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August 14 - August 18, 2022
Henrik Brandt – King of Khet, Father to Addo Addo Brandt – Prince of Khet. A coward. Garrick Brandt – Henrik’s brother. Commander of the Khetish armies.
Lynn
Vedyr
Rel
Iallo
Chatta
Adrian stood by the window with his back
Jovu would’ve had theories of his own,
but everything had changed when Jovu died, and Adrian was all that was left.
Why had Father sent Jovu into the clanlands in the first place?
They’d followed the Church
o...
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Se...
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Myrra!”
“Jovu had been the leader of the Othonean armies for over a hundred years. He never attacked the clans.
Dignitaries representing the five other nations
King Iridan.”
“Ellana is a high priestess, Father. Her family is the Church.”
“I am your blood, and I am here at your side.” “With Dakhran blood at yours.”
embalmed.
Hypocrites. They wore the mask of piousness, but it was nothing more than fear of losing their so-called blessings. They’d be struggling just the same if their brothers were lying on the pyre.
An alliance presumes trust.” His gaze slid to Myrra again. “Maybe if King Henrik had a daughter, we could consider marriage. It would bring more than your current . . . situation.”
“King Henrik listens to his son, and Addo will listen to me,”
“The Pontiff has sent me a Sentinel, thinks it will help keep me safe.” He snorted. “You should have him. Elwin, I think he was called.” Father walked off, making his way past Derren and back into the palace. The captain looked back at Adrian, nodded, then followed the king. Adrian let out a heavy breath, ignoring the underlying slight in his father’s offer of the Sentinel. He’d listened. He’d shown his usual resistance, but Adrian had sat through enough audiences to know that he would at least consider the idea, and that was the first step in uncovering what Jovu had died for. He turned to
...more
Ultenvell’s empty streets,
Adrian rode past the gates
Khetish c...
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“Lor—ehrm—Prince
The perfect balance of bright and shadow, she’d called it, yet the halls were darker today.
served under you at Sacantha, sir.”
Henrik Brandt lounged on the throne atop deep-green gold-trimmed cushions.
His brother, Lord Garrick, was as tall as Henrik, with twice the bulk and a scar going down the side of his face. He stood beside the throne but did
Addo stood at the bottom of the steps. His balding head was bowed, and his
“So . . .” Lord Henrik’s languid speech was as infuriating as it had ever been. “Iridan could not usurp me himself. . . . He’s sent his pup.”
“Henrik Brandt.” Adrian cleared his throat. “I am here to deliver terms of surrender to the province—”
“Ah, . . . still reeling over your dead Dakhran bitch, I see. Would you like her bones to chew on, little pup?”
Myrra’s whisper. Do it.
Remember why you are here. You need Father. Jovu and Myrra cannot have died for nothing.
The guards were as stiff as the marble pillars, and Addo’s odd, apologetic smile hadn’t changed—aimed at his father, then his uncle. Garrick still stood beside the throne wearing the same blank expression: too blank, almost pale . . . and no armor.
The man’s eyes jumped to Addo,
“So this is how Othonea negotiates terms?” Henrik said. “With lies and scheming?”
You will be annexed as a province of Othonea, paying tribute to the king and tithes to the Church. I’m certain we can come to an agreement on the amount. The more personal terms I have to offer, however, are—”
before Garrick’s dagger plunged into the side of his brother’s neck. A precise stab, quickly in, quickly out, no feeling in
Addo, who averted his eyes.
“What? I know there’ve been attacks, but you’re the high priestess, Ellana.” “I’m just an Othonean, now.”
He’d failed. Adrian would not absolve Khet, even if it had been Elwin—that blasted Sentinel Father had assigned to them—who’d killed her.
Nasha
They’d been born in the village—born Ronar—and hadn’t needed to claw their way from the
“He’s a story, dead as any Sloper taken by the fire in that mountain,” Nasha said.
Embe was shaking his head, and Iallo frowned at her, probably offended by the comparison of the clans’ greatest hero with a Sloper.
