Blood of the Goddess Book I: The Locust King
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Locusts at the Gate Chapter 2: A New Name Chapter 3: The Capital Prepares Chapter 4: The Princess is Dead, Long Live the Princess Chapter 5: Outside the Gates Chapter 6: Inside the Black Tent Chapter 7: Surrender at the Temple Chapter 8: The Cult of the Locust Chapter 9: The Locust's Tenets of Faith Chapter 10: Mourners on the Cliff Chapter 11: The Eye of Betrayal Chapter 12: The Dead King's Bedchamber Chapter 13: The Arms of the Goddess Chapter 14: Zayaan of the Narim Chapter 15: The Eyes of the Priestess Chapter 16: A More Permanent Disguise Chapter 17: Tribute Chapter 18: Sacrifice of the New Moon Chapter 19: The Lost Bird Chapter 20: Manah and the Priestess Chapter 21: Desert Creatures Chapter 22: Become the Swarm Chapter 23 The Price of Betrayal Chapter 24: Life Under the Locust Chapter 25: Wild Rose Chapter 26: The Lady Wren Chapter 27: Thought and Desire Chapter 28: The Lady's Captivity Chapter 29: The Wine Maiden Chapter 30: End of Childhood Chapter 31: The Children of Aisha Chapter 32: The Forest Runner Chapter 33: Three Sisters Chapter 34: The Hunt Chapter 35: Bones in the Forest Chapter 36: Lullaby Chapter 37: The Hunter's Horn Chapter 38: Ways Between Ways Chapter 39: Morning Star Chapter 40: A Prophecy for Baraz Chapter 41: Equinox Fires Chapter 42: The Lord Prince Takri Chapter 43: Evening Star Sets Chapter 44: Chaos in the Courtyard Chapter 45: Dasha Chapter 46: Memories Chapter 47: The Body Slave Chapter 48: Caged Beasts Chapter 49: Message from the Capital Chapter 50: Heresiarch Chapter 51: The Color of Blood Chapter 52: Winter Winds Chapter 53: The Bookmaker's Closet Chapter 54: Wrapped in Dignity and Beauty Chapter 55: Vessel of the Goddess Chapter 56: Cracks in the Walls Chapter 57: Two Brothers Chapter 58: The Court of Women Chapter 59: Favored of the King Chapter 60: The Sweetest Fruit Chapter 61: Daughter of the Temple Chapter 62: A Nation of Bastards Chapter 63: The Lute Player Chapter 64: Aisha's Prayer Chapter 65: Promises Chapter 66: Lives Lost Chapter 67: The Tea Maker Chapter 68: Object of Desire Chapter 69: Empty Shelves Chapter 70: Darkness and Light Chapter 71: The Love of Men Chapter 72: The Cursed Ones Chapter 73: Hiding Places Chapter 74: Old Men's Tales Chapter 75: False Prophecies Chapter 76: The Lord Prince Radu Chapter 77: Love Becomes Life Chapter 78: Mistress and Mother Chapter 79: A Test of Strength Chapter 80: The Strigoi-Viu Cometh Chapter 81: Scraps from the Table Chapter 82: A Fool's Errand Chapter 83: The Little Ghost Chapter 84: Stolen Honeycakes Chapter 85: Breathe Chapter 86: Beneath the Palace Chapter 87: Red Pebbles Chapter 88: Common Men Chapter 89: Love and Duty Chapter 90: Nightmares Chapter 91: Earth and Sun Chapter 92: Love and Creation Chapter 93: Until My Last BreathChapter 12: The Dead King's Bedchamber
Mahleck had assumed ownership of the late King’s chamber upon his arrival at the palace. The purple and silver of the King’s colors and the hawk’s head motif of the royal house had already been stripped from the room and replaced by the red and gold of the Locust King. The golden locust adorned the bed linens and wall hangings now.
The Queen’s eyes took in all of these changes, but when she closed her them, she could smell the scent of her husband as though he was next to her.
Pytr.
Serving women from the Swarm’s camp surrounded her, faces shadowed by the sheer veils they wore to hide their eyes from view. They moved silently about the room. Queen Mila knew they were there to keep her from throwing herself from the balcony rather than attend to her needs.
Would Irinya end up like one of these shadows? Barely alive, not even human? Goddess, please... Let these choices I have made be the right choices. Let her life be spared, but not to become a shade like these poor women.
