Any remaining breath fled my chest as he stilled, turning slowly to his left.
“Child of mine, the mists of madness beckon you.”
Sainte walked toward the center—except it wasn’t Sainte at all. The god might have borrowed my Valahant’s body, but it was Nothar’s eyes that stared our way. Those glowing green orbs held Adastrus in a trance as he dragged his foot off my chest, taking a stumbling step away.
“You’re not a god,” he whispered, horror in his tone.
The room rang with an unnatural, suffocating silence.
“Not your god, but you are my seed, and you will answer my call.”
“I do not answer to you,” Adastrus dared, raising his sword. “You have no right to my reign. You are but a trick of the light, a man with a spell… and I will remove it from you.”
He lunged, quick as a whip, slashing at Sainte. I lifted my hand in warning, but the green eyes didn’t look my way. His body moved with inhuman speed, leaving a verdant glow in his wake. He drew his long daggers, blocking the strike with ease.
“Heed my call, son of my blood.”
Adastrus growled like a cornered animal and danced to the side, striking at Sainte’s exposed flank. He parried with a slash to his chest, forcing him back.
“I answer to no god!”
Something happened as he uttered those words. A ripple of power, waves of raw energy, unseen and unheard, spread from him. His eyes flashed wildly, as if realizing he made a fatal mistake.
“You are a god unto yourself,”Nothar said, his voice deep and rough like grinding stones. He turned, locking that eerie stare on me.
Adastrus seized the moment, attacking with renewed fury. Without looking, Sainte deflected his strike with ease.
“Heed me, daughter of my heart. Answer my call.”
“I…” Blood choked my response, but I grasped onto that faint thread of hope. The gods finally decided to act. “I hear… and answer my father, Nothar.” I coughed, rolling to my side, unable to sit upright.
“Only my seed may rule the land of Wynter.”
A ghost of a smile rode Sainte’s lips as he parried and blocked Adastrus’ blows blindly.
Even from this distance, I saw the panic in my brother’s stare. He denounced his relation to Nothar, calling his vessel a trick of light. He mocked the gods’ power in front of hundreds. In a final, desperate move, Adastrus charged at me.
A jolt of terror surged through me before he let out a quiet gasp, his eyes widening in shock. He stumbled, catching himself on his sword as he doubled over. Sainte’s blade protruded from his stomach. A green thread of unmistakable magic connected my Valahant’s hand to the dagger. When he pulled, the weapon jerked free with a sickening, wet squelch.
With a seething glare of sick hatred, Adastrus crumpled, rolling onto his back with a wheeze.
Sainte stalked over, green eyes flaming. Each step grew in volume, sounding as if the very foundations of the earth were being shaken and shattered. Gritting my teeth, I looked up into his mask of fury, twisted by his own hatred and the disappointment of a god.
“The time has come to cull the weak from the herd,”he rumbled in that eerie voice, then lowered himself to one knee.
His fingers brushed across my cheek. His touch was a chilly spring day with my face to the sun and my belly full—it felt likehome.
“Child…”he said,“heed my call, and I will heed yours.”
With unspoken understanding, his request settled deep within me. He urged me to ascend the throne, to wear the crown with resolve, and fulfill my duty as queen without hesitation or retreat.
“I… accept,” I choked out, hot tears staining my cheeks.
“I have chosen,”he declared, rising to his feet.
Dizziness twisted me as though I was falling, tumbling downward.
“I choose Sainte Nytestorm as my hand, and name Elspeth Wynterborne as my heir.”
