A Priestess for the Blind God (Legends of Rahasia Book 1)

Chapter Eighty-Eight

Kane enchants the irritated donkeys out front and disguises them as four white stallions. It only takes another few seconds to turn the vegetable cart into the illusion of a diamond-studded carriage with iron wheels that appear crafted by fairies.

"It looks like something from one of their snow-covered legends. Like an ice queen going to a grand ball." General Ibrahim keeps his old Empire-issued armor. Elio's symbol of the sun is burned into the metal, polished for all to see. The General, luckily for Kane's depleted strength, doesn't need a disguise. He hasn't been missing long enough to cause much suspicion as a traitor against the Empire.

He's a man after all. He gets a grace period.

I flip a blonde plait over one shoulder. The damned things are giving me a headache. "They can keep their ice queens and feathery horses. No wonder they wanted to ally with us. They're too busy looking at the latest fashions instead of developing a decent army."

Arno slouches over, fidgeting with his new, silver-chain-link-belt. I snicker to see his square jaw and lean, muscled shoulders shaped like a triangle. Kane made him a proper foreign ambassador type, smart-looking, heeled boots and all. It's so funny, seeing a Northern lord acting like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum. Arno's new eyes are unnaturally round, a pale gray, and long, flaxen hair frames his tense jawline. "I feel like a child's doll that was dressed up in a shiny rag."

Ratu follows, dressed as a female bodyguard to clash against Arno's flowery courtier. She looks far more comfortable than the rest of us, wearing diamond-polished armor with crystalline patterns engraved over her silver breastplate. Her hair is braided back simply from her face, ice-sculpted-eyes free of makeup. On her shoulder, I read Latin scrawl for "legionnaire". She wears a gold badge with wolf jaws on her shoulder. The sword is bulkier than an average scimitar, but of fine craftsmanship from iron forges.

"Well," she shrugs and helps me into the carriage. My new, bulky skirts hinder all hope of movement. She pushed a visor to hide her face, glaring at me with those unnervingly violet eyes. "Let's get started. The asses should move faster now that Kane made them bright and shiny."

Arno frowns with his rosebud lips. "You should treat the donkeys nicer, Thief Queen."

Ratu smirks. "I was talking about you, soldier boy."

As they bicker, I reach for my Diviner's mirror tucked beneath the damned corset. Its weight reassures me. This is no Northern fairy tale.

This means war.

***

A few moments later, we draw up to the elaborate palace arches. Slave labor, all of it. Provided by kidnapped youths from enemy armies, or poor subjects from warring villages. The Empire had to get its gold from somewhere.

Anyone against the Elder god was fair game.

Anyone against the Elder must have been demon-spawn. Obviously.

Keeping my anger in check, thinking of snow and ice, I lean from the carriage to address the same guards. My temper flares up immediately.

These bastards are the guards who'd called me a witch when I first arrived here.

I paste the fakest, rosiest smile on my face. "Ego huc ad meam viro." I am here for my husband.

The guards scatter at once. Some, to my chagrin, even blush in my presence.

Speaking of asses...

"Right this way, milady." They grovel as they back away from the door. I look up at the archway as we pass, see how the sun is carved into the sandstone, a halo around the face of the Elder God with his fang-tipped, warring smile. A scimitar is in his hand, blessing Elio's father, the deceased Emperor.

Like a puppet on a string.

I keep my head down as we pass the fountains, glittering with a completely gluttonous waste of water in a desert society.

I'll pay a visit to my dear future husband before the coronation ceremony. I smirk as I tap my long dagger-nails against my newly freckled flesh. I'm sure he'll thank me later.

***

Champions,

Wrote this from a phone. Oh. Typos.

Happy Sunday!

-Sophia