Page 143 of A Crown of Lies

The guards led them into a disused courtyard. Dry leaves crunched beneath their feet as they walked across it. There was an icy chill in the air that said snow was on its way. Her heart ached at the thought that the first snow might fall without all of them together again. There was a tradition among the Crow commanders to have a feast with the first snow. Even last year’s siege had not prevented them, but this war might.

When they reached the other side of the courtyard, the guards yanked open the doors and held them for Eris as she marched through into a narrow corridor. They led her up a set of wide stairs and turned her to the right, ushering her into the sanctuary.

The cathedral in Ostovan was not nearly as grand as the one in Trinta, or even Brucia’s, but it was a beautiful, large open space, as all the cathedrals to the Eight Divines were. Rows and rows of empty pews stretched through the sanctuary, a purple cloth running between them.

Prince Michal stood at the front of the cathedral, bathed in the sun’s dying light, peering up at the statue of the Mother. He wore the colors of mourning, but the loss did not show on his face or in his posture.

Footsteps echoed loudly through the sanctuary as they approached.

“Every cathedral in the Free Cities is said to have a relic,” Michal said, not tearing his eyes away from the stone-faced Mother and the faceless infant at her breast. “An item touched by one of the Divine during their time here. A piece of the gods left behind for mortals to gawk at and admire. Do you know what Ostovan’s relic is, Your Grace?”

Eris stopped near where he stood. “I don’t recall.”

“A ring. The Mother’s wedding ring, to be exact.” He turned, lifting his left fist. A deep red ruby gleamed in the light. It was attached to an ornate gold band wrapped around his ring finger like a wedding band. He considered it as he took a tentative step toward Eris. “They say it has special powers, namely the ability to protect its wearer against all harm. Meanwhile, the cathedral in Trinta houses the Shadow’s grimoire. Do you know the story about that one?”

“It is a book of forbidden knowledge,” Isaac said, inching closer to Eris, still gripping his sword. “Ancient spells in a black tongue not meant for the hands of men. It is guarded by blind men, deep in the darkest bowels of the cathedral’s most secure vault, because all who look upon the book go mad.”

Michal eyed him with silent caution for a long moment. “I believed the stories, you know. I grew up terrified of the Divine. According to the priests, I am a Morosi, you see. A child born from a corpse. A death omen. The one the Reaper missed. I believed with all my heart that he would return to claim me any day.” He stopped in front of Eris. “But he did not, and so here I stand, having escaped death every day of my life thus far.”

He said it as if it were some great achievement, just being alive.

Eris glared at him, impatient. “Why did you summon me, Prince Michal?”

His mouth turned up. “I haven’t finished my story just yet. Where was I?” He turned his head to the side as if expecting to find someone there, but there was no one else in the cathedral. Just them and the guards. “Ah, yes,” he said, turning back to them. “The grimoire and my ill-fated birth. You see, my mother was Savarran, and all Savarrans have a bit of magic in their line somewhere. I believed myself free of it until very recently when I learned I had a strange and rare gift. They call us Devourers. Do you know what that is?”

“You can eat any written word and recreate it exactly,” Isaac said, clearly unimpressed.

Michal frowned. “Yes, it doesn’t seem very impressive, does it? I certainly didn’t care for the strange talent… Until I remembered the grimoire. Imagine having the power to eat magic and recreate the spells you devour. The possibilities with such a power are endless. All I needed was to get my hands on that book. Thankfully, your agents provided me with the perfect opportunity with all the upheaval they caused in Trinta.”

A chill ran through Eris, and it wasn’t because the cathedral was drafty. Yet she swallowed her unease, ignoring the baby kicking frantically inside of her and asked again, “Why am I here?”

“I am giving you one chance, and one chance only,” Michal said, toying with his ring. “Bow to me. Declare your fealty here and now.”

“Why would we owe you oaths of fealty?” Isaac scoffed.

As he spoke, the doors on the other side of the sanctuary opened. The High Octarian and a member of the Brotherhood entered five Thousand Cuts behind them.

Michal lifted his head as the Octarian closed, declaring, “All hail before Imperator Michal Illiyiv and the First Emperor of the Free Cities, King of Ostovan, Protectorate of the Eight Divines.”

Emperor of the Free Cities?There was no such title! Each of the Free Cities was self-governing and independent. Nothing but a loose alliance held them together.

One that had shattered when Greymark declared its independence from Trinta.

But if Michal had just declared himself emperor of all the Free Cities, then Brucia… Eris swayed in place, reaching to grab Isaac when her knees threatened to give out.

Isaac grabbed her and suddenly they were moving toward the door, pushing their way through the crowd. When they reached it, they found Michal’s guards and the other five Thousand Cuts standing in their way, hands on their swords.

Isaac grabbed his sword, ready to draw it. “Get out of our way.”

“You cannot leave.” Michal called down to them, descending a step. “I haven’t heard your oaths of fealty yet.”

Eris clenched her fists. “Where is your queen?” she asked the Thousand Cuts before her.

The Thousand Cuts’s silence was all she needed to know for certain. Haarima-jaan was dead, and by Michal’s hand.

Eris spat in their faces. “Even a dog knows loyalty!”

A Thousand Cut moved to backhand her, but Isaac brought his sword down, severing his hand before he could.

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