CHAPTER 25 - Goddess
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The green and black stained-glass of the domed building cast fractured light across the table, mingling with the rippling distortions caused by the waterfall cascading over the walls outside.
In my hand, I held two additional pieces — one of delicate twisting vines shaped as a beast, the other of frosted glass. They were my hidden daggers, a calculated weapon to tip the scales.
It was imperative that I find the best position for these pieces.
Yet the only position I could think of was the one Raine and I had found ourselves in when we were on this very table just a month ago.
My mind betrayed me, drawn to the memory of her storm-gray eyes blazing with fury. Her presence lingered like a ghost, a distraction I couldn't shake. It was all I had thought of on my journey to Vrostvale.
My fingers grazed the table's edge.
I had tested her mettle, forced her into a corner to prove her control over the vylnir, and in doing so uncovered more of her hatred towards me.
She truly despises me.
The thought was both irritating and intriguing. Was it for her friend's death? For her diminished rank? For my ambitions?
No, her disdain was older, predating every slight I could name.
From the moment we met, her scorn had been absolute. Not even my father had looked at me with such raw contempt — not until the day I severed his head from his shoulders.
Should I give her what she wants?
Should I become the tyrant she already sees in me?
Briarvex, slung across my back, seemed to hum with anticipation. Its whispers curled around my mind, urging me toward ruthless indulgence.
"Your Majesty, do you agree?"
The voice snapped me back to the present. I straightened, my gaze sharpening as I looked up at the war council.
The captain of my cavalry division, a veteran with greying hair, watched me expectantly.
"In regard to the unicorns we've bred," he continued. "We can field two thousand within the year. Should we march on Driftwoode with them at the forefront? Show our power?"
I turned my attention to the map. The rivers of Driftwoode were a natural fortress. Treacherous and prone to flooding in spring. I shifted the cavalry piece toward the edge of the river lands, just bellow Pineholt Province.
"We're not marching on Driftwoode to show power," I said. "We are marching to conquer."
The veteran inclined his head, and I continued.
"Any steed will be slow crossing the rivers," I pointed out.
"If we march in spring like I've prepared, the floods will delay us further.
Rather than sending our foot soldiers through this terrain in a rush and tiring them out for the siege, we should use them to raid the surrounding towns and cities as we take our time to advance.
We'll cut off the capital's food source and feed our armies in turn. "
I jabbed a finger at the table which marked Driftwoode's capital, a city isolated by water save for a single strip of land connecting it to the continent.
"But we won't leave them to prepare an attack. We'll exhaust their navy while our army marches. With an attack from both the sea and land, Cape Saltmourne will be pinched in."
Norin, my naval advisor, frowned.
"Their fleet is unmatched, Your Majesty. And they have the kraken. Our ships wouldn't survive a direct assault."
"Our ships won't approach their shores," I replied, shifting the figures representing our navy. I placed them away from the capital's cape and closer to the open water. "We'll lure their fleet into the open and destroy it through other means."
I finally placed the two figures in my hands on the table, right in the middle of Driftwoode's navy.
A murmur rippled through my council as they seemed to understand.
"Your Majesty," Ser Bastian spoke up, his eyes dark as he regarded the table. "Even if we break their navy, a battle at sea will not be wise. You must not forget Thalrik Tidemere wields the cursed sword of tide. He'll have an advantage over Briarvex with the sea so close."
I nodded my understanding, running my finger over the ridges of Cape Saltmourne's fort.
"I will not deny that Cascadea could be a threat to Briarvex, but King Thalrik is a mere husk.
His sword's curse has hallowed him of want and desire.
And a man who has nothing to stand for, will be swept by the tides.
I have full confidence in my victory should he be forced to cross blades with me. "
Understanding flickered in Bastian's eyes as he nodded, the other captains following suit.
"Spring will mark the beginning of the campaign," I said, my voice steady as stone. "But I want forces stationed in every province. We cannot afford to leave our flanks exposed. The wyrm will patrol Pineholt to cut off any incursions."
The council murmured their agreement, heads nodding like puppets on strings.
"We'll need provisions for three years," I continued, my gaze fixed on the carved map. "Raids alone won't sustain us."
Ser Bastian raised an eyebrow.
"Three years? You think the war will end so swiftly?"
"I don't think," I replied, my tone as sharp as Briarvex across my back. "I know. Mark my words here and now. Cape Saltmourne will be reduced to sea salt if that's what it takes."
A low ripple of approval ran through the chamber. One of the advisors bowed his head.
"As is your right, Your Majesty. You hold a conqueror's sword. Fayndor belongs to you and you alone."
I allowed myself another glance at the war table. My fingers traced over the mist-etched ridges of Drakfjord, then trailed southward to Pyree's fiery expanse. A shadow of a thought stirred, but I pushed it away. For now.
"Very well," I said, straightening. "This meeting is dismissed."
My cape billowed behind me as I strode from the war chamber, the cold air of Dornhold's courtyards brushing against my skin. Shadows pooled in the arches as the autumn sunlight shone brightly.
