The Apostate Prince (Godswar Chronicles Book 2)

by CJ Perry

  Victor pulled the lamb apart with his fingers, stuffed a piece in his mouth, and then chewed loud enough for the whole room to hear. Justin averted his eyes, lips curling. James and Deetra prepared themselves for dinner in the same fashion, napkin in the collar of their breastplate, gauntlets on the table to the left. Ayla took her first bite of greens. The cook had added lemon. Justin would like it, if he would just eat.

  Justin sat back in his chair. “To catch Victor up…” he threw a brief glare at Victor “…just after high sun, a woman with an enchanted sword and shield - presumably a Guardian of Light - appeared at the front gate, declared the city under siege, and demanded an audience with the Empress.”

  James wiped his mouth. “But there’s no army. Just before shift change, I received pigeons from Hillside, Moonvale, and Freeport. All’s quiet.”

  Justin nodded his approval.

  Deetra swallowed a bite of food. “I’ll give the order to stand down at sunrise.”

  “What I really want to hear about is that sword. What are you doing with it?”

  “Destroying it. But, I have to Identify it first,” Justin said, and leaned forward. “I’ll need to interview the prisoner.”

  Deetra put down her fork with a clink, already shaking her tattooed head. “Absolutely not.”

  Justin pressed his lips together, but focused on Ayla. “It’s necessary to determine a means of destruction.”

  She reached for her goblet. “The General said no, Justin.”

  “Well, General Deetra clearly doesn’t understand the importance. We can’t just leave it somewhere. It has to be destroyed. In order to do that, I have to Identify it. And to do that, I have to get more information about it. And that requires speaking to -”

  “No,” she replied, and took a sip of the dry red wine, signaling the end of the discussion. Or trying to anyway.

  “Why?”

  Deetra answered. “Because she’s dangerous, and you’re naive.”

  Justin kept looking at Ayla, and she drank until the goblet was empty, trying to settle the nerves in her stomach. Since Justin had come home, he had avoided Deetra at all costs, and Victor had avoided a visit. But this had to happen at some point.

  “Mom,” Justin said, widening his eyes, demanding an answer with them.

  Ayla put her empty goblet back on the table “She’s dangerous, like Deetra said.”

  “I could go with him,” James offered.

  Victor scoffed, almost finished with his plate, his face dripping with lamb. He picked up his potato and bit off one end.

  “No,” Deetra said, and sat back in her chair and picked up her wine goblet, armor glinting in the light coming through the stained glass. “Neither of you are going anywhere near her.”

  Justin turned to her. “I’m the one who stopped her. And there is no one else at this table more capable of dealing with her.”

  Deetra’s face flushed, but Justin kept going. His insensitivity toward Deetra came from a lifetime of contention. They had a chance for a fresh start, but they both still clung to the past. Ayla covered her plate, her stomach in knots. Tonight, would be a liquid dinner.

  “The sword is in my room,” Justin said, and faced Deetra. “Would you like to be the one to dispose of it?” Deetra averted her eyes, and Justin switched his gaze to James, “No?” and then back to Ayla. “Do you think anyone here could even lift it off my desk?”

  Ayla did not, she herself had tried. She held onto it and pulled until her hands charred and her face blistered. With the effort she put into it, the whole table would have come off the ground had she not stood on it. The sword may as well have been buried in stone instead of thrust through her wife’s chest. Ayla forced the memory back down into the place where she kept the horrors of her life.

  Ayla reached for the bottle of wine, and poured herself another glass. “Why could you lift it, and no one else?”

  Justin folded his arms and shrugged. “If I had to guess, it’s because I don’t worship the Night Goddess. It’s a weapon of the Light. I could find out more if …”

  Justin held out his palm with a flourish, urging Ayla to finish the sentence for him. She resisted the impulse to throw her goblet at him. Instead, took a sip, and took her time returning it to the table. She nodded.

  “Fine. You can interrogate her. But only if you allow me to place blessings on you before you go.”

