Chapter Thirty
“My fellow Esharians,” Empress Alassa Malivar said, her magically-enhanced voice booming across the entire plaza, “we come together today not as citizens of individual nations, but as souls joined by the Fane of a benevolent Goddess. As Edeh told us so long ago, all life is connected, all destinies shared. Here on this day of unity, we pay homage to those words with deeds as well as prayers. Today, the greatest Esharian nations can finally be one, working towards the common goal of peace in our time.”
The crowd cheered, though Prince Kastrius could hear large ripples of discontent. For all the Edehan cowards who wished to surrender Darenthi sovereignty, there were just as many loyal Balorites who understood the price of the Empress’s so-called peace. They knew that once the Faceless were destroyed, the Republic’s borders would be under siege by bloodthirsty marauders and opportunistic rulers. They knew that this alliance was a death knell for an empire that had endured since the Sundering and was the rightful heir to the glory of Septuria.
And now, they would know that Kastrius was their salvation.
The prince stepped forward from beneath his tent on the outskirts of the plaza and wove his way into the crowd, a quartet of Faceless guardians in tow. After only a few steps, the gasps from the crowd began in full. Some surely recognized his face from paintings in the royal gallery, but most, he knew, wouldn’t be able to distinguish him from any other noble. But here and now, in his resplendent white armor and flowing purple cloak, he was majesty come to life.
He made it nearly a third of the way to the stage by the time the Empress stopped mid-word to follow the growing commotion.
“You would have our soldiers lay down their weapons and make our nation helpless,” Kastrius said, enhancing his own voice until it thundered off every building in the plaza. “You would have us coddle ungrateful, godless neighbors who have betrayed us over and over again. Why should we believe anything they have to say?”
It was, Kastrius decided, an absolutely perfect moment. His mother squinted towards him, trying to make out the details of the man who would dare interrupt her—and then her eyes widened in recognition and the color completely drained from her face. Her lips mouthed his name in silent shock, and he couldn’t help but laugh.
“My fellow Darenthi,” he called out, continuing to press forward. “For years my mother has attempted to keep me silent, but no longer. Today I am here to speak for you, for your needs, not to bow before ungrateful politicians and their meaningless treaties. I, for one, am proud to be a citizen of the greatest nation in the history of the world, and I make no apologies for it. We are Darenthi, the heirs of Septuria and the chosen of the gods themselves!”
A mild cheer rippled across the crowd, certainly louder than the spectators he’d paid off could manage on their own…if not by much. But that was all right. The people were shocked and scared, but it would pass. Once they realized what was happening, they would welcome him with open arms. He was certain of it.
“This treaty—this alliance—will save tens of thousands of lives,” the Empress said, gathering herself and gesturing to her guards. “It is about guaranteeing a safe future for our people and our children.”
“No,” Kastrius growled, stopping about fifty feet from the stage as a wall of Faceless strode forward to block him. “This is about your ego, mother. This is about wanting to be remembered as the sovereign who presided over an historic event. The trouble is, the event you’re talking about is our unconditional surrender. And I am not willing to kneel before anyone, least of all you.”
The prince extended a hand and called to the Fane. The Balorite spells flooded his thoughts, and he touched the faint, flickering embers of life inside the Faceless as they approached him. They froze in their tracks, their hollow voices groaning hoarsely, then stepped aside and granted him a clear path.
Now the crowd gasped, and the closest onlookers reeled away. The Empress’s mouth gaped open and she clutched desperately at her podium.
Kastrius strode confidently up to the stage. “The armies of the Republic have spoken, mother, and they refuse to serve a coward.”
“What have you done?” she rasped just loudly enough for him to hear. The politicians surrounding her all retreated behind their own guards. Suddenly the mighty Empress looked like a scared little child.
Kastrius smiled. “I have guaranteed a future for our people. Our armies are meant to fight and fight proudly. We will have no need for treaties and idle promises when Esharia is fully under our control.”
The Empress turned to the other nearby Faceless. “Kill him!”
“Not today, I’m afraid,” the prince sneered, raising his hand dramatically into the air. A wave of dark energy rippled out across the crowd, and in perfect unison the hundreds of Faceless in the plaza turned to face their new master.
His smile widened at the same rate as her eyes. Her human guards drew their weapons and closed protectively around her, but they were beaten and they knew it. No force in Haven could stand against this army—and no force in Esharia would be able to stop him.
“The enemies of the Republic are no longer welcome within our borders,” he shouted defiantly. “Crawl back to the shadows of your own pathetic countries…or swear allegiance to your new Emperor.”
“Stop this!” the Empress nearly screamed. “You have no idea what you’re doing!”
“I understand perfectly, mother,” he said, removing the magic amplification from his voice. The crowd seemed to wait with one collective baited breath, and he stepped towards her and extended his hand, sparks of energy crackling between his fingertips.
“I’m saving our people,” he told her, “by killing you.”
A vortex of violet energy swirled above the stage as he Consecrated the Fane. The air hissed, and suddenly his mother and all her lackeys lifted upwards as if they were being sucked into its grasp. Kastrius thought he heard her call his name, but the words died on her lips. Their bodies desiccated right then and there, shriveling into little more than mottled gray husks of flesh.
And as they died, the prince could feel the Fane and all its wonders opening before him. Their energy bolstered his power, and their death fueled his ascendance. For a moment he swore he could touch all the spirits of the dead trapped within the Fane, and among them somewhere were those of the gods themselves. With time he might have been able to find them, to wrestle them free from their eternal prison—but then, why would he bother? The people in this world had little need for gods now.
They had him.
The Last Goddess Page 75
