The Bastard Heirs: Riverda Rising, #2

By Helen Rygh-Pedersen

The sundered islands of Riverda are dying. The earth magics that protected and sustained them before the Rivening are unbalanced; dwindling in some areas while stifling others. Refugees flee to find a better future, most heading for the nearly unscathed island of Felisted… but not all is as perfect as it seems.

On the eve of her wedding to the future emperor, Kalla is kidnapped along with many innocent Felitians by hideous flaming demons. She must find a way to survive in her harsh new surroundings and she will do whatever it takes, but is she willing to pay the price?

Meanwhile, her beloved vows to retrieve his bride against the odds and the wishes of his father. As the old ruler weakens and Nerosus begins his plan of ridding the empire of magic, he enters into a power struggle with his sister for control of the Felitian people. He has brute force and fear on his side, while she has a voice from the shadows, a secret from the past and the very thing he despises; magic. Will his love of power outstrip the power of love or will he set the world alight with his passion for both?

The Bastard Heirs is a companion novel to Waking Ursa Minor. Whilst you do not need to have read Waking Ursa Minor first, it is advisable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Helen Rygh-Pedersen
• Release date: Feb 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9788293831167

Book preview

Prologue

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Death flew over Felis, but nobody seemed to notice. No one but the aged, creased old hag, hobbling through the blackened streets. Only she looked up, as she made her way down from the palace on the hill back to her cave, to see the winged ship hover and settle just beyond the city wall. No, they were all too far gone in their cups, celebrating the birth of the heir to the Empire. He’d come into the world that morning after a marathon labour that had lasted over three days. The Oracle had been summoned to help the mother’s exhausted soul to the Shadowlands, but as soon as the wretched thing was out of her, she’d bounced back as if the foetus had been sapping her will to live.

The gnarled old woman shuddered as she remembered how quietly the heir had come into the world. She and the midwives had assumed it dead, but he had simply lain there, stretching and shivering at the sudden space beyond the womb. As he had blinked in the light of that winter morning, the Oracle could have sworn he’d looked directly at her and narrowed those tiny blue eyes. It was probable that it was a mere trick of the light, as everyone knows newborns are basically blind. Yet when he was passed into her leathery hands, her fingers bent and curled in on themselves from age, he took her in, tilted his head to the side and screamed.

The wind blew in from the north, sending a few scurries of snow across the crone’s path and she pulled her shawl closer, reaching along the walls of the villas that lined the street to find her way home. Her eyes may have been the white of the Forever Fumed, but most didn’t know she could actually see, so it was best to keep up appearances. Besides, she was flagging. The sense of foreboding that had fallen when she’d held the babe had hung around her all day, bearing her down. And now, as she looked up at where the ship had been, she sighed. She’d have to deal with its captain, too.

Finally, the smooth walls of the houses and shops turned into the hacked stone that signalled the entrance to her cave. Even if she had been blind, she would have found her way by scent. The Fumes were strong here, right by the source in her own abode, but also coming out of the taps in the many Fume bars that were popping up in this part of town. She scowled and let out a small hiss as she passed one such establishment, the sound of merriment from within so at odds with her frantic scuttle. Sacrilegious, it was. What the emperor had been thinking in allowing the sale of the sacred smoke... she would never know. But now was not the time to think about that. Now, it was time to confront Death.

He was already sitting by the carved stone table when she hobbled in and shook the thickening snow off her robes. He looked bored and was pressing down on the buttons that released the Fumes as if it were a toy.

Must you waste them so? she croaked. She tried to straighten and place her hands on her hips, but her hunched back simply wouldn’t allow it, so she crossed her arms under what remained of her sagging breasts.

Death didn’t look up, but she could see by the blue light of the safety lamps that he had, in fact, heard her. He crinkled his brow, making the weather-browned skin of his forehead crease into deep ridges.

She plodded over and grabbed his upper arm with her talon-like fingers. You’re in my seat. Shift it. This old lady needs to sit down.

Death finally looked up and raised a bushy eyebrow, the haywire whiskers of his beard twitching as he spoke. You are seven hundred years my junior, Oracle. He paused and rose slowly, towering over her, letting his eyes roam and take her all in. But you look — he leant forward and sniffed, crinkling his nose with offence — and smell about ten times older. He raised a hand and ran his dirty fingers over the large white balls around her neck — the eyes of her predecessors. You’ll be adding yours to the collection soon, no doubt.

The Oracle swatted his hand away and plonked herself onto her chair with a groan. Sooner than I would like... Her voice was a low growl. She remembered how that babe had looked at her. He had reeked of her end and left an oily feeling on her hands. Absentmindedly, she wiped her them on her gown.

The man before her raised another eyebrow at her action. As if that would clean them! Her robes were stained by years of Fumes, piss and grime from the city. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken it off... The Fumes had been making her forget more and more these days. Another sign her time was almost up.

I take it you saw the child, then? I’ve heard of nothing else since I landed. A new baby... how wonderful. Of course, I am more interested in the revelry that comes with it — the drinking, the brawling, the souls I can take before the night is out... He leant forward, flicking his long, only-just-greying hair over his broad seaman’s shoulders and propping his elbow on the button of the Fume taps. As they burst into the space between them, unlocking the voices within, he made sure his question was heard. But tell me, what of the Taikez? Are the walls still strong? Is he still bound?