There was a delicate cough at her side. “Milady, if I may be of service?” whispered the servant, holding out her hand where only the Queen could see it. The shade held a small silver dagger. The Queen took it and hid the knife in the folds of her gown.
“Thank you, child,” whispered the Queen.
The shade bowed low and backed away until she joined the other servants.
These women may not be as weak as they appear. And now neither am I, thought the Queen.
Mila studied the faint lights of the city below her. She could see the courtyard of the Temple, illuminated from within by a large bonfire. A bonfire mirrored on the other side of the mountain by the funeral pyre. The flames stained the sky on either side of her. Somewhere in the Temple her daughter was hidden among the many daughters of the Goddess while another’s body was burnt to ash before the catacombs.
Irinya had lived a pampered life surrounded by servants and doting teachers, never experiencing hardship. But no one in this sheltered country had ever experienced anything that could be called true hardship. The land was (until now) protected from the outside world by its natural barriers. It was fruitful and easily coaxed to bring forth everything they needed, whether meat from the abundant game, the fish that swam in the mountain streams, flocks of sheep and goats, or fruit from the orchards and berry bushes. The Lady had done well in bringing this land from out of the desert sands to sustain Her descendants. But Her people had become soft and weak like coddled children.
When the Queen turned back to the room, her face was stained with tears. As she blinked them away, she realized she was alone. The veiled women of the Swarm had left the room.
Is this trickery? Do they think I will take the knife and end my misery? It would be easier if I threw myself from the tower. But I will not leave this life like a coward. I will stand and fight, even though our nation cannot. I shall. I will wait, and he shall die before I take my last breath.
She sat down on her husband’s bed. His scent enfolded her like an embrace. She lay down upon the pillows that once cradled his head and breathed deeply. In a moment, she was asleep.
“I trust you have regained your composure since last we saw each other, my lady.”
It was Mahleck. Her heart dropped. She sat up, keeping the dagger hidden in the folds of her gown. He stood in front of the window, the morning sun streaming in behind him.
“I had a conversation with the High Priest Baraz that might be of interest to you, my lady, if you would care to hear it. It may offer you some solace in your time of grief,” said Mahleck.
“What news have you, dear King?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling.
“I have given orders that a bath be prepared from your country’s famous heated springs. You have had a very trying time, and you have been so very brave. I am prepared to forgive you for your earlier outburst.”
“What news?” she asked again.
“First, let us prepare for our bath, my lady,” he said. “I am very fond of bathing. Perhaps you would help me disrobe?”
Her stomach turned, but this was the opportunity she needed. She would sink the knife into his side. He would die. She watched him walk across the room to the entrance of the King’s bathing chamber. The way he moved reminded her of the desert cat her husband had brought to court as a gift from the Narim - Princess Lilua’s people - the thought of the young princess reduced to a cowering concubine of this evil man steeled her resolve. She followed him to the baths, her head meekly lowered in submission while she gripped the hilt of the knife hard enough it hurt.
Fragrant wood walls framed the windowless bathing chamber. A cistern carved from solid marble was set into the floor, fed by a small water pipe from the hot springs below the castle. Steam filled the room, obscuring the far wall. At the opposite end of the room from the bedroom entrance another carved wooden door cleverly designed with a wooden screen allowed no view from the other side. Servants of the castle used this small room as an entrance for preparing the bath without disturbing the King’s rest. But on this day, the sound of lute music wafted from behind the screen - the same song she had heard from the black tent.
Lilua.
“Help me disrobe, my lady. Or does the thought of seeing me frighten you?” asked Mahleck.
“I am not frightened. What news do you have for me, dear King?”
She hid the knife in her belt as she helped him remove the black leather jerkin, and then his boots. She unlaced his black linen shirt and pulled it over his head. His skin bore no scars. No war wounds. His skin was completely unblemished, as the skin of a minstrel or untrained squire.
“I had words with the High Priest Baraz after you fell asleep. He informed me it was not your princess that cremated last night,” Mahleck said in a calm voice. He leaned forward as she fumbled with the laces of his breeches with shaking hands, whispering in her ear, “The body’s hands were calloused with work. Her fingernails were broken and had the filth of a street child underneath them. And when her golden hair was pulled from her scalp and examined, the roots were found to be black.”
Terror gripped her. He knows. She reached for the dagger at her belt.
“Your daughter lives, my lady. Does this not please you?” She could feel his hot breath on her ear. His tone was mocking.
Her fingers curled around the handle of the knife, and she plunged it between his ribs, burying it to the hilt.
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