asked, snatching my hand away, then using his healing powers to close the cut.
“The Morrigan wants blood,” I replied simply. “We gave her some yesterday, but that’s not enough.”
“Nothing’s enough for her,” he returned, in a dark voice. “You start bleeding for her and you’ll never stop.”
If I didn’t, someone else would, I wanted to shout at him, but I just shook my head.
“Let’s get out of these caves.”
The exit was an old trapdoor built behind a storage shed that seemed not to be used often, and we were able to emerge unseen.
“This way,” my grandfather said, directing us forward.
We wove between merchants and serving girls and off duty soldiers without attracting comment, though my eyes still kept careful watch from beneath my cowl. The architecture this far south was far different to that in the north, full of grand domes and thick carved columns made of a white stone they must’ve had to import. It shone in the sun as we approached the palace and ascended the broad steps. Two guards were stationed at the grand entrance at the top, but they blocked our way, the spears in their hands lowering when we approached.
“What business have you in the palace, sir?” a mailed knight asked.
“I am the Duke of Fetterling,” my grandfather replied, holding out his ducal seat imperiously for the knights to inspect. “I arrived with the crown prince’s retinue and he expects me to join him in the throne room.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” the knights said, pulling back, although one frowned as we passed through. The guard’s keen eyes tried to pierce the shadows of our cowls, but we followed hot on my grandfather’s heels, as his boot steps echoed through the halls of the palace.
It was beautiful.Of course it was. All of the stolen wealth of my people had gone into building an edifice that tried to validate the Granian presence in the capital. The builders had created it in the style of the great Farradorian cities of the empire, trying to borrow a history Granians didn’t possess. The people I was born into were newcomers in comparison, even after the time that had passed. The Granian presence in these lands was but a blip in Strelan history, albeit a significant one. But we had other fish to fry, so I forced my eyes away from the paintings in their gilt frames, and the suits of armour standing on marble floors, to focus instead on the long corridor that led to the throne room.
“Make way for the king!” a voice announced almost as soon as we’d made our way inside and joined the throng that filled the throne room. We moved with everyone else as the courtiers parted to leave a central pathway between the door and the throne itself at the other end of the room. Bryson was up on the dais next to the throne, three other young men with similar features standing beside him, one with a sulky cast to his full lips, but all of them came to attention as their father was announced. Knights marched in wearing golden armour, entirely impractical for battle, and I heard Axe make a noise of disdain. The throne room sported a massive glass-domed roof, allowing the sun to bathe the king and his escort in light as they entered. The sun shining off the knights’ gleaming helms and breastplates suffused the already light-filled room with added radiance.
The king himself looked like he’d need every ray of light to assist him. He crept forward, bent double with age, relying on a cane to take each shuffling step. Murmurs went through the crowd at the sight of him, making me think his current state was a surprise to at least some of the courtiers. But the ripple of hushed sound faded away and they watched in silence, as we did, following each painful step until the king came to a halt at the red carpeted stairs leading up to the throne.
Did it look insurmountable? I imagine it did. The man’s whole body heaved as he sucked in one breath then another. It must’ve seemed as unassailable as the side of a mountain, but the king stepped forward. Clunk. His cane stumped down into the carpet and he hauled himself upright. His honour guard hovered nervously, breaking formation, obviously wanting to help their liege lord to ascend, but I knew why they could not.
“Why don’t they help him?” Axe hissed.
“Because if they do, he is no longer king,” I whispered back.
The Granian kings were put in place as facsimiles of the emperors. And each emperor had needed to prove every day that he was fit to be at the head of an empire that spread across multiple continents. Those that were deemed unfit in the old days, at least according to Linnea, were sacrificed on an altar to the gods. A king ruled by example, so when his strength failed, it showed that it was a sign that the gods’ favour had deserted him. And so, we all watched motionless, as the king painstakingly hauled himself up the stairs. One step, then another and another. I think the whole room held their breath, all the way until the king made it to his throne and collapsed down onto it, gasping for air.
So this was the man that ruled all of Grania? He looked so thin and weak, stark lines drawn on his face, his hollow chest heaving. His sons looked on as if stunned into immobility, all but Bryson. He clicked his fingers, and a golden goblet of wine was produced by a cupbearer. Bryson took the goblet without thanks and then sank down by his father’s side.
“Father.”
Did the king look at the crown prince with love or contempt? I couldn’t tell from where we stood. His fingers shook as his son held the cup to his lips and he took a noisy sip before waving it away querulously. The king shifted into a more upright position on his throne, his head craned forward like a bird’s. He regarded every person in the room, it felt, those eyes still keen even as the rest of his body failed him.
As is often the case,the Morrigan said.People beg me for a long life, to spare them, but if they get it, they are forced to endure living like this. Your body failing, even your mind, while your spirit remains as strong as it ever was. A quick death is sometimes the most merciful.
Could she give it to the king? I wondered. Quickly, before he could opt to choose another of his sons, not Bryson, but I was about to get my answer.
“I bring you all before me to announce my heir.” That seemed to electrify the room. No one moved or said much other than low, muttered asides, because the king had the rapt attention of every single person there. “My time is coming. And so, to ensure the safety and stability of the land, I must ensure an orderly transfer of power.” He looked like an old buzzard as he regarded each of his sons, the one with the sulky expression straightening up.
Why don’t you take him?I asked the Morrigan.
Not a fit sacrifice. I am not your knife to be directed at your enemies. You are mine.
My jaw locked tight at that, and I returned to watching the proceedings and trying to anticipate the king’s next move.