The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  That was it. Her grift was in place. She’d take the crown, like all the treasures Whitney had stolen just for the fun of it, and then she’d do what Whitney often wound up doing without him ever realizing. She’d do the right thing. She’d place the crown upon the head of someone who’d proven he deserved it.

  Epilogue

  Tum Tum and Lucindur stood at the edge of Port Street—what was left of it. No longer were the shanties and decrepit buildings looming over the waters, those had all been cleared away to make room for new things, better things, stronger things. If anything were true and agreed upon by all, it was that Pantego would indeed become stronger through this trial.

  They would learn. All of them.

  The undertaking was unlike anything Tum Tum had ever been a part of. Sure, he’d run the Winder’s Dwarf in Winde Port, and even built Gold Grin’s Grotto in Yaolin City, but this… this was something else altogether.

  The Shesaitju and dwarves had stuck around to clean up the city before returning to their own lands to deal with their own messes. New alliances forged between King Brouben and Caleef Mahraveh and the Glass Kingdom would ensure mutual aid between the powers of Pantego—at least until the next war came. Though Tum Tum hoped that maybe this one time, this last war might actually be the last one. Still, he wasn’t naïve.

  More important than all of that, however, was that for now, his would be the one and only tavern on the newly erected Dockside strip.

  “It really is a gorgeous sight,” Lucindur said, eyes set on the new building. Construction had been completed the day before, and now the finishing touches were being laid. White plaster was crossed by thick, oak beams. Several windows were spaced out, large enough to see those bustling within, preparing for the night’s grand opening.

  “Somethin no one ever said about Dockside,” Tum Tum jested. “No better place for him, neither.”

  “He’d love it,” Lucindur said.

  “He does love it,” Tum Tum said. “Wherever he is.”

  “I can imagine him, spinning tall tales of grand adventures.”

  “Mother!” Talwyn called from a window on the third floor of the adjacent building. “I can’t find my light purple dress!”

  “Well, then wear another,” Lucindur said.

  “I can’t. The purple was Whitney’s favorite.”

  Lucindur looked down at Tum Tum and rolled her eyes.

  Whitney’s old Troupe had arrived in Yarrington and were now permanent residents. The building, as beautiful as anything in Old Yarrington, would house them all, free of charge. They were to perform daily for all of the patrons in Dockside and beyond. For no longer was the district to be a stain upon the city, forgotten about and ignored, a place only for shipments to pass through. It would now be a haven for cultures brought together by the Glass Kingdom.

  It was the least the former Pompare Troupe could do, Lucindur had told Tum Tum. Even she would play her now-infamous salfio, whose songs filled Yarrington in the days after battle, when all hope seemed lost, inspiring the workers to push through.

  This wasn’t just any tavern. Godkiller’s Tavern sat directly before the landing where Whitney Fierstown had given his life to save the world by killing the Goddess Nesilia and earning the same title without contest.

  “Whitney Godkiller,” Tum Tum said aloud, chuckling lightly.

  “Beats Blisslayer.”

  “Got that right,” Tum Tum added.

  A group of dwarves was hard at work erecting a new statue situated in the inlet, right where Whitney had died. Every ship arriving at Yarrington would have to pass it, which Whitney would have loved. A plinth with torches encircled it, ensuring every guest upon the deck would have their eyes drawn to the sea and recall the legend. It captured him in the very moment. As Whitney ran across the water, the entire world had held its breath. Now, he would be immortalized that way forever.

  “The nose still ain’t right,” Tum Tum complained. “It’s a bit flatter on the end.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a little picky?” Lucy asked. She laughed. “Whitney would have made a joke about being picky over a nose.”

  “Aye,” Tum Tum agreed. “But no. I ain’t bein picky enough. Nothin’s too good for that damned thief. Nothin.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  Talwyn came out from the front door of the building wearing her purple dress. Gentry followed close behind, Aquira cradled in his arms. Sora had been gracious enough to give the boy guardianship over the wyvern, telling him that she’d come calling for her again someday. Tum Tum, however, knew why she left the wyvern behind. There were too many memories shared between Sora, Whitney, and Aquira, even from the first day Tum Tum had met her.

