Wrath of the Forgotten: Descendants of the Fall Book II Hodges, Aaron (simple e reader TXT) 📖

had failed Lukys and the Perfugians, had failed his comrades and his wife, even his own son. He would not fail the Goddess.

Finally recovering his breath, he nodded to the guards and started down the corridor. These visits had become his daily habit, the only thing he felt he could do in his weakened state. Little enough, but it was a start, gave him a reason to leave his house each day.

The general’s quarters were in one of Fogmore’s original buildings and therefore was better built than the barracks and mess halls, which soldiers had hastily erected to accommodate the standing army now needed to defend the frontier. Panelled walls kept out the worst of the winter drafts and warmth radiated through the corridor from the brazier he knew would be burning in the general’s office. Despite his age, General Curtis was renowned as a leader who did not back down from a hard day’s work—but neither was he a man to suffer unnecessary discomforts.

Muffled voices carried from adjoining rooms as Romaine strode the length of the hall, the various secretaries and quartermasters of the army already at work. Curtis had not come to be general of the allied armies only for his prowess on the battlefield; it was his administration that kept the mammoth machine of the Flumeeren army running smoothly.

Romaine found the man himself sitting behind his desk, head craned over a stack of papers. Later in the day the general would be amongst the men, overseeing the installation of new defences and checking weapons and armour, or watching battle manoeuvres in the central square. Many questioned why a man so far above the rank and file would bother himself with such trivialities, but those did not understand the nature of soldiers. By working alongside the common soldiers, Curtis had gained a respect few generals could imagine. They would obey his orders without question, trusting he would not send them into danger needlessly.

Unless you were Perfugian, of course.

Anger flared in Romaine’s stomach. Despite his respect for the man, there was no denying Curtis had sent Romaine’s friends to their deaths. But he kept his anger on a short leash. There was nothing he could do for Lukys and the others now. They slept the endless sleep. But he could still help Cara.

“There has still been no news of the Goddess, Calafe,” Curtis said, not looking up from his papers.

The man’s dismissive attitude earned another flare of anger from Romaine. He strode to the desk and placed his palm on the papers. His fingers left a streak of dirt on the white.

“Do you not care?” he hissed.

The general looked up with a sigh. “She is a Goddess, Romaine,” he said. “If she did not wish to go with the Archivist—”

“She would not have left willingly,” Romaine snapped, “not without telling me. You did not see her, after we lost Lukys…”

How could he explain to this man that last look she had given him on the ship? The shared sorrow they had felt, at failing to save their friends. Goddess or no, Cara had been distinctly human in that moment, vulnerable, overwhelmed.

“Calm, Romaine,” the general murmured, leaning back in his seat. “You were delirious on the river. We cannot pretend to know the mind of a God, the reasons why she came to us, nor why she left.”

“She left because the blasted Archivist took her!”

Romaine hammered his fist onto the table to emphasis his point, but the effort only served to steal the breath from him, and instead he was left bent in two, gasping while the general watched on.

“Think rationally,” the general said finally, entwining his hands. “We have had scouts out all week. If they had left the city by land or river, we would know of it. Only the Goddess herself could have stolen them away in such secrecy.”

Romaine scrunched his eyes closed. The general’s calm words made a certain sense, but Romaine knew the truth was different. It was just too convenient that the Archivist would disappear rather than face the consequences of her failure in the south. And Erika had disappeared with the one figure who could answer her questions about the past, about the Gods and their magic. No, something had happened between Cara and Erika. He just needed to—

“The man is right, Curtis,” a voice from the corridor interrupted his thoughts. He swung around as a woman entered the office. “It pains me to admit it, but my Archivist has betrayed us. Yesterday, they passed beneath the walls of the Illmoor Fortress.”

Romaine stood gaping as the woman crossed the room. Head held high and arms clasped behind her back, she walked with a cool confidence. She spoke with a Flumeeren accent, and in a kingdom whose women generally did not march to war, she wore chainmail armour stained scarlet. A sword hung from her belt and she carried a full-faced helm under one arm. Golden wires had been fused to the crown of the helmet, marking her as—

“Your Majesty!” the general exclaimed, stumbling to his feet. “What…how…I did not receive word of your coming?”

A smile appeared on Queen Amina’s lips as she paused beside the general’s desk. “You thought I would remain in Mildeth when the Gods walk the land again?” she asked, one eyebrow arching towards locks of almond hair.

“I…” Curtis trailed off, seemingly lost for words.

Amina tisked. “Though, imagine my disappointment when I learned you had lost one of the Divine.”

Curtis swallowed visibly, but he quickly pulled himself together. “We believed she had left of her own accord, travelling with your Archivist, Your Majesty.”

“I did not take you for a fool, Curtis.” The queen’s words were like acid. “Were your orders not to take the woman into custody the second she returned?”

“I…yes, Your Majesty, but…she said…” He withered beneath the monarch’s glare.

“She said what?” the queen asked. “That you should ignore your queen’s orders? You disappoint me, General.” The queen paced to the rear of the office, where several medals hung