Servants and advisors swarmed in my wake, but it was Chamberlain Feldor, persistent as always, who scurried to the forefront.
"Your Majesty, regarding tonight's candidates..." Feldor began, his voice as thin as the wisps of hair on his head. "I have a list of seven concubines who—"
"You are relentless, Chamberlain," I sighed, my strides increasing. "I think I shall pass tonight."
"Y-Your Majesty!" he stammered, nearly tripping over his own feet. "You cannot keep skipping nights! This is becoming far too frequent."
We entered the grand dining hall, sunlight cutting through the high stone windows to illuminate the table already laden with food.
"Bold of you to suggest what an emperor can and cannot do," I said, glancing at him from the corner of my eye.
Feldor stumbled, then recovered, his voice taking on a desperate edge.
"Your Majesty, it is your duty to provide us an heir. Marching to war without one would cause great unease. What if something were to happen to you? There is no named successor—"
"Naming a successor would only hasten my demise," I interrupted with a smirk. "Too many vultures circle this court already."
"Then provide a child," Feldor urged, his tone trembling with sincerity.
I sat at the head of the table, reaching for the goblet of blackberry wine awaiting me.
"If not for my family's curse, I'd have given you all a dozen heirs by now. Blame my ancestors, not me."
"But you continue to neglect your duty," he pressed, his voice cracking under the weight of his own boldness. "I beg you, Your Majesty. It is for the good of Thornmont. Without an heir, there will be chaos."
The beginnings of a headache coiled behind my temples. Feldor's insistence grated against my patience, but his concern, however suffocating, was genuine.
The thought of being reduced to a stud for the court's ambitions disgusted me, yet I could not ignore the implications of an empty throne.
"Fine," I relented, setting the silver goblet down. "Let me see your list for tonight."
Feldor's relief was almost pitiful as he fumbled to hand me the parchment. I scanned the names, a chuckle escaping my lips.
"You know the saying about the harem, Chamberlain?" I asked, eyeing him like prey.
"W-What saying, Your Majesty?"
"It is not the concubines the emperor beds, but his noblemen," I laughed, tossing the parchment onto the table. "Look here: Duskrend, Grimsprig, Greenmead, and even Bronwyn Blacksteel. All conveniently last names of the very families whose patriarchs sat in my war council just a moment ago."
Feldor fidgeted with his moustache, his pallid face glistening with sweat.
"These ladies chosen are at their most... fruitful during this time of the month, Your Majesty. And their families have provided significant aid to the war effort."
"They can pay as much as they like," I said, cutting into my meal. "But the gods will decide the Empress of this empire, not gold."
I glanced back at Feldor, who looked as though he might dissolve into a puddle of nerves. He had served my father before me and remained one of the few nobles who had retained their position through my ascension.
"I do recognize your efforts, Chamberlain Feldor," I assured him. "Do not fret. I will attend to my duties."
Feldor bowed deeply, a sigh of relief slipping from his lips like the last exhalation of a dying man.
"You honor me, Your Majesty."
I returned to my meal while he continued with the rest of his reports of my concubines.
"The festival proceeds splendidly, Your Majesty," he said, retrieving another parchment from his coat.
"A few brides have distinguished themselves — Lady Isolde, for instance, spent three hundred gold on merchants and donated another two thousand to the folk.
She's earned an ivy wreath from the people.
Lady Bronwyn, Lady Cerys, and even two Rose-ranked brides have achieved similar feats. "
I nodded, though my interest barely flickered.
The names were predictable, their performances part of a well-rehearsed dance.
The festival served its purpose: to coax coin from greedy families eager to elevate their daughters' ranks.
A calculated ploy, feeding the people's coffers where nobles would otherwise not.
"There was only one incident," Feldor continued. "A band of men attempted to rob some Dahlia ladies, but they were swiftly dealt with."
I hummed in acknowledgment, my attention waning as I finished my wine. While a servant refilled my cup, I dabbed the corners of my mouth with my handkerchief before glancing down at the design.
Such a crude little canary.
"Oh, there is another matter, though I'm unsure how to describe it," Feldor said hesitantly.
"What is it?" I asked, folding the handkerchief and setting it aside.
"The weather, Sire," Feldor said, his brow furrowed. "It's... peculiar. Rainclouds have gathered over the city."
"Clouds?" I glanced toward the windows, where sunlight spilled unbroken across the stone floor. "You deem clouds worth reporting?"
"Mmm," he murmured, nodding. "Rumors have spread that the Goddess of Harvest herself has appeared in the city square."
"A goddess, you say?" I mused, a faint smile curling my lips. "Well, I must see this goddess for myself."
I rose, leaving Feldor blinking as I strode toward the doors. Outside, Ser Bastian awaited, bowing before falling in step beside me.
"Captain," I said, glancing at him. "I noticed your cousin on tonight's list of prospects."
He sighed.
"Your Majesty, Lady Bronwyn regrets her actions. She believes she could fill the vacant Nightshade position once again."
"I think not," I replied coldly. "Were you not my most trusted captain, I would've relegated her to Clover. What I granted was far too lenient."