The Oracle lurched into a spasmodic rigidity as she was questioned in the presence of the Sacred Smoke. Her eyes rolled back into her head and her consciousness left her body, floating in the heaving swell of the earth magic. Images flashed before her eyes, and an icy wind reached towards her, chilling her to her core. For several moments she was lost in the vision but when she spoke, her voice was heavy and mechanical, two-toned as if someone else was speaking through her.

"The stones crack and from within,

He reaches past his grave,

Revenge is strong on humankind,

Whom he swears he will enslave..."

Her organ-pipe voice trailed off, and she was about to lose herself in the river of Fumes again when the middle-aged man who had lived a thousand lifetimes grabbed her hands, his nails digging into her papery flesh.

When? How?

The voice of prophecy spoke again.

"When the Aether is spread too thin,

And half of Riverda burns,

Two brothers, I see, and made of fire,

Are cause for great concern."

Death dug his nails deeper, and the Oracle was aware of her weak, mortal form whimpering, not just with pain, but from fear at what she was seeing. Speak more clearly.

"The ages new are over,

The diamond will be sewn,

By blue hair and bastard heirs,

The spirit finds his bones."

Suddenly, the overpowering force that had controlled the old woman departed, and she leant between her knees to vomit violently. Not even rising, she felt with her fingers and pressed down the hidden knob in the intricate carving to shut off the vapours.

She wiped the ichor from her mouth with a shaking and bloody hand, and sat up to stare at the man who had flown in on his airship. He had taken out a chipped clay pipe and stuck it in between his teeth. She was not sure which would break first, so forcefully was he grinding them.

Yet again, you speak in fucking riddles. He slammed his hand onto the table, making her jump. Why can you bitches never give a simple fucking answer?

You know we are not in control of the words that are spoken through the Fumes; we are just a vessel, but... Her voice shook a little and she swallowed. I can tell you there is something in them... something that shouldn’t be there, dark and dirty, like oil. Never once in my years as seer have I felt scared in the Smoke. She shivered. Whatever it was is angry.

The sky sailor rose, tucking his thumbs into his wide leather belt, and sucked on the pipe stem. You know very well who it is... and so do I.

He let out an angry hiss and threw his pipe against the hacked stone wall of the cave. It shattered into fine white powder and as the dust settled, the Oracle looked up at him from under sagging eyelids.

That is all I can tell you, Than. Now... She extended a shaking, liver-spotted hand to the mouth of the cave. Haven’t you got some souls to suck to keep you looking so young?

Death, whose name was Than, scowled and clicked his teeth. Something from the shadows scuttled forwards and climbed up his body. The creature wrapped its tail around his neck, tucked its wings in and cocked its hook-beaked head to the side.

Until the next time, when I hope you have something more useful to disclose.

He didn’t say anything else, but strode from the cave, his tall leather boots clacking on the stone floor.

The Oracle sat for a moment after he had gone before raising her withered hand again and waving it softly. Her eyes were moist with the gunk that comes with age and, to her surprise, tears at the thought of never seeing him again. Unbidden words slithered from her lips.

"As earths collide and oceans rise,

The sleeping prince awakes... She shook her head sadly. Hold fast ye hybrid scion... hold fast."

Chapter 1

Guests of Honour

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The orb of molten gold hung heavy in the sky, melting its way slowly down the pink and blue dusk towards the hazy horizon. An honour guard of cawing gulls met the small ship that bobbed gently on the waves as it sailed towards the city smeared up the hillside. On the creaking deck, passengers crowded together to crane their necks at the land that offered them hope of a new life. Many crammed to the bow, as if the further forward they could shove themselves towards the front of the vessel, the faster it would move. They were encouraged to do so, equalling out the weight of the passengers seated at the stern.

At first glance, one might have mistaken them for a pile of rocks until the figure of a child sprang to the railings. Wide, heavy feet smashed their way eagerly across the groaning planks, causing a cry of caution from the sailors. The largest portion of the rock pile raised a hand and rose to calm his child. The man, seemingly carved from a boulder the size of a small house, stood slowly, aware of his incredible size and weight and what that could do to the overpopulated vessel. He reached out a wagon-sized hand and scooped up the excited girl, swinging her up onto his moss-covered shoulders so she could see better.

Pappa! Pappa! We’re nearly there! she squealed, rocking forwards in delight, her diamond eyes gleaming.

Yes, yes, we are. Soon, we’ll be back on dry land, off this damned ocean and starting our new life.

The girl giggled, but then wrinkled her deep eyebrows with a slight crunch. But why here, Pappa? We’ve sailed past hundreds of islands that were a lot nearer...

Her mother reached up and placed a boulder-sized hand on her leg. Granita... we’ve been through this before. The emperor here is a friend of our kind, a friend to all magic, and grants us safe passage. That’s why most of these people are on this ship, people from all over the isles of Riverda. Here we can be free from persecution, free from those who—

A swift glance from her husband silenced her, his ruby eyes glinting in the sunset. Their daughter finished her sentence, regardless. From those who wish to harvest our heartstones.

The large family sat in silence for a moment as the dock floated ever nearer. Sailors ran about in a hurry, lowering sails and shooing refugees out of the way. The scent of fish guts and bilge water hit the passengers as they crowded the gangplank that clattered onto the grimy port walls. However, a troop of leather-clad soldiers and a small, tonsure-headed man with a wax tablet stopped their mass exodus.

The guards rammed the butts of their pikes into the deck in unison three times, ordering silence. The nervous crowd complied instantly.