  Deetra glared at Ayla from across the table. Ayla met her eyes. After eighteen years of marriage, they needed no words. The separation of their marriage and their stations had long been a source of friction. This was not a disagreement between wives, but of an Empress and her General, and the Empress had spoken. Deetra would accuse her later of appeasing Justin, but it had nothing to do with him. Ayla needed to know her enemy's’ capabilities and Justin’s skillset made that possible. He was no longer a child.

  Deetrasat another moment, then got up from the table, tipping over her chair in her anger. The back smacked the floor with a crack. She bowed to her Empress, lips clamped shut, and marched out the door. She slammed it shut behind her. James hung his head and shook it.

  “Sorry,” he said, and cleaned up his chin with his napkin. “We lost eight good men today. She’s just trying to protect us. If I may be excused?”

  Ayla nodded. James stood and placed a hand on Justin’s shoulder. “She’s only trying to protect you,” he said again, and Justin scoffed and looked up at him. James’ brow lowered disapprovingly. “Why not give her some respect? She’s earned it.”

  “I respect her as a General. But she’s not my commander.”

  “It’s not about orders, Justin. It’s -”

  Victor snorted. “Save your breath. He hates Deetra too much to hear you.”

  Justin patted James’ hand. “Thank you, James. I appreciate what you’re trying to do.”

  James let out a slow breath. “Just think about it, alright?”

  “I will.”

  Ayla doubted it. Her son just wanted the conversation over. James excused himself with a bow, and left after his mother.

  Victor dropped the last bone from his rack of lamb onto his plate. “It would take more than not worshiping the Dark Queen.”

  “What would?” Ayla asked.

  Victor sucked the juice from the lamb off his fingers. Justin slid his napkin across the table to him. Victor ignored it and met Justin’s eyes, who narrowed them. In his younger years, Justin had never dared to meet Victor’s gaze with a challenge. Ayla almost admired it.

  “Being able to lift that sword,” Victor said, an accusation in his tone. “A negative isn’t enough.”

  “What do you mean?” Ayla asked.

  “A weapon of Light could not be wielded just because of the absence of the Dark Queen. It would require the presence of Light.”

  Icy fear crept into Ayla’s belly, replacing the warmth of the wine. The skin on her arms prickled with gooseflesh. Justin’s face flushed, but he kept his composure, as always. He scoffed and faced Ayla.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Mother. It’s true that the absence of something is not sufficient to activate the sword. But his context is wrong. The sword didn’t sense the Dark Queen on me, so it did not hurt me. Nor did it sense the Light, so it did not glow. I just picked it up, and it did nothing,” he said and turned to level a threatening glare at Victor. “Stick to filing your teeth, and leave the theories to someone with brains.”

  Victor balled his fists on the table. “I’ll break that smug –”

  Ayla had enough. “Victor.”

  Victor snapped his head to look at her, his face still a mask of barely controlled rage. Ayla cocked her head at him and gave him a warning look.

  “If you are done with your meal, will you excuse us, please?”

  Victor lifted his chin. “Yes, Empress.”

  Justin folded his hands on the table and focused his attention on his thumbs as Victor grabbed his staff from the wall and headed for the exit. Justin had managed to clear the e
ntire room, or at least, facilitated the necessity of it. The door closed behind Victor and Ayla pointed at her son.

  “You,” she accused, and Justin scrunched his face.

  “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  He opened one eye and gave her a playful sideways look. “I am… a little.”

  “Why do you always have to start trouble? Why can’t you just have dinner and not argue every word out of everyone’s mouth?”

  “Is that what happened? I said I needed to see the prisoner, and was told no. I asked why, and I was called naive. Victor felt the need to comment on my non-existent spiritual unrest.”

  “And you insulted his tribal tattoos.”

  “In retaliation.”

  “He wasn’t being insulting. You were.”

  “True, but he deserves it.”

