Page 12 of Godsbane
“Ah, but the real question is: do you also want to stop Marks from taking the Amethyst Throne?” I ask, biting down the nerves that skate under my skin. If I’ve misjudged, this could all blow up in my face.
Sunlight fills the streets as merchants and tradespeople begin their morning routines. Murphy circles his mare, turning around to come up beside me and leaning down so only I can hear his hushed words.
“Let me make my position very clear. He may be my commander, but I want Lord General Marks on the throne even less than you do. If you think you hate the gods now, well … let’s just say that hatred would only deepen with him as your king.”
There’s an ire in his gray eyes when he pulls back, a fury that burns for only a moment before he blinks it away. He spins his horse and spurs it ahead on the dirt road that leads back into the Godswood.
I can’t imagine what the holy war was like—what the captain must have experienced leading our armies against an invasion entirely of our own making. Something like that could certainly cause someone to lose their faith in their gods and their commander.
I urge my horse ahead until she catches up with his. Only once we’re safely under the cover of trees and away from prying ears do I say, “Marks is not the kind of man who would stop at king. He wants worshippers, not subjects.”
“You have no idea, princess,” Captain Murphy says, extending his hand.
“Enlighten me then,” I say, passing another tart his way and plucking out one for myself.
Surely as second-in-command he’s been privy to something that can help me convince the other governors to vote with me. I’ll take any information that can guarantee Marks never sits his horrid ass on the Amethyst Throne.
“In time. Why don’t you tell me who you’re planning to put on the throne first?”
“Why don’t you tell me why I should trust you?” I counter.
“Marks hurt someone I love, and if he becomes king, he’ll continue to hurt them. He must be stopped and we’re going to have to work together to do it.”
One look at Murphy’s face and I know he’s telling the truth. The anger that flashed in him earlier is replaced with a sadness that etches deep into the creases around his eyes.
“How’s that for a confession?”
“I’ll take it. But if you fuck me over, Captain,” I warn, “I will have to take you down too. And you don’t want to be my enemy.”
“Noted,” he chuckles. “So … who are we putting on the throne?”
“Sapphire is my first choice. Governor Porter openly rebuked the crusade on Synal and the war that followed, which Marks repaid by ensuring that it was his shores that were invaded instead of Diamond’s. His heir is also strong. Micah could rebuild the region and their capital city of Pathan while his father fixed Corinth.”
“Smart.” Murphy’s brow creases in thought, a smirk forming on his face echoing the idea forming in his mind. “Why not you?” he asks.
“I’m not an option. My father is still alive … for now.” Images of his bloody handkerchief and bone-rattling cough fill my mind.The ache in my heart must be evident on my face, because Murphy wastes no time changing the subject.
“Sapphire is a good choice. I’ll do what I can to help you win Topaz’s vote. Governor Wilson is a dick, but he can be reasoned with or …”
“...bought,” I say.
“...killed,” he says.
The difference in our answers is stark, but it lays bare the unspoken question. I know now how far Captain Murphy will go to keep Marks off the throne, but how far I’ll go remains to be seen.
“Why do you hate the gods?” I ask, placing another tart in his waiting hand. “Rumor says you worship the Dark God. Do you have any love for Death?”
“Do you?” He returns my question with a pointed glare. “If we’re believing rumors, you’re his creature too.”
I don’t tell him how much truth actually lies in the heart of that piece of gossip. While the story was intended to slander me, I am his creature in a way. I have been ever since the sea beast touched me and cursed me that day. The dreams of my demise left behind in its wake have only increased as my secret magic has grown. Images of blood, burning crowns, and running after someone I can never remember—a name I know in my soul that disappears from my memory as soon as consciousness returns.
“Eat your tart,” I snark, trying not to notice the infuriating smile that pulls at his mouth. “I would have bought more if I had known the terrifying Captain of Corinth was planning to eat so many.”
Captain Murphy eats half of the pastry in a single bite. He wipes the filling from the corner of lip with his thumb before cleaning it off with his tongue.
“Should have planned better,” he tsks. “That guy’s a real pig.”
"Wow, we really do have so much in common. I feel the same way about him!” I fake a smile, batting my eyelashes exaggeratingly for added effect.
