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The Crocodile God’s temple was one of the grandest in the temple district. Made of white sandstone that glowed in the bright sun, it rose in tiers, each level adorned with columns and carvings that depicted Sobek-Ra’s power and majesty. A golden spire glittered at the very top, and two massive, intricately carved crocodile statues flanked the entrance. Making my way through the crowd of people gathered in the temple courtyard, I braced myself for some kind of violent display, expecting to see the high priest being dragged out of his temple.
What I didn’t expect was to see a contingent of soldiers surrounding the perimeter of the temple.
“What is the meaning of this?” High Priestess Anuket demanded, addressing what appeared to be the highest-ranking soldier of the group. They wore gold and purple armor, with a sigil of a river snaking between two mountains stamped on their breastplates. “Why are you shielding High Priest Inatol from the scales of justice?”
“Because meting out justice is the responsibility of the government,” the soldier said. “We have already taken the High Priest into custody, as well as the so-called avatar of Sobek-Ra, and their supporters. There will be a trial in one week’s time, which the King Ramsenan will preside over.”
“The God-King himself?” a familiar voice asked, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Nysa standing there. Relief swept over me at the sight of a familiar face in this sea of chaos. “That’s a rare occurrence—he rarely involves himself in such affairs.”
“God-King?” I repeated. “What does that mean?”
“Right, you wouldn’t know.” Nysa said. “King Ramsenan and his fathers before him are descendants of Montu-Ra. He is the god of sun and war, and the most powerful deity in our religion, so we refer to him as the God-King.”
“And is he really a God-King, then?” I asked, pitching my voice low so that the others wouldn’t hear. “Or is it… you know… like the situation here?”
“I’m not sure,” Nysa admitted. “But he does command the skies. That’s why our crops are so fertile here in the desert. He brings the rains which allow the river to overflow, bringing the rich black sand we plant our crops in.”
“Interesting,” Quye said. Behind us, the priests were still arguing with the soldiers, but since the high priest and the dragons weren’t here, I only listened to them with half an ear. “Do you find him to be a just king?”
“I would like to think so,” Nysa said, glancing at the temple. “But I wouldn’t say the king is a neutral party in this situation. He and Inatol have been at odds these last few years, as the Crocodile priest’s power and influence has become dangerously close to rivaling his own. If I were a betting woman, I would put money on him using this situation to get rid of Inatol and the dragons altogether.”
“This isn’t good,” I said to Quye. “We can’t let the God-King kill the high priest or the dragons. We need to be at the trial.”
Quye raised an eyebrow, her gaze fixed over my shoulder. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”
I turned around just in time to see four of the soldiers marching toward us. My palms grew sweaty, and I grabbed Quye by the elbow, trying to drag her into the crowd so we could disappear. But the crowd, seeing the soldiers coming their way with spears in hand, parted before we could take more than two steps, leaving us directly in their line of sight.
“You.” One of the guards jabbed his spear at us, nearly poking me in the chest. “Come.”
“Why?” Panic rose inside me, and I glanced around, looking for the moon goddess priestess. But she’d already left, along with the others.
The guard said something to me in his language, and I shook my head, feeling helpless. “He says that the God-King commands that you attend the trial, since you are persons of interest,” Nysa translated for us. “They will take you to the palace, where you will be kept until the trial for your safety.”
“This isn’t what I had in mind when I said we needed to be at the trial,” I growled at Quye.
She shrugged. “The universe doesn’t always give us what we need in the exact manner we ask for,” she said. The guards surrounded us, and we reluctantly allowed them to herd us away from the temple and back toward the main city. “All we have to do is survive a week in the palace without being assassinated by any of the high priest’s co-conspirators.” She winked at me. “How hard could it be?”
17
Einar
As I suspected, the royal palace was also destroyed, reduced to ash and rubble by King Aolis and his soldiers. However, though the fae had burned the aboveground structures, it seemed they cared very little about the foundations of the palace… or the treasures that lay beneath.
“Here we go,” I grunted, moving a giant slab of wall away to reveal a staircase. If memory served, this stairwell led to the royal library’s archives—those many books and scrolls considered too precious to be stored in the main library above. Conjuring a fireball to light my way, I descended the staircase, stopping several times to clear the rubble away.
There were three levels built below the main palace—the cellars, where food and wine were stored, the dungeons, and then at the very bottom, the archives. I stopped off at the first level to see if I could salvage any of the food stores, and a trio of shadow creatures ambushed me. Swearing, I slayed them with my sword, then burned the carcasses before continuing on. There hadn’t even been anything worth eating—the creatures had devoured all the pickles and preserves, and the seals on the wine casks had been compromised, spoiling the contents.
“What I wouldn’t do for a drink right now,” I muttered. I did a sweep of the dungeons and killed another two shadow creatures lurking there, then made my way to the lowest level, bracing myself for another attack.
But it seemed the shadow creatures possessed no love for dusty books and scrolls. That, or perhaps there was some other magic at work down here, protecting the precious literature and keeping the shadows at bay. Whatever it was, I whispered a grateful prayer of thanks to the Radiants as I made my way into the cavernous space, careful not to let my fireball touch anything. Spying a torch in the bracket next to the entrance, I lit it, then used it to light the sconces set at intervals along the walls. The tiny flames flickered in the darkness, illuminating the rows of bookshelves and tables. The shelves cast long shadows across the stone floors, and though nothing stirred, I couldn’t help feeling there was a haunted quality about the place—the ghosts of the past watching as I walked between the shelves, looking for the answers they’d taken with them to the grave.
I cleared off one of the study desks, then scanned the shelves, looking for any books about the early history of my people. An hour later, I'd piled the desk with yellowed scrolls and fragile, leather-bound volumes—the oldest texts I could find.
I sat down to read, and the next few hours passed in a blur of history and legends—family trees and tales of epic battles, noble warriors, and wise leaders. It seemed that not all of the fae had been hostile to us—we’d invited a few exiles to seek refuge in Hearthfyre, in exchange for using their magic to help us maintain the lands. One of the early dragon princes had even married a fae, though the two had borne no children. I frowned at that… did that mean Adara and I wouldn’t have children? But no, Adara herself was proof that dragons and fae could produce offspring.
A wave of fierce longing blazed through me, and I closed my eyes, pressing a hand to my chest. Adara and I had only been separated for a few days, but I missed her with every breath I took. I wondered how she was doing, if she’d found Ylena yet, and how my people had received her. I’d sent a letter along with her for Ylena’s eyes only—Daryan’s sister would recognize my handwriting, and the letter would explain Adara’s parentage and her status as my future mate. Ylena would be suspicious, of course—Adara had no dragonlike features, after all—but she wouldn’t deny Adara help if I asked on her behalf. Not after the sacrifice I’d made for them all.
Shaking my head, I pushed the thought of Ylena from my mind and refocused my aching eyes on the text in front of me. The handwriting was cramped and tiny, written by a dragon scholar over two millennia ago who had interviewed the oldest dragons alive at the time. I suspected this wasn’t the original copy—there was no way these yellowed pages had survived that long, even in the archives—but I still handled the pages with care as I read.