  Ayla rubbed her face with her hands. Her head hummed from the wine. She never had much tolerance for alcohol, and her wits had dulled too much to debate with him. At her sharpest, Justin talked her in circles until the room spun. Ayla dropped her head into her arms on the table. Justin’s chair scraped and a few seconds later his hand rested on her upper back. His voice softened, and he abandoned his biting wit.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you. If I hadn’t stood up to Deetra, it would’ve taken months, if I ever Identified the sword at all. I’m going to make sure we destroy it and learn to defend against it. This way it can never hurt you again.”

  The tension broken, emotional exhaustion set in. “I believe you. But you add a little bit extra when you say things to Deetra. It’s too much, Justin. You turned a simple dinner into a contest of wills. And the only loser here is me.”

  “How’s that?”

  Ayla lifted her head and he removed his hand from her back. Justin’s brow was pinched with concern. She gave him a wan smile.

  “You don't have to deal with Deetra tonight. I do.”

  “What would you have had me do?” Justin said, with a twist of the corner of his mouth. “Just salute and say, ‘yes, General’?”

  “That, right there. The mockery. That’s what I'm talking about.”

  Justin sighed and dropped his hands. “What then, Mother? What should I have said?”

  “The hardest thing for you - nothing. You should have pulled me aside later, and asked again. I could have spoken to Deetra later, when she was calmer, and not in front of James.”

  Justin shook his head, and sighed. “I’m sorry. I try not to react - I swear. But she treats me like one of her knights. And like my opinion isn't worth anything.”Ayla took his hand. “All she knows is steel. Give her time.”

  Justin squeezed it. “I’ll try.”

  Ayla smiled at him. “Thank you. Now, go. Do what you need to. Just be careful.”

  chapter three

  Light in the Darkness

  Justin retrieved the torch on the wall and descended a second spiral staircase into the damp darkness. He ducked his head and held onto the round pillar in the center of the stair for balance. The silence was deafening. No one moaned in agony, or called out for their loved ones.

  The Empress’s Empire did not torture prisoners, nor did it imprison them for extended periods of time. Both were considered cruel. If a man or woman committed a serious enough offense to require the temple’s intervention, they faced imprisonment here during their trial by the High Priestess or local priest. The guilty were either pressed into the army or executed on the altar of the Dark Queen. The Empire had traditions, but no written laws, so trials were swift.

  Justin reached the bottom and stood up straight. He held the torch aloft, flames licking the ceiling. The Guardian sat against the far wall, still in her full plate armor, arms up in chains. Her head hung forward, long red curls obscuring her face.

  Justin cleared his throat, the heartbeat in his ears and crackling torch the only other sounds in the dungeon. There were no implements of torture, no tables or rack, just four torch stands, and chains hanging from the bare stone walls in darkness. It stunk of dust, mold, and urine.

  “Hello?” Justin said. He expected his voice to echo, but the sound died out inches from his lips. The torch cast leaping shadows over the walls, reflecting off the eyes of rats as they skittered away. He took a calming breath and made his way to a torch stand in center of the barren room.

  The Guardian lifted her head and Justin froze in place. One eye was swelled shut and her beautiful red curls were matted to her swollen face. Justin’s heart ached with pity, but he swallowed it down. This woman was not just any murderer. Sword or no, she killed a eight Red Knights in the streets and fought her way to the center of Hornstall.

  She stared at him, her one good eye measuring him up. Her words came out a croak. “Have you come to free me?”

  Justin was struck dumb. He read relief in her face. They held each other's gaze as Justin searched for an answer. It was no - for certain - but her hopeful expression made the word difficult to say.

  “Are you thirsty?” he asked.

  The hope faded from her face. She rested her head against the wall and stared at the ceiling.

  “No.”

  Kneeling with her arms chained up and out gave the appearance of calling out to her god. He could not save her in here. The entirety of Hornstall’s small castle had been sanctified by his mother with hundreds - thousands - of sacrifices. The God of Light’s eyes could not see into this darkness.