"And Princess Raine?" he pressed, his voice dropping. "I still do not trust her. How does she speak to the vylnir? It's unnatural, Your Majesty."
I could not deny his fears. Elves had long since been wiped from the world. Records regarding them dated over two thousand years ago. So, for her to suddenly speak High Elvish...
Has she perhaps discovered the eternal sword of legend?
No, rumors of that sword say its whereabouts are somewhere in Thornmont, not Drakfjord. And even if she had found it, surely she'd wish for something more ambitious than learning a forgotten language.
"I know it is odd," I said, my tone softer. "But if she proves useful in war, what does it matter? Until she gives me reason to punish her, she remains."
"You favor her," Bastian said bluntly. "That's why you skewed the trial to her advantage."
I let out a low hum of amusement.
"I am merely curious, Captain. Nothing more."
"Is that why you rushed your return from Vrostvale?" Bastian asked. "You've left Princess Griveen to complete the journey on her own."
I glanced at him, my patience waning.
"You overstep, Captain," I said.
The conversation fell silent as we reached the stables. Wraith awaited me and I swiftly mounted my steed.
"Follow if you must," I called to the guards, before spurring the unicorn forward.
We plunged down the serpentine paths of the mountain, leaving the towering shadows of Fortress behind.
The city unfolded below, a living tapestry of light and sound. Banners of green, black, and silver writhed in the wind, their hues darkened by the encroaching storm clouds. The streets were choked with stalls — jewels that glimmered, pastries dusted with sugar, and cauldrons of spiced wine.
But my focus narrowed, drawn to the city's heart where the anomaly Feldor had warned of brooded. Over the square, the skies churned unnaturally, dark and turbulent.
Curious, I dismounted and gestured for my guards.
"Remain quiet," I ordered. "I do not wish to draw attention."
As we neared the square, the atmosphere thickened. A stringed instrument sang a wild melody ahead, accompanied by the murmurs of the crowd.
"It's the goddess!" a child gasped, his voice trembling with awe as he rushed to get a better view.
The word lingered in the air.
Goddess.
Whomever had earned such a name waited ahead.
I raised a hand toward my guards.
"No commotion," I commanded. "I'll see this myself."
The crowd yielded reluctantly, stepping aside with wide, fearful eyes as they slowly recognized me in my armor. With every step closer to the square, the world seemed to narrow, until finally I reached the front of the crowd.
And then I saw her.
This... goddess.
A vielle's wild melody wove around the woman draped in blue, her gown alive with motion that mirrored the roiling clouds overhead. Lantern light kissed her bare shoulders, highlighting the contrast between her delicate frame and the weapon she wielded.
The dagger was unmistakable, its blade catching every stray flicker of light.
I recognized it instantly.
I had given Raincatcher to her.
This was no goddess.
It was Princess Raine Stjorme.
She moved like a tempest given form, each motion a collision of grace and ferocity. Her bare feet skimmed the stones of the square, her body weightless yet brimming with raw, unrestrained energy.
The dagger danced with her, an extension of her arm that sliced through the air in mesmerizing patterns. She spun, leapt, and bent with a precision that seemed to command the charged air around her.
My heart raced as the melody reached a crescendo, and so did she. Her arms rose, the dagger suddenly pulsing with a strange light.
And as her arms fell, so too did the sky.
Rain crashed down in a sudden, violent torrent.
The sky itself seemed to kneel before her dance, unleashing its fury in perfect synchronization with her every move.
At the edges of the square, the crowd stood untouched by the water, as if an invisible barrier had been drawn, marking the boundaries of her dominion.
The downpour consumed her and her alone, darkening her gown until it clung to her frame.
Yet she did not falter.
She reveled in it.
Her grin was a lightning strike, sharp and electric.
The storm elevated her dance into something beyond comprehension. Each step sent water splashing outward, a symphony of liquid and light playing to her rhythm. The dagger in her hand gleamed brighter in the downpour, its edge pulsing with a storm-forged light I'd seen in Drakfjord's gems.
Every motion of her body commanded the storm, the rain twisting and trailing her movements like a loyal servant.
My chest tightened, a slow, burning ache that spread as I watched her. I could not look away, trapped in the pull of her performance. Her control, her beauty, her raw, unrelenting force. It was overwhelming.
And yet felt unexplainably familiar.
Like a memory from a life I am yet to live.
Desire stirred within me, sharp and consuming. The need to claim her, to make her mine, took root like Briarvex's vines, a compulsion as reckless as it was undeniable.
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Raine reached the crescendo of her dance with a final flourish, the dagger slicing upward to catch a single drop of rain. It clung to the blade for a heartbeat, glimmering like a star, before she brought it down in a motion so sharp, so final, it seemed to sever the storm itself.
The rain slowed, falling now in gentle whispers. She stood in the stillness, chest heaving, her face tilted skyward.
And then, she turned, her eyes locking with mine.
There was a flicker there. A moment where she looked at me as though this was the first time our gazes had met.
And perhaps she did not hate me.
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