The man with the tablet wiped a handkerchief over his perspiring brow before illuminating his flabby face with the most engaging smile he could muster in the oppressive heat. Friends, allies and, dare we say it, future countrymen — it is with great pleasure I welcome you to Felisted. We know many of you have had arduous, nay, treacherous journeys to get here. Many of you have been forced from your homes by famine, drought or warfare. Whatever the reasons, please know that you are safe now.

The motley crowd of people and beasts cheered, some wept and clasped their hands to the skies. Their relief was overwhelming. The man signalled to the guards to tap their pikes on the deck once more.

Before we can let you disembark, however, there are some formalities to take care of. We need the names and former lands of everyone; in turn, you will be given a token. This token symbolises which of the new settlements we have assigned you to. Please make your way to the corresponding wagons in the dock there. They will take you to your final destination where you will be met with food, shelter and land of your own. I am sure you are all as eager to be on your way and out of this heat as I am, so please, if you would, form a line.

The stone family waited, edging forward and spreading their weight as the lighter occupants of the vessel made their way onto dry land with their tokens. Finally, it was their turn.

The balding man, who had until now been staring incessantly at his tablet, looked up with an almost inaudible yelp. He recovered swiftly from his surprise and plastered his official smile on his flabby cheeks again.

My, my. Kivims! Not seen too many of your kind this way. No trouble on the Kape, I hope?

The woman snorted. If there wasn’t trouble, we wouldn’t be here. The only reason you’ve not seen many is because people don’t want us on their boats. Too heavy.

The man swallowed. And yet here you are; a mercy indeed. Names?

The stone man bowed. My name is Corun Soløy of Kape and this is my wife, Kunzite, and daughter, Granita. The human scribbled away. He reached into one of many pouches at his waist and pulled out three stone discs. A circular symbol with a line through its centre was carved into it.

One for you, one for you, and... He meant to bend down to coo at the child, only to find she stood at his own somewhat diminished height. And one for you.

The girl beamed as he dropped the disk onto her outstretched palm. As her mother fussed and took her token from her for safekeeping — after all, it was such a tiny thing, she was sure to lose it — the human looked up at Corun, eyebrows furrowed. He cleared his throat and stood in their way as they moved to disembark.

If you would be so kind as to wait one moment longer. I have a proposition for you, Mr Soløy.

Corun, please. His low rumble shook the boards beneath their feet.

The man inclined his head and smiled again. Very well, Corun. How would you like to earn some money on your first day here? There is a particular job that we could use someone of your, he paused, strength.

The Kivim shook his head. I’m sorry. I just want to get settled with my family. We have been travelling for many months now and just want to be together and safe.

Oh, I quite understand. Your wife and charming daughter are more than welcome to make their way to the settlement and wait for you there, but you have the chance of earning... He chuckled as he unfastened a large clanking purse from his belt. A rather substantial amount of money, which, after all, you will need to set up your new life. He jangled the heavy pouch before them, opened its thongs and poured large gold and silver coins into his hand. There’s another pouch like this for you when the job is done. Here, your wife can take this one now.

He replaced the coins and pulled the thongs together with a zip of friction.

Corun and Kunzite took a step back and conversed in the tongue of their ancestors, a series of low creaks and clicks.

Corun, please, let’s just go to the settlement. We can find work when we get there. I don’t want to lose sight of you.

I know, my love, I want us to be done with this infernal journey too, but we will need their coin to be successful here. I know it’s only scraps of metal to us, but here, in this new world, it is what success is made of. Besides, it’s only one more night. You two go ahead and I will meet up with you tomorrow.

Kunzite trembled ever so slightly. You’re sure you trust them?

The stone man raised his enormous hand and cupped her cheek in it. Why shouldn’t I? We are welcome here. The emperor himself has vouched for the safety of any magical refugee on his soil.

He kissed her gently. I love you. Now go and get our daughter on that wagon before she falls asleep standing up and can’t be moved.

Kunzite nodded, wiping away a gemstone tear. A nearby sailor gasped and grovelled on the deck to find the sapphire that had rolled from her eye.

Granita, Pappa just has to stay and do some work. Corun lifted his daughter effortlessly in his arms and almost crushed her with a hug, Now, be good for Mamma, do everything you’re told and I will see you soon. I love you.

I love you too, Pappa, she called back over her shoulder as her mother ushered her towards the remaining wagon on the dock and its alarmed driver.

Corun turned back to the man with the tablet. Now then, where’s the job at?

The man beamed and stretched out his arm. Please, follow the guards and we will soon be at our location.

The Kivim placed a worried hand on his shoulder as lightly as he could, but the man still baulked at the weight of it. And this won’t take long?

Not long, no, his voice hissed out through his strained lungs. He gasped at the sudden rush of oxygen as the man released him and made his way onto the dock. He straightened himself as best he could before raising his stylus and striking through one of the names he had previously carved into the wax. Not long at all.

People stared at Corun as they led him from the stinking, rubbish-strewn docks into the city proper. Most gaped and pointed, shielding their eyes from the dying sun. Only one did not, a heavily swaddled beggar on the edges of the dock. He stooped under the weight of his garments but as the stone man passed, he stood fully erect, as if forgetting himself. The coldness of his piercing blue eyes struck Corun – that man was up to something. Sensing no threat, the beggar returned to his rouse, bent over and slipped into a dingy Fume bar. The Kivim sighed as his escorts prodded him in the ribs to move him along and the crowds stared.

Let them look. He was used to it; it was an occupational hazard when one towered over the general populace and was made from stone, not flesh. He blocked out the whispers, ignored the pointed fingers and the worried mothers pulling their children tight to their skirts as he and his escort passed. Normally it would have grated on him more, but he was too busy looking around himself. The cracked cobbles of the port trickled away into a labyrinth of small streets, all paved in huge flagstones.