  Tum Tum scratched her neck frills. “Good, bird,” he said.

  “Found it,” Talwyn said, grabbing her skirt with both hands and giving it a playful twirl. “How do I look?”

  “Gorgeous as ever,” Lucindur assured her.

  Gentry gripped Aqiura tight against his chest, his gaze frozen upon the statue. The boy barely stopped crying since their caravan had arrived, and he’d heard the news about Whitney. There had to be guilt over their last days together. Gentry kept wishing he’d been there. But Whitney had made the right decision in leaving him behind, and no one was going to fault him for it.

  Tum Tum rustled the boy’s hair and said, “He’s in a better place now, lad.”

  Tum Tum knew it was a lie. He knew that anyone unlucky enough to be devoured by the wianu would be damned to live in Nowhere for all eternity, but Gentry didn’t need to know that. No one needed the reminder, not even Tum Tum.

  Lucindur smiled.

  Talwyn wrapped her arms around her mother and let out a gentle sigh. “I didn’t even get to say good-bye,” she said.

  “None of us did,” Tum Tum said. “But we can say it now.”

  They all stood there, staring at the statue for as long as it took for them each to make peace in their own way. Gentry sobbed into Aquira’s scaly neck. Talwyn absentmindedly toyed with the laces of her corset while muttering under her breath.

  If nature was to be sad along with them, no one had mentioned it. The gallers had finally stopped feasting, and the gentle sounds of gulls filled the air, along with the clatter of hammers and other tools.

  Bees buzzed merrily in a vast garden of flowers and greens spread across the front of Godkiller’s tavern. Never before had Dockside smelled so good. The reek of death wasn’t so bad anymore. Sora healing so many wounded and infected before setting off for the East didn’t hurt with that. Someday, that stench would be gone for good. Tum Tum liked it, though. It reminded him of his friend somehow.

  “The statue will be done just in time,” said Brouben as he approached from behind them.”

  He startled Tum Tum, who whipped around, then bowed. Brouben had lent some of the Three Kingdom’s finest masons to building the memorial to their mutual friend. Cost wasn’t an issue. With his brother still serving as the Glass Kingdom’s Master of Coin, it was considered a gift. An apology for being late to the battle.

  “Relax, old friend,” Brouben laughed. “If yer here, I ain’t yer King.”

  “I still be a dwarf.”

  Brouben patted his back. “Aye, a dwarf welcome home whenever he pleases. There’ll always be a seat in me court for the one who helped save the world.”

  Tum Tum raised his head and fought back tears. “Thank you, brother. But I have some unfinished business out here. For now, a night of free drink will have to do.”

  “Did ye think I was payin?” Brouben laughed again.

  “Never would have dreamt it.” They tapped their foreheads together, then Brouben returned to his entourage. His brother, Al, was giving him a tour of the new buildings and the harbor. A Shieldsman, wearing freshly forged glaruium armor, snuck away from their group and made his way toward Tum Tum’s gathering. The stuff shined like it was made of pearls. Enough to make even a simple dwarf like Tum Tum envious.


  “I hope you don’t mind if I send in another unit to inspect?” Sir Mulliner said. He was one of the last remaining Shieldsmen in all of Yarrington. Now, he served as the Wearer of White, leader of all the new King’s army.

  Torsten had disbanded the King’s Shield before the Battle of Yarrington, but now, they’d been reinstated. Though, Tum Tum rarely saw many outside of Sir Mulliner until today. The Shield’s new purpose was the hunting down of demons still haunting Pantego and possessing good people. But with two kings to be present at Godkiller’s Tavern, they’d been summoned back to serve as their namesake demanded.

  Tum Tum was just relieved that Caleef Mahraveh was too busy cleaning up the mess in the Kingdom of the Black Sands to attend. Her terrifying Serpent Guards would have put a damper on the entire affair.

  “By all means,” Tum Tum said.

  “Security is paramount. The new King and all the Royal Council will be attending. Everything must be perfect for him.”

  “This ain’t about him, and he knows it better than anyone,” Tum Tum argued.

