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

“You think me cold,” the queen said after a time. “I cannot deny it. The skill is one I have perfected much over the years, that ability to weigh my decisions without thought to personal sentiment. But then, that is the burden of a monarch.”

“Not to care for the people you rule?” Romaine asked, unable to keep the words to himself any longer.

“To focus on what creates the greatest good for my people, that which will protect the greatest number of lives.”

Silence fell at her words and Romaine couldn’t help but feel a touch of guilt. He said nothing, though. The queen might be forced to justify the death of dozens, or even hundreds, in protection of her nation, but he could not. Would not.

“I suppose she told you of the map?” the queen asked finally. “A shame I listened to her paranoia.” She snorted. “No doubt my rival king will be delighted to know the Archivist escaped with the only copy.”

“I saw the map.” Romaine hesitated. “I do not recall much of its details.”

“Nor I, sadly,” the queen replied. “Though there was one site…”

“The home of the Gods?” Romaine nodded, recalling the scarlet star that had marked the secret location, deep in the mountains east of Calafe. “Something a man isn’t likely to forget.”

“Yes, it would be quite the discovery,” the queen said, turning her head in the direction of those distant peaks. “I fear that is the reason Nguyen chooses now to act against me.”

“You cannot think he would be so bold as to break the prohibition?” No human had set foot in the Mountains of the Gods for centuries—or at least, none that had lived to tell the story.

The queen’s eyes remained distant, even as she spoke. “It is one of several eventualities I am considering,” she mused. Then she blinked, returning her gaze to Romaine. “Assuming your Goddess is her prisoner, where do you think the Archivist would go, should she be given the choice?”

Romaine hesitated, remembering the fervent glint that had come over Erika’s gaze when she spoke of the Gods and their power. A shiver ran down his spine as he realised the truth.

“If she were desperate enough…” He swallowed. “If the king allowed it, you’re right, she would make for the home of the Gods. There are no other sites left to explore, other than a handful deep in the southern territories of the Tangata.”

Amina sighed. “Yes, that is as I thought.” She shook her head. “No matter. With luck, we will have both the Goddess and my Archivist returned before the king can make his move.”

Romaine’s stomach twisted, though he wasn’t sure it was for the hope of Cara’s return, or the prospect of an approaching war between the kingdoms. Before he could find the words to reply, movement came from the entrance to the tent, and a man appeared between the flaps.

“Amina,” the newcomer said informally, then hesitated at the sight of the two of them by the brazier. “Didn’t realise you had company.”

A frown touched Romaine’s forehead as the man stepped closer to the light. His clothes were mud-stained and there was a weariness about his face that spoke of a long journey. He wore a rough-spun cotton tunic rather than the red uniform of a Flumeeren soldier. The guards outside must have recognised him though, for they had admitted him without commotion, despite the longsword he wore at his waist. The handle of a crossbow also hung over his right shoulder. A broad grin split the man’s face as he looked from the queen to Romaine, though he did not speak whatever unseemly thoughts might have generated it.

“Yasin,” the queen said in greeting, rising from her chair. “I hadn’t thought you would arrive until morning.”

“We rode for three days straight after I got your message, my lady,” Yasin replied, falling into a half-bow that seemed more mocking than respectful.

Romaine’s frown deepened and he found himself reaching for the hilt of his own sword. The newcomer did not miss the movement. He straightened, feet slipping into a defensive stance, though his hands did not stray near his blade. Romaine froze, shifting his gaze to the man’s face. He still wore the mocking grin, but there was a hardness to the sky-green eyes now. Whatever the man’s outward appearance, this Yasin was a warrior.

Silence hung over the tent as the two regarded each other, until the queen stepped between them.

“Enough of that,” she snorted, waving a hand. “Romaine, this is Yasin, captain of my…private security. Yasin, this is Romaine, soldier of Calafe.”

The two warriors eyed each other for a moment longer, before Romaine finally nodded and took his hand from the sword hilt. A trickle of despair touched him as he realised how little good the weapon would have done him anyway. The weapon was unfamiliar in his hand. Even his greater size and reach would not have meant much against an expert swordsman—and Romaine had no doubt the queen only employed the best. Silently, he resolved to start practicing from that night onward.

“Thank you for the drink, Your Majesty,” Romaine said finally, “it was a rare treat. But I will bid you goodnight. My injuries still bother me, and I must rest if I am to be any use to you in the coming days.”

The queen smiled. “Of course, Calafe, rest well.”

Nodding his thanks, Romaine strode past the two and out into the night—though not before he caught a soft snort of laughter from Yasin. Anger flared in Romaine’s stomach but he ignored the man. He was in no position to fight the man, or any other. No, he needed to regain his strength, and his skill.

Clenching his fist, he breathed in the night air. Then he strode into the night, seeking Lorene. If the man truly wanted to redeem himself for not travelling south, he could volunteer as Romaine’s sparring partner.

8

The Soldier

Fear shone in the woman’s eyes as she tore herself