I shake my head to clear it so that I can think clearly. “Demons killed my parents. My father found a five-year-old girl when he killed the demons and protected the village I was living in. He says he couldn’t turn me out and return to Stormhaven, that he wanted to keep me safe.”
I see now just how unusual that was. How many orphans has he seen? How many haveIseen? He’s walked away from all ofthem?Every Priest pledges his loyalty to the Order above anything else, including his family, his fortune, and his own life.How many times has my father told me that? How many times has he frowned on any Priest who married?
“What are you saying?” I ask, and this time, even though my body may throb with desire for Azric Cyrus, my mind is clear.
He turns around and stares at me for several moments, his eyes burning with that orange flame. He doesn’t look at my body, though, doesn’t consider how close I was to letting him remove that last layer.
No, he’s looking into my eyes as he says the truth I should have realized long ago. “I believe that Rhaskar Thorne killed your parents to use you for his own purposes, for the purposes of the Order of the Priests.”
And I say nothing. I do nothing.
Interlude 6
LucineReden,theChampionof Rivena, stood on the battlefield where her Riders had been victorious. A thousand of her foot soldiers lay dead in crumpled lines where they’d held back the Chained. Humans given just a taste of Rivena’s power had held back the monstrous creatures which Draeven had created as shock troops.
Yet, they would have failed had Lucine’s Wind Riders not been there. Two hundred men and women atop flying pegasi wielding lances had been enough to stop any folding in the foot soldier’s lines.
While every one of Lucine’s Riders could return if he or she died, their pegasi would not, and a Rider without a steed was nearly worthless. So, she walked into the small town they’d won witha smile on her face. Eight hundred humans had been rounded up. Men, women, and children. The young and old, as age made little difference.
What mattered was the power in each of their blood. The champion looked into their eyes and saw that their fear of what would happen wouldn’t be enough. She’d lost thirty pegasi in this battle and forty in the previous one where she’d been forced to retreat.
She looked from one human to the next and knew she needed them to be more than fearful, more than sorrowful as they watched their loved ones die and be drained of blood. Pain and anger and hate were necessary.
Lucine Reden did not enjoy killing humans as the Mages and Corpsebinders seemed to. She was not heartless as she bled them dry, but she knew if she let their herds of pegasi dwindle too much, their losses would become inevitable and she would have to begin killing her own people rather than her enemies’.
“Flay them,” she commanded the Riders who had rounded up their victims. “Do them one at a time and start with the children so their parents can watch. Do not miss a single drop of blood, or you’ll join them and I’ll hold the knife.”
A wail rose from the crowd of humans, and several tried to attack the Riders, but they were easily knocked unconscious and tied up. None were killed, though. None of her Riders would dare disobey her, for she was just as wrathful as her goddess.
Without another thought as to the fate of the eight hundred humans who would not be Returned in a month’s time as hersoldiers would, she walked back to the battlefield. The hulking bodies of the Chained littered the plains they’d fought on. Crushed underneath them were humans who had been given enough of Rivena’s power to Return in a month after their souls were reattached to their bodies and healed.
It was a familiar scene to her, one which had replayed for nearly eighty years. She was tired. Her back didn’t bow, and her sharp eyes never failed to take in her surroundings or to see a strategic opening. But she was tired. How many times would she have to wield her blade against enemies she’d spent all these years getting to know? How many times would her Riders and armies have to kill people they’d drank and danced with only a few weeks ago?
It was then that Draeven’s champion, Tharen Vhaldir, approached her. He still wore his red and black armor like all the Chained, but he carried his helm in the crook of his arm. He was massive, even taller than the rest of the Chained, at twelve feet tall. Lucine’s head barely reached his waist.
Yet, he bowed to her out of respect. “That was a good fight,” he said calmly, even though the surrounding scene was something out of a nightmare. “The Riders’ approach was different this time. It is interesting. You waited until we were fully engaged before sending them to attack our back lines. It is a good strategy, but you lost many more footmen.”
She nodded. “But we won. That’s what matters, isn’t it?”
Tharen didn’t react for several moments as if he hadn’t heard her, an eccentricity of his. He was always slow to respond. “In thiswar? Possibly. In the next, when our soldiers do not Return? I don’t know.”
Lucine accepted the criticism without comment. They were equal, as all champions other than Azric Cyrus were, and while she would consider what he said, she did not owe him an explanation for her actions. “Do you ever wonder if the next war will ever come? Rivena speaks of it occasionally, but it’s been so long.”
A moment passed as Tharen thought about her question. “It will come, I think. But I can’t believe it will be as terrible as the gods make it seem. We are powerful, Lucine. Do you remember being human? Do you remember the fear we had of the Fae? No Fae other than Azric worry me now, and that has nothing to do with his bloodlines.”
The Champion of Rivena remembered. She remembered the stories her parents had told her.Never allow the Fae an inch into Cindralith. Our grandparents fought that war, and it nearly destroyed everything we hold dear.“But the dragons ran from the Hunters, Tharen. Thousands of dragons. Could you imagine a thousand dragons on a battlefield? There’s nothing we could do to stop them. Nothing. No amount of strategy could win that fight.”
Tharen shrugged. “Dragons are not gods. They were not prepared. We are.” He paused for a moment. “Have you considered the Prince of Bones’s offer?”
Lucine’s jaw clenched at the mention of a topic that had bothered her for weeks. “I cannot go to Rivena and ask to end the war. She… she would break me. She would make being trained seem like a pleasant dream.”
“Draeven would do the same. He would tell me that a soldier does not question his commander. I don’t understand how Azric thinks he can end the war by sitting the gods down to talk. The arrogance from someone so young.”
Lucine turned away from Tharen. “Something needs to be done, though. We can’t fight like this until the end of time. Have you heard of the ones who have Returned broken?”
“They do nothing but scream. We had several in our ranks, and though we tried killing them hoping it would fix them, it did nothing. A soul can only be Returned so many times before pieces are lost. Now, we house them in a cave and only bring them food and drink. That task itself is given out as a punishment.”
Lucine nodded slowly. How many more times did her friends have before they, too, broke? How many more Returns did her best generals have? Her sister? “This can’t go on forever,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