  “Even so,” Mulliner said. Then he glanced at Whitney’s statue and sighed. “Things will never be as they once were, will they?”

  “I reckon not.”

  Sir Mulliner grunted, then huffed along to keep up with King Brouben. The Shieldsman didn’t move as fast as he once might have after injuries sustained in the battle, even with the miraculous work of Sora’s hand. But Tum Tum knew nobody would be more dedicated to ensuring that this evening went off without a hitch. He’d been establishing the protection plans for a month now, before Godkiller’s Tavern was even close to done.

  The squeak of the tavern door drew Tum Tum’s attention to a middle-aged man and woman walking through the garden to stand before Tum Tum.

  “That’ll have to be addressed,” Tum Tum grumbled.

  The woman wore an apron, stained and covered in flour. The man had his arm around her waist. They both wore expressions that were the perfect representation of how everyone in Yarrington felt. It was a restrained joy. So many had lost so much, but as horrible as things had been, there was an excitement and hope that came with the restoration efforts.

  “Horace, Vanelope, is tonight’s menu ready?” Tum Tum asked.

  “I can promise you that Yarrington has never tasted anything so delicious,” Mr. Danvels said, eyeing his wife. “Mrs. Danvels really outdid herself this time.”

  “In memory of my boy,” Vanelope Danvels said. She stared off across the water, not at Whitney’s statue, but just in that direction. Tum Tum went to speak but wasn’t sure what to say.

  “We’re in need of more sugar,” she said, without averting her gaze.

  “I’ll get right on it,” Tum Tum replied, but she was already heading back to the tavern without awaiting a response.

  “Oi, Hamm!” Tum Tum called over to the man helping unload a cart of supplies. They needed all the help they could get in handling the crowds, and it seemed only right to invite the people who ran the Twilight Manor back where Whitney was from. “Send a runner for more sugar!”

  “How much more could you possibly need?” he groaned.

  “Ye flower-pickers love things sweet.”

  Hamm rolled his eyes. Tum Tum thought he saw him mutter “dwarves” under his breath in that same way Whitney used to. Letting it slide, Tum Tum returned his focus beyond the docks.

  “Ye sure are quiet,” he said to Lucindur, who now sat on a bench, tuning her salfio.

  “I’m saving my voice for later.”

  “I just thought ye’d be more excited to hear that King Torsten was comin.”

  “Stop it,” Lucindur said, color filling her face.

  “No, really. I think he’s got his... uh... blinded eye on ye, too.”

  Talwyn glanced back at her mother, eyes wide. She now sat with Gentry at the edge of the rebuilt docks, their feet swinging over the water.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Lucindur said.

  “Mother, he’s the King!” Talwyn said.

  “And a damn good one at that.” Tum Tum said. “So far, at least.”

  “I suppose he is rather handsome,” Talwyn admitted, smiling widely.

  “And brave,” Gentry added.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Lucindur said. “Don’t you and Gentry have some practicing to do?”

  “Oh, you’re never any fun,” Talwyn said. “Come on, Gentry. Let’s go. We need to get our second transition right, anyway.” She pulled the boy and his wyvern along, complaining that his timing was off while hers was perfect.

  Tum Tum watched as they left, wondering what they had planned for opening night. In addition to the Pompare Troupe, he’d hired Fabian “Feel Good” Saravia to come and be a part of the week’s festivities. Rumor had it, the bard had even written a song in Whitney’s honor—a duet which Lucindur would play with him. It was sure to be an evening to remember.

  The finishing touches were being done upon Whitney’s nose. Tum Tum ducked to view it from a low angle. He clapped his hands. “Pretty shog-shuckin close,” he said. “Even Sora may not be able to tell the difference.”

  “It’s too bad she can’t be here,” Lucindur remarked.

  “Aye. But that lass is destined to do great things. She’s got her own ways of honorin his memory. We’ll be sure to toast to her tonight.”

  “Why not now?” Lucindur said, stowing her instrument and pulling a flask from her belt.

  “Ye devil,” Tum Tum said.