The pavements stood well above the detritus in the road but were too narrow for his enormous feet. He tried not to think of all the nasty things he was stepping in. Every now and again, he had to step over the enormous and strategically placed stepping stones that allowed people to cross the road without hindering the progress of wagons and chariots. Once, he tripped over them he was so busy looking around, sending him hands first into the muck and grime. The resulting crash shook the roadside, causing cries of panic from the passers-by and curses from the owners of shops and street kitchens whose fires sputtered and wares rattled in their amphorae. He tried to shake the evident shit off his enormous hands discreetly, only to send it flying onto the wall of a nearby villa.

Filthy bugger! a woman in a coarse brown tunic hissed up at him, her pockmarked face even coarser than her accent.

’Ere! That’s enough of that! One of his escorts whirled round and prodded him sharply with the butt of his spear, prompting a low rumble from the Kivim. The guard almost dropped the staff, but swallowed and regained his composure as quickly as he could. We’ll ’ave to hose you down before you go in. You’ll be meeting posh folks tonight; can’t have you stinking of street shit, now, can we? Now get a move on, pebble-brain!

Corun rumbled again, but the guard pretended not to notice and took the next street to the left that wound its way like a snake up the hill. The higher up the city they climbed, the cleaner the streets became. Evidently, the general everyday filth washed back down the hill to collect in the more unsavoury parts of town. The people, too, were cleaner, although still the same mix of colours, cultures and species that had populated the lower town. The stone man had never seen such an array of faces. He dared a smile for the first time since setting foot in Felis. So it was indeed a place that welcomed everyone. His heartstone thrummed as he thought of the future he and his family would have once this job was done.

The guards came out onto a wide street running parallel to what he could now see had been a mere alley. There were fewer shops and bars here, yet those that remained were cleaner and of a more savoury variety. Their wares still smelt revolting to him; he could never fathom why other species felt the need to eat the flesh of others. He glanced into one kitchen as they passed. In the large clay bowls nestled on the heated terracotta counter, he spied a meat stew in one, jellied eyes in another and pulverised livers in the third. His stomach churned, and he swallowed down a sickly burp as the proprietor waved a sample under his nose. Thankfully, the man’s attention was soon called by the crowds of Felitians gathering around for a taste.

Not long now, stone man, one guard called back as they stopped by a roadside well. You, and you, he muttered to his colleagues, fill those buckets and wash ’im down, would ya? Can’t present him before the heir like this.

Corun’s breath caught as a pail of tepid water was thrown over him. The heat of the day that had trapped itself in his stone torso warmed it to a steamy sizzle. I’m to see the son of the emperor? He glanced up the hill at the exquisite, colonnaded marble palace that sat at its apex.

The guard in charge picked his teeth with the blade of his dagger. Yup, that’s right, but not up there you’re not. Nerosus’s friends have thrown ’im a special party, on account of ’is upcoming nuptials. And apart from the heir ’imself, you, my gravelly friend... He tried to slap the Kivim on the shoulder, but only managed to reach his lower ribs. He laughed the awkwardness off. Are one of the guests of ’onour!

The soldier stowed his dagger, now Corun was clean, and ushered him to a rather nondescript door in the side of the plastered walls that lined most of the street. 

But you said it was work. What exactly is it I’m being paid to do?

A slot in the door suddenly shot open, a pair of weepy eyes peering out into the growing gloom of the evening.

What do you want? This is a private party, a snivelling voice rasped through the aperture.

The head of the guards, thumbs tucked into the leather belt at his waist, sauntered jauntily forward. Tell your Lord Laetans that we’ve got the other part of his gift ’ere. 

The slot slid shut again and after only a brief wait, in which Corun heard music coming from beyond the high walls, the door burst open. Light spilled onto the now dusk-filled street.

Oracle’s tits! a plummy voice exclaimed. A young man with a mop of curly black hair stepped forward. He was dressed simply in a gold-trimmed white tunic that set off his rich skin tone, and a deep green sash tied around his pelvis. He was tall and slender, but even he craned his long neck upwards to inspect the Kivim. Where in the Empire did you find him? 

Just steppin’ off one of the refugee ships, milord. His family have been recompensed as per your instructions.

Corun’s heartstone beat a little faster at that last sentence. He opened his mouth to ask precisely what he meant when the noble carried on talking as though he weren’t there.

Well, he won’t fit through this door. He placed a delicate hand on his forehead and puffed out his cheeks. Alright, I know it’s not proper, but he’ll have to come through the front door—

Through the atrium, milord? the owner of the weepy eyes stammered, spittle flying from his mouth at the absurdity of the situation.

Yes, Quintus. It’s the only way to get him in. Just look at him! Think how pleased Nerosus will be to see him in the ring. Oh, don’t worry. He raised a hand to the servant’s protests. All the guests are inside. I’ll get them all seated while you bring him through the house. Hurry, hurry. The young man near squealed with glee. I can’t wait to see the heir’s face!

With that, he disappeared, shutting the door on the doorman whose eyes were now as wide as the coins that Corun had given his wife.

The disgruntled man grumbled. You heard him. Come with me and be quick about it.

The unlikely troop hurried along the street in the near darkness, following the whitewashed wall as it met a corner, every step of Corun’s threatening to crack one of the perfectly smooth flagstones. Once they had rounded the corner, light poured from enormous wooden doors, each one towering over even the Kivim. He felt his jaw drop at the sight of the marble-lined room beyond. A pool of pale turquoise water reflected the hundreds of lanterns that hung above it, leading a well-planned path out into the garden beyond. Servants lined the pool, trays of goblets resting on their outstretched hands.

