The Godswar Saga (Omnibus)

by Jennifer Vale

  “And here I figured I’d have to issue a royal decree just to get you alone,” Krystia said, smiling warmly. “You sent the others away?”

  “They were tired, and there’s nothing else to talk about, anyway,” Darius whispered. He didn’t glance up. “Where’s your shadow?”

  She frowned in confusion for a few seconds before she caught an image of Sovan flickering in Darius’s mind. “I sent him to the Hatchery to make certain everything is running on schedule. And he is not my shadow—he’s a vital asset we are going to need if we want to survive this.”

  Darius grunted but remained silent. He didn’t believe her, of course. In his mind, Sovan was nothing more than a venomous serpent whispering in her ear. Darius couldn’t understand the depth of the connection she and Sovan shared as Unbound. He couldn’t…and sadly, he never would.

  “Have you figured out how the Crell were able to breach our defenses so easily?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Other than their specially bred underwater siege dragon, no,” Darius muttered. “Sol knows what other horrors the Sovereigns have been concocting these last few months. At this point, I almost expect them to attack us with a horde of flying groll.”

  Krystia nodded distantly as her thoughts flashed back to the Golden Hatchery. Just visualizing the tortured, malformed whelps made her stomach churn, and she didn’t even want to imagine what the Crell were up to. Sovan’s new breeding techniques might have been barbaric, but they were also a last resort. The Sovereigns had never possessed any qualms about experimenting on groll or dragons or even chagari, not if it strengthened their armies.

  “I suspect they also had a few operatives hiding amongst the refugees in the fort,” Darius went on after a moment. “They could have sabotaged the sewer grates, or at the very least fed the Sovereigns with up-to-date reports on our defenses.” He shook his head and grunted. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. If they want to try and sack Celenest, we’ll make them bleed for every inch.”

  Krystia slid up next to him and tucked herself under his right arm. “I’m just thankful you made it out of there. From what my priests showed me, it could have been a lot worse.”

  “It would have been, if not for…” Darius trailed off and closed his eyes. This time, Krystia didn’t even have to make a conscious effort to see images of Elade racing through his mind. “We’re lucky anyone made it out of there alive. I just pray they don’t harm the refugees who were trapped.”

  “As far as we know, they’ve mostly just been sending the villagers back to their homes. They want to convince people that living under an imperial governor won’t be any different than living under a provincial lord.”

  He snorted contemptuously. “We’ll see how long it takes before the local commanders start conscripting anyone who can lift a sword. We’re almost completely blind in that region now, but I guarantee they’re already flooding soldiers up from the Darrowmere to lock down Amberwood. Other than one tower and two of the waterway bridges, they took the fort almost completely intact. It will be a very long, very bloody march to try and take it back.”

  “But we will take it back,” Krystia assured him. “We just need a little more time.”

  His cheek twitched. “I know Sovan has promised you a horde of dragons, but I’ll believe it when I see them.”

  “You don’t have to believe him—you just have to believe me,” she said. “I’ve seen them, Darius. Soon we’ll have enough firepower to reclaim everything we’ve lost.”

  He didn’t reply, but he didn’t need to—she could feel the doubt in his thoughts. Krystia stepped away and put her hands on her hips.

  “You don’t believe me, do you? You think I’m lying about the Hatchery.”

  “I don’t think you’re lying,” Darius said softly. “I think you don’t understand how war actually works. Dragons are a useful tool, but not every battle can be won with a cudgel. We need soldiers to retake territory and we need priests to protect them. Burning everything to the ground isn’t a strategy. Not unless you want to turn Solaria into a smoldering wasteland.”

  Krystia frowned. The aura of animosity rolling off him was almost palpable. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like. You promised the Council—you promised me—that your Unbound friends would help us win this war. So far they haven’t done a damn thing to help.”

  “You said yourself they weren’t ready for the front lines!” she protested. “They’ve been training just like you wanted.”

  “What they’ve been doing is wasting precious time and resources, and now Sovan has apparently convinced you that he can wave his hand and conjure an armada of dragons to save the day.” Darius crossed his arms and glared at her. “Where was he when Blackburn fell? Or Lanesk or Amberwood or any of the other towns and forts we’ve lost in the past three months? You say he’s a powerful channeler, but he hasn’t lifted a finger against the Breakers decimating your Bound. He just sits here in the comfort of the palace like an honored dignitary.”

  “Don’t try and blame Sovan for the Legion’s failures,” Krystia hissed. “You can’t seriously expect the Unbound to charge off and die for a country that’s imprisoned them their whole lives.”

  “What I expect is for them to contribute,” Darius said. “They’re our only weapon against the Breakers, but you’ve been coddling them like they’re made of glass. They need to earn the right to live among us.”

  She recoiled another step. “What do you mean ‘us?’ I’m one of them!”

  “It’s not the same,” he muttered, turning away and scowling. “If they won’t fight, then we’ve already lost this war.”

