Chapter 12 #2
“The Synod has always been the home of the Faraengardian boys when they present as Altor. But you are not Faraengardian. We must decide what to do with you. What is it you want, Leina Haverlyn of Selencia?”
My throat works, and I fight back tears.
Not of grief or sadness, but of rage, a rage that burns so hot and so wild.
I stand, unable to sit in that chair with it boiling inside me.
“I want the Faraengardian royal family gone. I want their soldiers and overlords out of Selencia. I want the king and his heirs to suffer the same fate as the tens of thousands of Selencian boys he’s sent to die in the mines at Valespire.
I want justice for my brothers, my parents, my people.
” I lift my chin, meeting the Elder’s gaze with every scrap of defiance I can muster. “Can you give me that?”
For a heartbeat, no one breathes. My rage sucked all the air from the chamber. Ryot is completely motionless, every muscle in his body taut, lined with tension. The council members shift uneasily—staunch Lyathin, impatient Hilian, charming Robias, nasty Nile—all suddenly discomforted.
A sharp, bitter laugh rises in my chest. “Oh, I’m sorry—has the suffering of my people inconvenienced you?”
Flushes rise on their faces, all except the Elder.
He’s unruffled. “The Altor do not govern,” the Elder answers.
“It is not what the gods have demanded of us. We do not concern ourselves with the laws of men. We are warriors, forged for one purpose—to stop the tide of Kher’zenn from consuming Aesgroth.
We don’t even do this for humanity, but to stop Kheris and her Kher’zenn from upsetting the divine balance of power. ”
He nods toward the king. “Fortunately for you, the one who does govern, who makes and enforces laws, who commands soldiers and overlords, stands in this very room. Your grievances belong to him.”
“You dare impugn my honor?” This voice comes from behind me. It’s deep, almost guttural. It sends shivers down my spine, not only because of the power in it, but because there’s something familiar about it. “You, a peasant girl? What do you know of the ways of the world?”
I turn slowly to face that voice, King Agis. He rises—tall, imperious, and deeply offended.
“The Mines of Valespire, which you so easily disdain, provide the adamas the Altor require to fight the Kher’zenn,” he continues.
“Year after year, decade after decade, Faraengardian boys are called to serve the gods, to become Altor warriors. Most of them die young in battle. All of them sacrifice everything— their past loyalties, their families, any hopes of a peaceful future. Yet they accept this as their duty, their honored sacrifice, to protect the continent—including Selencia—from annihilation.”
He lowers his voice, but the quieter tone emphasizes his outrage. “Is it not fair to expect the Selencian boys to uphold their duty with the same diligence, the same reverence, the same honor?”
He pauses. The archons are leaning forward, at the edges of their seats.
They nod in solemn agreement. To them, the king’s words are just. Princess Rissa exhales in quiet relief, finding validation in his reasoning.
Heat climbs up my throat—rage or revulsion or even embarrassment, I can’t tell.
He’s so persuasive, masterful at warping the truth into something dangerous.
They’re lies. They may seem right, sound right, feel right, but in the depths of my soul, I know they’re not.
Because nothing this cruel can be right.
Only Ryot watches the king with something akin to suspicion.
But the king isn’t finished. His gaze shifts, lifting from me to the archons at my back.
“You ask this insolent, ignorant peasant girl what she wants? As if she is worthy of a choice?” His voice hardens.
“She’s no Altor. She cannot be. There has never been a female Altor.
She must be an abomination, sent by the goddess Kheris herself, the mother of the Kher’zenn, of ruin and chaos, to infiltrate the Synod and corrupt your judgment.
Consider her timing yesterday. She arrived on your watchtower only one day after a full attack on Carrisfal Island.
And then, mere minutes after she landed, the Kher’zenn launched their first assault on Faraengardian shores in four decades. You believe that to be a coincidence?”
I know I’m no puppet of an evil goddess. By the Veil, I don’t even believe the gods exist, but even I hesitate—what if? How could I know for certain? My eyes find the archons. How could any of them? There’s a grim, twisted logic in his words.
Across the room, Nile is practically gleeful, his smile sharp as a dagger.
“The king makes excellent points—many excellent points. There’s only one way to settle this. The gods must decide,” Nile says.
Hilian is slightly less sure, but he nods, considering. Lyathin and Robias exchange glances, their agreement reluctant, but they both nod, too.
Let the gods decide? How?
Ryot curls his hands into fists. “This isn’t—” he starts, but the Elder raises his hands, and he stops. My pulse pounds in my ears.
The Elder’s gaze sweeps across the room, taking in the reluctant nods from the archons. At last, he speaks.
“So be it,” he finally says. “Leina Haverlyn, you will prove yourself in a Trial of Last Blood. Or you will not, and your soul will be cast out by the True Gods, condemned to Lako.”
Ryot’s fists clench at his sides. Even the archons who nodded in agreement look grim, as if they, too, understand the weight of what has just been decreed.
“May the gods bear witness,” the Elder finishes.