The doorman ushered the Kivim into the high-ceilinged hall, causing one of the servants to drop his tray in alarm, ruby-red wine spattering the white marble. Corun bent down and picked up one of the engraved goblets, holding it out to the startled servant as gently as though it were a flower.

Clumsy oaf! Quintus yelled. Clean this up before anyone slips on it. And you lot! He rounded on the escort of guards who hovered on the threshold. Bugger off! He motioned to Gaius Laetans’ private guards to close the doors.

***

Prince Nerosus looked around as the sun finally sank below the skyline and plunged Felis into a night perforated with stars. Or at least it would have been, had not his host lit hundreds of glowing lanterns to set the tone of the party, throwing anything beyond into complete darkness. They lined the exquisitely cultivated garden in which the guests mingled with courtesans and entertainers, placed strategically to allow enough areas of shadow amongst the tall, clipped hedgerows and pergolas so that all of the host’s offerings could be sampled. The heir watched silently as one of the lesser nobles beckoned to an oiled young man posing gymnastically on a plinth with a wink and led him into the gloom of privacy.

Nerosus turned back to the well-lit centre of the gardens, surveying the servants flitting here and there bearing platters of meat, cheese and fruit or enormous jugs of wine. The drink was sure to flow that night and the future emperor did not intend to leave until he was well into his cups, not caring if it would make his already ruddy complexion shine with intoxication or stain his constantly cracked lips purple.

The musicians finished one lively chorus and set up a new one, drums beating in a primal, almost sensual rhythm. A beaming young man sauntered jauntily over to him, a tray-bearing woman at his side.

Nerosus! You’re here!

He rolled his eyes. Of course I’m here. It’s my party, you cretin.

His friend laughed the insult away. So funny, so funny. Having a good time?

Nerosus snatched a goblet from the tray and took a swig of wine. He swished it around inside his mouth as he considered how to reply.

Bruto, it’s hard to say as I’ve only just arrived and our host has vanished.

Bruto wrapped an olive-skinned arm around his broad shoulders and with the other lowered the serving woman’s tray, displaying her bare breasts hoisted upwards by the bodice below. Her nipples hardened and stood out prominently as the slightest of breezes caressed them. Well, I am sure Sensua here can amuse you until he reappears.

The whore curtsied, lowering herself so that the heir to the throne could imagine her in certain compromising positions, keeping an almost impudent amount of eye contact with him the whole time. Your imperial highness, it is indeed a pleasure to see you again so soon.

Ah, but of course! Bruto clapped a hand dramatically to his forehead. You two are already acquainted. Well, I shall leave you two to... reminisce.

Nerosus couldn’t help but roll his eyes as his friend skipped away, giggling like a maiden. The whore rose to her full height, still a head below his own, and it was then that he recognised her.

Ah yes, you were there when I claimed my betrothal rights. He smirked as he called the night to memory.

I was, my lord, Sensua said, head cocked to one side, a glint of mischief in her eyes. It was such an honour to be chosen to perform the rights. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Nerosus grabbed her slender arm in his heavy fist so hard that the skin under his fingers shone white. She winced almost imperceptibly with pain but smiled as he pulled her close to him, so that his mouth was a tongue’s distance from her gold-studded ear.

And tell me... how did she taste as I fucked you?

The whore pulled back just enough so that he could see her grin. He watched her lick her plump lips before standing on her tiptoes to whisper in his own ear. Delicious.

The urge to take her there and then nearly overpowered him, but a horn sounded in the centre of the garden and the music stopped. He didn’t know if he was relieved or annoyed; it was far too early in the evening for such entertainment, and yet... He cupped one of her breasts in his hand and squeezed the nipple so hard she couldn’t suppress a yelp.

Come and find me later. I may just have another honour you can perform. He laughed and made his way towards the well-lit circle.

A wrestling ring had been erected with tiered wooden seats surrounding it. The other guests, all dressed in their finest despite the heat, stood waiting for the heir to the throne to take his place on the raised dais that was adorned richly with silks, velvets and an overwhelming array of pillows. He swatted some of them away to make place for his large backside and then with a sigh of relief, removed the heavy folds of the formal gold-trimmed toga from his shoulders. With his more discreet dark blue and gold tunic on display, he motioned for the other guests to do the same. He grimaced as he realised that the embroidered belt only accentuated his paunch by sitting under it on his hips. Still, it was better than being wrapped up in a blanket, as the court fashion demanded. As he sat, there was a frantic rustling as the nobles rushed to make themselves more comfortable. Nerosus glanced at who had been invited. All upstanding members of the court, and most importantly, all Unblooded like himself. All human.

Finally, the evening’s host walked into the centre of the pit.

Your imperial highness. He bowed low. It is a great honour to host for you, but days from your nuptials, a special little gathering of celebration. What you are all about to witness is a present for you, my lord and friend Nerosus. Please welcome to the arena, Simen the Blooded. A hiss arose from the spectators and Nerosus felt anger churning within him.

Gaius, what the fuck are you playing at?

His host ignored him and turned towards the entrance as the earth rumbled. And Corun the Kivim!

A monster thundered its way through the house and up the path to the pit. Nerosus was stunned into furious silence as the very ground beneath him shook. A man made from stone and moss stood before him and actually had the audacity to bow in his direction. Cries of anguish and curses came from the other guests, their hatred of the magical as deep as his own. He stood and silence reigned instantly.