  Krystia continued to glare at the side of his head, her throat suddenly dry. She couldn’t understand what in the hell was wrong with him. He was the one who hadn’t wanted the Unbound on the battlefield; he was the one who had argued that a bunch of untrained channelers would be more of a hindrance than an asset. He had told her—

  And then the truth belatedly struck her. This had nothing to do with the Unbound and everything to do with Elade. She had been out there battling the Breakers on her own for months, and now that she was dead, Darius was struggling to cope with her loss. It was an unusually emotional reaction for him, and under normal circumstances Krystia would have been willing to forgive his careless words. But he wasn’t reeling over a lost comrade—he was reeling over a lost love. And that made Krystia ball her hands into fists and tremble with rage.

  At first, she had found his infatuation with Elade mildly amusing. She was a priestess and a telepath, and she had long ago learned not to take people’s private fantasies too seriously. Everyone dreamt of doing something that would get them in trouble, after all, and Elade was a perfectly reasonable target. She was charming, shapely, and exotic—but most importantly to a man like Darius, she was also a challenge. More than anything, he was a natural hunter. He craved the chase. It was one of the things Krystia loved about him, and she hadn’t been bothered by a few harmless fantasies as long as he never acted upon them.

  But now he had acted upon them. She could see the truth in his thoughts—the passionate kiss, the longing embrace… If Elade and Darius hadn’t been interrupted, he would have taken her back to his bed in a matter of minutes. And not a single part of him felt guilty about it. His only regret was that he had waited so long to make his move…

  “Leave,” Krystia said, her voice a cold whisper.

  Darius turned and frowned. “What?”

  “Leave. Now.”

  “Krystia, we—”

  “Leave!” she screamed so loudly half the palace probably heard the echo. For several long seconds Darius remained frozen in place, but then eventually he shook his head and stormed out of the room. When the door closed behind him, she grabbed the empty serving plate on her desk and hurled it against the wall.

  Krystia had never been this angry, not even when High Priest Kaeldar had denounced the other Unbound right in front of her
face. It boiled in her veins and burned in her heart, and a part of her was tempted to drag him back in here and scour Elade’s presence from his mind. She could erase every memory, burn away every image…but no, that wouldn’t change anything. The truth, when it came right down to it, was the Darius still saw Krystia as his pretty little trophy.

  For the last two years, she had been a badge of conquest, a public symbol for all his victories and accomplishments. But then the king had been assassinated, and everything had changed. He didn’t believe she was ready for the throne, and he certainly didn’t believe she was ready for the chaos of war. Just like the Council, he still saw her as a naïve waif unprepared for the harsh realities of the world.

  Krystia almost wanted to tell him the truth. If he knew about her masterful efforts to free the Unbound—if he knew about her alliance with Ethan and their plot to destroy Areekan—then Darius would finally understand. He would finally stop seeing her as his innocent little princess.

  Instead, he would see her for the monster she had become.

  The thought struck her like a knife in the back, and Krystia had to clutch onto a nearby desk to keep from buckling to the floor. She felt sick. She felt weak. She was the queen of Solara—she was an unbound Ascendant. And yet right now she felt like a helpless little girl sitting atop the towers at Isen staring at the charred corpses of her parents…

  Pressing her eyes shut, Krystia sank down to her knees. She desperately wanted to cry, but something deep inside her refused to allow her eyes to water. She was better than that now. She was stronger than she had ever been. She had made difficult decisions, but everything she’d done had been for the greater good. The Unbound were free, and Solaria finally had the queen it deserved. All that remained was for her to start acting like it.

  Taking a deep breath, she reached out to the Aether and gently strummed the hundreds of tethers binding her to her followers. There was one man she could always count on for a cold, calculating analysis of the situation. And even though she had only spoken with him intermittently over the past few weeks, she had a feeling he would be more than happy to give her his advice.

  Ethan?

  Yes? he responded almost immediately. What can I do for you, Your Majesty?

  We have a serious problem, Krystia said. The situation here in Celenest is quickly degenerating, and I’m not sure how much longer I can hold it together. I need your help.

  Of course, Your Majesty, he said, his amusement rippling through their telepathic link. As always, I am your humble servant.

  ***

  “Five thousand men,” Ethan Moore whispered as he watched the Asgardians disembark from their ships and set up camp along the shoreline. “If only they had come to their senses fifteen years ago. Then we might not be here in the first place…”

  “I still can’t believe you convinced the boy to help,” Valestra Fallon muttered from beside him. “And I really can’t believe the High King’s shaman just let them sail out of Frostgarde without a fight.”

  “The foolishness of young men has no equal in this world,” Ethan said, shielding his eyes against the waning sun and the blood-smeared horizon. “Especially when they believe they have something to prove.”

  He and Valestra had only been out here for an hour or so, but the Asgardians were surprisingly efficient. The camp already sprawled for a hundred yards in each direction, and Ethan had no doubt that the Mon’Gardoth ships would be empty by nightfall.

  “Halfren needs to demonstrate his prowess as a warrior and a leader before the other clans descend upon him,” Ethan went on. “I merely provided him with the opportunity.”

  Valestra shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand how a culture of savages has survived this long.”

  “That’s exactly why you couldn’t convince them to help you,” Ethan said pointedly. “You were treating them like humans when they are more like wolves. All I had to do was toss them a bloodied scrap of meat.”