  “Breklian brandy,” she said, lifting the flask toward the statue. “To Whitney Fierstown, the Godkiller, and the Queen who ruled for a day.”

  She took a sip.

  “Here, here,” Tum Tum said, stealing it from her hand and throwing back a swig of his own. “To the best friends this dwarf has ever had the pleasure of knowin.”

  Torsten felt robbed, though he knew he shouldn’t. Sora hadn’t taken anything from him, in fact, quite the opposite, yet still, he did.

  Is that what all of Whitney’s victims felt like? he wondered.

  He circled the Glass Throne like a wolf, its prey. He wasn’t sure if anybody had realized yet that he hadn’t even sat in it. Even after the coronation atop Mount Lister, when a glass and glaruium crown, forged by Hovom Nitebrittle from the melted armor of former Shieldsmen, had been placed upon his head by the High Priest—he hadn’t sat.

  It felt wrong. Sure, the throne had undergone a transformation after substantial repairs. However, it was still the same seat filled by Liam Nothhelm and dozens of Kings going back to Autla the First. Now, Torsten was supposed to share it. A man whose ancestors were not from Yarrington. The son of nobody. Sole member of the noble house of Unger.

  “Whitney trained you all too well, you clever witch,” he said to himself, referring to Sora. He’d hinged the entire fate of the Kingdom on her. Even if all of them didn’t believe Sora was who they claimed, Hovom’s word went a long way. He was nothing if not loyal and honorable.

  They barely had a priest left alive or healthy enough, but after reluctantly agreeing to become Queen, Sora insisted they rush the coronation, under Iam, atop Mount Lister, as well as the legal paperwork. And the moment she attained the Nothhelm seal, she made her first decree.

  Sora Nothhelm, Queen of the Glass Kingdom, renounced the throne and named Torsten her successor. He recalled the way his jaw dropped as she spoke the words in front of the entire court. The world seemed to stop. Everyone was in complete shock, except Sora. She simply smiled a thin, placid smile.

  That was when Torsten knew she’d planned it from the moment they’d first talked. He’d studied her in their time together, learned how she ticked, what affected her and what made her worthy despite her upbringing—she’d done the same. Sora knew that Torsten’s vows to serve the Nothhelm family with honor until his end would mean he couldn’t refuse a royal decree.

  And so, here he was, fresh off his own coronation, tricked into being named King.

  A King who couldn’t manage to si
t in his own throne.

  “You’ll grow into it, Your Grace,” a soft voice spoke.

  He turned and saw Dellbar the Holy shuffling into the Throne Room, tapping along with his cane. Healing him was Sora’s final gift before departing to the East, where she would fix what Nesilia had corrupted in the Red Tower. He’d never recovered completely. His voice was gruff and grating now, and he walked like an old man. Every day, he seemed more and more like Wren the Holy than the carefree drunkard he was when Torsten first met him.

  “Like you did?” Torsten asked. He itched the top of his bald head, digging a finger under the glass band of his crown. It still irritated his skin, and the material was unexpectedly cold.

  Dellbar shrugged. “I never asked for this. Never wanted it. All I did was hand a suffering man my blindfold, and here I am.”

  “And all I did was try and make things right.”

  Dellbar chuckled. “What a couple of old fools we are.”

  Torsten grunted and nodded. He moved back around the throne and returned to staring at it. “How am I supposed to do this?”

  “With your eyes open.”

  “Very funny.”

  Dellbar arrived beside him and touched his shoulder. “Whether or not you believe this is where Iam always intended for you to be, here you are, Torsten Unger. No Liam to lead you. No Uriah to guide you. Only you.”

  “I liked you better when you spoke in riddles.”

  “And I miss drinking. Who would’ve thought the two men sitting in Valin’s dungeon would wind up here?”

  “That almost seems preferable,” Torsten said.

  Dellbar hooked Torsten’s hip with his cane and turned him around. “Oh, stop it, Your Highness.”

  “That’s enough of that,” Torsten grumbled.

  “Only you could find a way to wallow about being King. You were a street rat, and now, you’re the most powerful man in Pantego.”

  “Yeah. A King whose first act was granting the Black Sands their independence.”