What is the meaning of this? Are you mocking me, Gaius? He felt the heat rise within him as his face turned puce and his hands shook.

The host didn’t appear perturbed. He bowed once more, his hair bouncing jauntily over his shoulders. My lord. What you are about to witness is a fight between these two creatures of magic. A fight... to the death.

What? the human and the Kivim in the ring spluttered, horror etched into their faces, before they were struck with whips from the guards that had escorted them. Nerosus felt his mood lightening somewhat. Go on.

What you will witness tonight are two creatures, so desperate for their own survival, they will tear each other apart for your viewing pleasure. He turned towards the unwilling fighters, who were eyeing each other up. The Blooded human looked like he was going to vomit into the sand at his feet. Only one of you will walk out of here alive. Who will it be?

There was a sudden flurry of bet placing from the stands. The guards standing on either side of the prisoners handed them a short sword each. It looked like a needle in the stone man’s enormous grasp.

Gaius Laetans hopped up onto the dais and bowed to Nerosus who had sat once more. If you would care to do the honours, my lord.

Nerosus narrowed his eyes at his friend, his thick lips pressed into a puckered line. He still wasn’t sure of the point his friend was trying to make, but if it meant that a creature of magic died tonight, then he was game. He waved his hand lazily. Begin.

A servant at the side of the pit swung an enormous mallet over his head, bringing it crashing down into the centre of a brass gong the size of a dining table. Its moans and vibrations reverberated around the garden and forced the creatures in the pit to begin their desperate circling.

Each step of the rock man made the human yelp as he skipped nervously around the edge of the ring. The Kivim followed him with slow, deliberate movements.

Come on! Clobber him! a shout rose from the stands, prompting a communal harrumph of agreement. 

The growls from the crowd forced the jittery human into action. He hurled himself forward with a strangled cry, holding the heavy weapon above his head with both hands. The Kivim saw him coming but struggled to move his incredible mass in time. The sword scraped across his mottled forearm, sending sparks flying, much to the delight of the crowd. 

The stone man grumbled in annoyance and snatched the weapon up in the palm of his hand. The Blooded was either too shocked or too stupid to let go and dangled there, legs flailing as his opponent tried to shake him off. Nerosus found himself laughing along with the audience at the comical sight. Finally, the Blooded lost his grip and hurtled into the wooden walls of the pit with a crash.

Gaius roared with delight as the Kivim stomped over to where the man was trying to extract himself from the shattered planks, raised his boulder-like fist and brought it hammering down onto this opponent. Or at least where his opponent had been seconds before. Somehow, he had managed to dislodge himself and lay sprawled at the monolith’s feet. The stone man raised his fist again, bringing it down harder, but the human rolled out of the way with lightning speed and now lay by his left foot. He raised his left fist to pummel him into the ground once again, but this time the lithe man rolled forwards through the stone pillars that were his legs.

As the pair regrouped, the shouts and curses of the audience grew louder. New bets were being laid. Nerosus looked around with a small smirk of satisfaction. From the corner of his eye, he saw Gaius grinning.

He sighed, rolled his eyes, and took a sip of wine. Out with it... there’s more you want to say.

Gaius leaned in so his words could be heard over the cacophony.

Imagine this, but a thousand times bigger. Specifically designed arenas holding tens of thousands of fans, all staring down, cheering on ten — no, twenty — fights going on simultaneously, whittling the magical creatures down to one sole survivor. He or she would be named champion and would have to fight in the next battle to keep their title and their life.

Nerosus could see it, all painted out before him on the faces of his friends and nobles. They were hooked. Money swapped hands at an alarming rate. Just imagine how much they could charge for entry, let alone the betting fees. Yet the thing that appealed to him the most was the uncontrolled bloodlust in their eyes. They knew these two creatures were fighting for their lives and yet they didn’t care. They wanted death and blood just as much as he did.

The heir smiled slyly and clapped his friend on the back so hard he nearly choked on the grape he had just popped into his mouth. You’ve done well. I look forward to working on this exciting venture with you when the throne is mine.

Then there is the matter of...

Nerosus cut him off. Now was not the time to talk about percentages and cuts. We can discuss the details later. In the meantime, let me enjoy my gift.

He leaned forward, a maniacal grin spreading onto his face as he turned back to the match. The Blooded had run as fast as his legs would carry him to the other side of the ring. The stone man hollered in frustrated rage and quivered all over. The audience fell into an anticipated hush. Even Nerosus found himself holding his breath to see what would happen next. In a slow, torturous movement, the Kivim placed his cart sized hands on the ground and leant forward, rolling himself into a tight ball. With a last push before his hand was retracted into the mass of grey stone and moss, the boulder began to move. It rolled towards the human at such a frightening speed that the heir thought he would soon see blood and gore smashed against the far wall of the pit. Obviously, so did the members of the audience that had bet on him, who groaned, already reaching into their discarded togas to retrieve their purses.

With a strangled cry, the man, dark hair slick to his face with sweat, began to run. He had a good pair of legs on him, that had to be said, and managed to stay two strides ahead of the rolling boulder the whole time, not daring to look over his shoulder lest he be crushed like a gnat.

Nerosus grimaced. Although he hated anyone with magical abilities, he grudgingly admired the effort the man was taking to stay alive. However, the odds were stacked against him and he was starting to flag. He leaned over to Gaius.

What element did you say he was Blooded in? I haven’t seen him use anything to his advantage yet, and you’ve got enough torches lit to awaken the Lost Gods, so it can’t be fire?

Gaius Laetans grinned again. You’re right. He motioned to the guards at the entrance to the pit. Time to level the playing field.

The hulking, skin-headed men threw in a plethora of barrels that wobbled drunkenly around the pit. The second they entered, the human’s head snapped in their direction with such force it should have broken his neck.

Ah, sighed the host, motioning with his goblet. He’s caught the scent. Here we go! He paused and narrowed his eyes. Would you care to lay a wager, Nero old chum?

It’s Nerosus as well you know, and... He thought about declining, but the sheer determination in the human’s eyes against all odds of his being instantly crushed spoke to him.

Alright, fifty Guld on the Blooded. He spat on his hand and held it out. Gaius smiled as old friends do, spat in his own and shook it with gusto. Suddenly, with the stakes raised, they surveyed the fight with renewed intensity.

The human changed his hamster-like route of the circumference of the pit and bolted to the centre. He leapt up onto one of the barrels and, with the flick of a wrist, burst the tops from the four remaining barrels. The wooden lids were soon joined by the contents within, which swirled into an aqueous orb above the man’s head. For the first time since the fight had started, he allowed himself a smile.

The Kivim had stopped rolling at the man’s sudden about-turn and, while in the process of unfolding himself to stand upright, was submerged in the swirling mass, gasping for air.

Nerosus slammed his fist onto the side of the chaise longue in delight. Go on!

The eagerness of his own words startled him, but the thrill that resided within him did not. He was about to see the dying light in the stone man’s eyes as he drowned before him. The thrill that gave him came only second to an orgasm... and if he was honest, sometimes it was better.

But the Kivim was strong and reached through the bubble as his face turned black, piercing it. The water fell like shattered glass, only to be swept up as the Blooded raised his hands either side of him and above his head. The stone man reached forward with his enormous fist to crush the human’s puny skull between his finger and thumb, egged on by the cheers from the crowd, when the man pulled his hands towards him like they were attached to invisible ropes. Two high-powered jets of water hit the Kivim from both sides.

Nerosus jumped to his feet as the stone beast howled. He was secretly glad he wasn’t alone. As he glanced around nervously, he found most of the audience was now on their feet, either celebrating or lamenting. The intensity of the water jets was eroding the stone of the Kivim’s arms. With a speed none knew he possessed, the Kivim folded himself up like a hedgehog and rolled trying to protect himself, but each way the ball of stone rolled, a jet was there to beat him back into the centre, chiselling away at his flesh.

The Blooded’s face mirrored the delight of Nerosus’s own.

All rolled out, the Kivim unfolded onto the ground and raised a weary, half-eroded hand.

Mercy! he rumbled.

The Blooded paused, his head swinging in Nerosus’s direction.

The heir snorted and, for the first time in his life, looked a Blooded in the eye. He shook his head.

The man wasted no time. Bringing the two shimmering orbs together, he shot his hands from him as if repelling a demon. The water followed suit. The Kivim didn’t stand a chance against the insane pressure and was sliced cleanly in two.

The Blooded human dropped his hands as the maniacal grin vanished from his face. He stared down at his hands as the ground began to shake. The remaining barrel he stood on threw him to the ground and the nobles in the stands had to seat themselves or grab onto the barriers to stop themselves from falling. The two cracked halves of the Kivim vibrated, bouncing off each other and the ground violently before they exploded into a shower of rubble. The Blooded man got the full blast, looking down surprised at his gravel-peppered chest, before falling to his knees to bleed out face down on the sand of the fighting pit.

Small but deadly pieces of shrapnel shot into the audience.

Nerosus grabbed a bronze platter, not caring that the fruit delicately placed upon it ended up all over his lap. He watched in an adrenaline-filled horror as the metal was soon dented with impact marks, one not far from his nose, almost piercing the metal. Cries and curses of pain and surprise sounded from all around but faded with the tapping of the raining rocks.

The heir slowly lowered his shield and rose, as his nobles were now doing to look down upon the pit.

A shocked silence fell. The bloodied dirt was filled with tiny, glittering rubies, all leading vein-like to the most enormous red gemstone he had ever seen. It throbbed with a dying light, beating loudly, slower and slower, until the light and the noise finally stopped.

Gaius was the first to move. You, you. He shouted to the guards at the edges of the pit, whose faces streamed blood from various puncture wounds. Get that stone. His imperial highness must have it for his coronation sceptre.

As the men leapt into action, the crowd of nobles came to life once again, cheering the spectacle they had just witnessed, before changing to the babbling timbre of settling bets.

Nerosus, shaking as though he’d just been served by the land’s best whores, held out his sweaty palm to Gaius.

I believe you owe me—

His sentence was never finished, the bet never settled as the night sky turned orange and the boom of an explosion shook the whole of Felis.

Chapter 2

Practise, Poise, Perfection

––––––––

The night sky above the docks blazed in a flickering orange glow as flames licked the remains of a building, its charred skeleton exposed and threatening to cave in any moment. The spidery tendrils of the blaze’s reflection in the inky waters of the sea could even be seen from Kalla’s position, leaning over the thick marble railing of the balcony.

Screams of fear and pain rose through the evening’s stifling heat, sending an unusual shudder down her spine. It was a bad omen. Tonight was a night for avoiding omens of all sorts, let alone bad ones.

She peered around at the faces of the other young ladies who had leapt out of their recliners in a rattle of bangles and beads the moment their own screams of shock had subsided and they realised it wasn’t an earthquake that had rocked the capital. However, unlike her own, theirs held smiles of glee at the turmoil being played out on the streets.