  “How charming.”

  Ethan smiled. “And the reason the shaman let them go is simple: the High King believes he has nothing to lose. If Halfren fails, his clan will be dead. Zharrs will be able to claim the Mon’Gardoth’s wives and property as his own, all without spilling a single drop of his soldiers’ blood.”

  “But if Halfren succeeds, he’ll gain support from the other clans,” Valestra said. “He could spark an Asgardian civil war.”

  “I’m sure the High King believes the boy will fail miserably,” Ethan said. “But even if Halfren succeeds, Zharrs will then have an opportunity to prove his own leadership by quashing a rebellion. He has consolidated power with the skill and subtlety of a Solarian lord, and he’s well-positioned to defend himself against challengers if necessary.”

  Valesta grunted and shook her head. “There are times I think you might have missed your calling. You would have made a better diplomat than an officer.”

  “For now, I have to be both,” Ethan whispered.

  They watched in silence as the Asgardians continued to ferry men and equipment from their transport ships. So far, the Solarian portion of their contingent was light. The Lyebel garrison had only provided him with a single regiment of two-hundred men, but the queen had promised to send him two dozen priests, a full squad of griffon-riders, and several dragons before they reached Ashenfel.

  Initially, Ethan had feared that the fall of Amberwood would cause Krystia and her commanders to withdraw their support and bunker inside Celenest, but thankfully she had been wise enough to ask for his advice. After assuaging the worst of her fears, he had convinced her of the necessity of supporting his efforts regardless of the Council’s wishes. Now more than ever, Galvia was Solaria’s best hope—a victory here would change the face of the war overnight. And Ethan couldn’t help but revel in the historical irony.

  “‘A thousand warriors, axes drawn, crossed the crimson sea,” he whispered. “Their mothers wept, their children cried, knowing their fate to be.’”

  Valestra arched her eyebrows. “I thought you hated poetry. Elissa always had to drag you to the public recitals in the palace theatre.”

  “I never hated the performances,” Ethan clarified “I hated the pretentiousness and the insipid culture surrounding them. The nobles would chew up and digest every word like it was a fine piece of Numenese cheese, and the harsher the criticism they levied, the more cultured they saw themselves.”

  She shook her head. “How did a man like you end up with a playwright for a wife and a historian for a son?”

  I wish I knew. The response popped into Ethan’s mind so reflexively that he didn’t have time to brace himself against the deluge of old memories. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the barrage of images of his dead wife and prodigal son…

  “Sorry,” Valestra said, gently placing her hand on his arm. “I should know better than to pick at old wounds.”

  “It’s fine,” Ethan lied. He did his best to purge the tension from his facial muscles, but the memories themselves refused to budge. “Right now we just need to focus on organizing the officers. Halfren and his advisors will probably be nervous right up until the dragons and griffons meet us on the field, and the Alliance captain struck me as a fool who’d been banished here as some form of punishment.”

  “Captain Farkas is a bit obstinate, but she’s not incompetent. She served at Serogar, and Lord Alistan thought she would be the best choice to command the Lyebel garrison given the available alternatives. A lot of his best people died at Garos.”

  “Ah,” Ethan murmured, shielding his eyes and squinting across the camp to the Alliance tents. They were staying out of the way of the Asgardians for the most part, which was probably a wise decision. “Well, as long as Farkas doesn’t protest too loudly, things should proceed smoothly enough. I managed to convince the clan-lord’s top advisor to trust me, and that’s what’s really important.

  Valestra shook her head. “How in the Void did you manage that?”

  Ethan shrugge
d. He wasn’t about to tell her the truth, of course. Valestra might have been a realist, but she still wouldn’t approve of summoning demons. She was from Serogar, after all. “You know how charming I can be,” he told her instead, forcing a wry smile.

  “In other words, I don’t want to know,” she replied with a sigh. “Please just tell me you didn’t promise him half of Solaria.”

  “Nothing so grand. Jorgir and I are both old and tired warriors, and that’s a stronger bond than you might think.” He tilted his chin down towards the Solarians to try and change the subject. “Do you expect Farkas’s men to behave even after the news from Amberwood?”

  “They’re concerned, obviously, but they’re also professionals. You might not think much of the Legion, but they’re as well-trained as anyone in Torsia.”

  “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. There’s a chance the Crell will send manticores after us, and until we get air support we’re vulnerable. Your priests had best be up to the challenge.”

  Valestra turned and studied him. “You think the Crell know you’re coming already?”

  Ethan snorted. “The Zarul still have eyes in Lyebel, and they absolutely have eyes in Frostgarde. Halfren’s security was terrible—they could have assassinated him on a moment’s notice.”

  “Then perhaps you should wait a few days until the dragons arrive. The army is less vulnerable here so close to the city.”

  “No,” Ethan said. “The longer we wait, the greater the chance the Lord’s Council or the queen will panic and withdraw their support. We need to put pressure on the Crell as soon as possible or this war is already over.”

  Valestra nodded then sighed tiredly. “Speaking of the Council, Lord Alistan has ordered me back home. I’m supposed to leave Lyebel at first light.”