  Justin placed his torch in the stand and the flames gleamed off the armor, intensifying it until the dungeon lit up from corner to corner. The rats scattered, searching for cracks in the stone to hide in. The light stripped the room naked, revealing every dark spot of filth on the floor.

  Her armor was enchanted too. Whether by faith or magic, Justin could not know for sure without Identifying it as well. She couldn’t have acted alone; that armor must have cost a king’s ransom.

  He stepped in between her and the torch and the room darkened, though not quite to the same depth as before. The effect seemed to only work in direct light.

  “You’re -” The word ‘beautiful’ almost left his lips and his cheeks flushed. “From the south, I imagine?”

  She closed her eye, head still leaning against the wall. Justin rolled his eyes at himself. He wasn’t here to court her. This woman was a knight, as well as a representative of her temple and her king, and he needed to treat her as such – despite the nature of her “visit”.

  “Forgive my manners. I’m Justin, Prince of the Empire,” he said, with a slight bow at the waist. His shadow on the stone above her did its own flickering imitation. “And you are?”

  She pulled herself to her feet with the chains. Everyone was short compared to Justin, but she stood easily over six feet herself. She graced him with a half nod in lieu of a formal bow.

  “Celia Faust, Daughter of Dylan and Guardian of the Light.”

  “Your father is rather infamous here in the Empire.”

  Her jaw clenched. He’d struck a nerve. “I’m sorry,” he said, and bowed again. “I mean no disrespect.”

  Celia relaxed a bit and tried to fold her arms over her breastplate but the chains cut the gesture short. She looked down at the cuffs and held them up for his inspection. She rattled the chains and gave him a hard look.

  “Free me. Or get out.”

  “What makes you think I would free you?”

  “To lift up my father’s blade you must be a servant of the Light and not have enmity with his soul.”

  He raised an eyebrow. Though Justin had never met Dylan, he hated him. Dylan Faust had betrayed his people and served the minotaur slavers. He had put Justin’s mother to the stake, almost killing her. If he stood in front of Justin now, he would incinerate him. Furthermore, Justin had no love for a god who would curse and enslave half of humanity for hundreds of years.

  “You’ve been misinformed,” he said and folded his arms. “I serve no god, least of all the God of Light. Nor do I care for the man your father was.”r />
  She scoffed. “Either the High Priest is wrong, or you are. I think I will put my faith in him.”

  Justin’s heart skipped a beat. If the High Priest made the sword, that was all the information he needed. Such an auspicious creator would have a powerful effect on the Identify’s divination. Such men had a widespread effect on history; they touched millions of lives.

  “Your High Priest is quite the craftsman.”

  Celia’s brow furrowed. “He didn’t make the blade. My great-great-grandfather passed it to his son, who killed the second Harbinger. Eventually it was handed down to my father, and now me.”

  Justin might well have what he came for. The lineage of the blade would likely suffice for his Identify spell. But her testimony created more questions. The High Priest hadn’t crafted the sword, yet he knew enough about it to instruct Celia in its use. This information suggested the High Priest had possession of it long enough to study it, and may even have ordered Celia on her quest for vengeance.

  She had bluffed an army to lure Justin’s mother to the gate. In the south, as opposed to the Empire, the temple and the crown served the people as separate entities. If the Afluan King sanctioned the attack, there would have been no need for a bluff because he would have sent her with a real army. A High Priest was far more likely to send her with only a holy weapon and a quest.

  If he had, and Celia testified to it, Justin might be able to prove that the High Priest instigated a war without the Afluan King’s knowledge. In one fell swoop, Justin could prevent war by getting justice for the attack on Hornstall, and save Celia from eternity in the Abyss. Celia would have to face the courts in the south, but at least if they executed her there, she would not also forfeit her soul.

  “What I told you in the great hall was true. Cooperate, and you can go back home.”

  She leveled her one good eye on him again. “I can’t go home while your mother still breathes.”

  “If you die here, your soul will not find Elysium. It will belong to the Dark Queen. But if you agree to help me, you can still stop the war your High Priest just started and avoid the Abyss.”