Probably a filthy little Fume bar. The girl at her side was tall and slender, her elongated neck caressed by soft chocolate curls that hung down from the nape. Era Glauca gloated. They all deserve it if you ask me; filthy habit.

A vision of blonde hair and blue silks on her other side snapped back. He’s not here you know. Besides, isn’t that hypocritical of you, Glauca? You’ve been known to enjoy more than your ceremonial toke. Kalla caught Era Abril’s eye and swallowed down the beginnings of a conspiratorial grin as Glauca straightened her back, making her neck look even longer.

I take the Fumes only for religious purposes, as we all do... well except you, of course, Kalla dear. We all know your fiancé’s feelings about that. She glanced around as the other ladies made their way back indoors now that the scene of distress no longer held their attention.

Kalla gripped the marble ledge and smiled sweetly, her white teeth shining against the dark backdrop of night. "Glauca, dear, I didn’t know you were so pious. A bit of a dying breed, aren’t you, the Followers of the Fumes, or is that just a cover for all you... addicts? Perhaps that is why Nerosus chose me instead of you."

The woman squared up to her, breathing down her equine nose with fury, but before she could say anything, a voice called from the doorway. Girls! Girls, come inside. It’s time!

Kalla turned towards the light, her most charming smile on her face. Coming, mother.

She sauntered back into the opulently fashioned banqueting hall to find that the servants had not only cleaned up the shattered glasses and spilt wine from the explosion but had also rearranged the furniture so that all the couches sat squatly around two plump cushions on the floor, a wooden box set between them. The musicians had returned to their corner, lute strings intact and whistles wetted. They had begun a soft yet hypnotising melody to calm any of the ladies that might still be distressed.

Era Glauca swiped a metal goblet off a tray a servant was passing around, plonked herself down on the sofa and looked for all the world as though she were sipping vinegar, not the finest Mulsa vintage the Felitian hills could offer.

Kalla’s mother, Domina Annia, stood by the pillows in the centre of the room and beckoned, holding out a hand to help her daughter down into the seat of honour. Then she began an awkward, clunky kneel to seat herself opposite.

Let me help you— Kalla tried to insist, knowing that she was much more agile than the well fed and wined woman who puffed and panted as she tried to lower herself as elegantly as she could, tucking her flowing robes between her legs, accentuating her rather too ample buttocks and almost toppling in the process. Kalla glared as she heard Glauca and Abril giggling. Even some of the other Dominae hid their smiles behind well-manicured and gem-encrusted hands. Others had the decency to look a little embarrassed for the woman. But somehow her mother made it down to her cushion and once she had rearranged herself, looked as beautiful and formidable as any of the other ladies of the court who had been summoned to witness the ceremony.

Kalla would much rather have done it with only her mother and two witnesses present, as was the legal precedence. She didn’t want all these bitches here, but her mother had to put on a show. Her daughter had won the hand of the emperor’s son and that was something to rub in her rivals’ faces, even if she knew that all the other snakes in the grass waited, ready to pounce at any mistake, no matter how small. It was only what she would have done, after all, had she been in their position. But that was just it. She wasn’t. She had trained her daughter hard all these years, and it had paid off; she had won the prize of the generation.

She clapped her hands for silence, which fell in a hushed, if resentful, ripple.

By the blessing of the Oracle Almighty, the sacred ink has been scraped from the belly of the caves that run between Felis and the sea. She unlatched the ornately carved rosewood box and slowly lifted the lid. Despite themselves, the court ladies leaned forward, a muted gasp of wonder falling from their lips as they tried to see its contents better. A glass vial shone with a pearlescent, shimmering liquid on a bed of purple velvet. Her mother held it up high for all to see.

Kalla, daughter mine, with this ink your hands will be painted, naming you bride. When the vows are pronounced and your hand clasps that of your betrothed two days hence, your life will be bound to his, until death do you part.

Although smiling with what she hoped was excited anticipation, Kalla couldn’t help but swallow down the hard lump that had formed in her throat. It all seemed to be happening so fast, even though she had been trained for this outcome her whole life, even though it was the greatest honour in the Empire. Two days suddenly didn’t seem like a lot of time. As her mother attached one of the needle-like nozzles onto the glowing flask, she thought she saw Glauca whisper something to her own mother.

Give me your hands, Kalla. Her mother reached out, her palm open. Kalla offered her right hand and noticed how it trembled just a little. Her mother gave it the smallest of squeezes, her eyes full of determined reassurance. Kalla knew the message: practise, poise, perfection. The woman before her had drummed the motto into her until she hated her; now it calmed her. She let out a quivering breath, lowered her shoulders, and nodded. It was time. She was ready.

A true hush fell on the room now as the tinkling notes of the lyre faded away and the ladies leaned closer still to see the first strokes painted. Kalla couldn’t help but smile a little as the tip of the nozzle tickled the soft skin on the top of her hand. She closed her eyes bashfully, but when she opened them again, the smile dropped from her lips.

What in the name of— her mother cursed under her breath. The shimmering white line of ink that should have shone against Kalla’s warm brown skin wasn’t there. The older woman quickly retraced the line, but nothing came out. A bead of sweat formed on her powdered forehead as the onlookers gasped and the whispers began.

Mother?

Her eyes shone wide, betraying the confident smile that laced her painted lips. A blocked nozzle, must be... Let’s try another. Ladies, please help yourself to more refreshments while you wait. She motioned for the servants