Blood Of Gods (Book 3) Read Online Free Page B

to perform.”
    Howard’s head shot up, and he glared at the Master Warden . Ahaesarus scowled right back. The master steward hated it when anyone referred to the young king as anything but my liege , but Ahaesarus would sooner march out beyond the walls and present himself to Karak in a frilly surcoat than bow down to this sniveling child who could not lead a grayhorn to grass, never mind an entire fledgling nation to war. This is what you wanted, isn’t it, Jacob? he thought. Your final insult to the god you betrayed?
    “H-h-how can I s-s-soothe them,” the young king blubbered, his eyes locked on Ashhur’s unmoving body. “Our god is d-d-dead. W-w-we are h-h-hopeless!”
    Ahaesarus sighed while once more running a wet cloth over Ashhur’s forehead. The god had been atop the wall when Karak sent a fireball from the heavens to destroy it. Ashhur had been caught in the blast, plummeting back down to earth. He’d not moved since, though his body still burned and his immortal heart still beat.
    “Ashhur is not dead,” Ahaesarus told the boy.
    “Then w-w-why won’t he wake up?”
    “Because he is gravely hurt. