Feel the Burn (Dragon Kin #8)(59)

Talwyn, however, had panicked.

“It seems we have much work to do with this one,” Mingxia noted. She held out her hand, and Talwyn seemed to force herself to take it. The goddess helped her to her feet.

“She’s powerful, your daughter. She saw me in seconds, even though I didn’t reveal myself to her. So, once we get this one up to speed, you two together will be a mighty thing to be feared among the enemies of your world.”

“Good,” Annwyl said, cracking her neck and pushing her stunned daughter out of the way. “Then let’s get started.”

Lady Ageltrude sat in a thick wooden chair, staring out over the night sky. This was her own private place. Her husband had made it for her. This place on top of the keep. He knew how much she loved heights and how important her privacy was to her.

Sadly, only her husband and his soldiers understood the importance of privacy to her.

“Auntie?”

She sighed. “What?”

Her niece came through the door, closing it tightly behind her. She plopped on the ground in front of Ageltrude the way a man would, her back against the short wall, her long legs stretched out in front of her.

“What is it?” Ageltrude asked when her niece didn’t speak.

“What are we going to do?”

“Do about what?”

“They lost him, didn’t they? But he’s not dead. And you said—”

“Don’t remind me,” she quickly cut in, “of what I said and what I didn’t say. My memory is perfect.”

“But you said losing Egnatius would be worth it if he brought us—”

“Again, I know what I said.”

“But we don’t have him.”

“Yes. And my favorite priestess is also dead.” Ageltrude glanced off and muttered mostly to herself, “She had such a high tolerance for pain.”

“How are we supposed to find it, if we don’t have him? You said he was the key. You said if we didn’t have him, we at least had to be sure he was dead. You said—”

She let one of the appendages her god had given her slide out of her back, across the ground, and around her niece’s neck, choking her until she stopped talking. Ageltrude also may have waited longer than necessary, until the youngster’s face turned blue, but she really wanted to get her point across.

When her niece was moments from passing out, Ageltrude released her.

“Are you done?” she asked.

Hands around her throat, her niece nodded, eyes wide in panic.

“Good. Now listen well.” She stood and walked to the wall, standing beside her niece, and staring down at the valley before her. “If there’s one thing I know well, it’s how Gaius Lucius Domitus thinks. He’s weak. Like his worthless sister. But determined.” The wind picked up and she knew a storm was rolling in. “And if there’s one thing he wants more than anything . . . one thing he’ll never stop until he gets . . .” She turned and looked down at her niece, the wind pulling the hood off her head, her iron-colored hair spilling out around her shoulders.

Ageltrude, once called Vateria, pressed her hand to her chest. “It’s me.”

PART TWO

Chapter Eighteen

Eight months later . . .

They locked themselves away behind their thickest doors deep inside their temple. And they stayed inside even after the cries of battle started. They stayed inside when someone banged on the door, begging for help. They stayed inside when blood began to seep beneath the door. They stayed inside even when a cold, brutal silence abruptly descended.

It wasn’t until they knew the suns had come up that they finally unlocked and opened those thick, protective doors.

Their most priceless items remained. Gold statues of their chosen goddess. Silver chalices they used for rituals. Jewel-encrusted clothes they wore during ceremonies remained untouched.

But there was that long line of blood leading from the protective doors, through the temple, and ending up outside.

Together they followed that line until they reached the stairs. That’s where they stopped. Some of the acolytes looked away. Others vomited. Even more dropped to their knees, arms raised, thanking their goddess for protecting them through the night.

But their priestess . . . she knew. It hadn’t been a goddess who’d come to her early in the day to warn her to hide behind those thick doors before suns-down.

It had, however, been a woman. Made of muscle and sinew and a few scars. There was no pity in those eyes that the priestess could see. At first, the priestess thought the whole thing a trick. A trick to get her to leave their temple’s precious treasures untended for anyone to take them. Sell them. Make more than a few pieces of gold.

Now, as she stared out over the organized carnage left behind, she realized that the coldness in those eyes had not been for her or her goddess. But for the men who had come here, the mark of Chramnesind branded into their chests.

It was through those marks that spears had been rammed, pinning the men to the ground, on their knees, lifeless heads lifted toward the suns.

The priestess’s second in command ordered the others to release these men from their vile ends, but the priestess stopped that order.

“You want us to leave them here? Like this? Defiling our temple?”

“They’re not defiling our temple. They’re outside our temple. Have the blood inside cleaned up now, but we’ll burn the bodies later.”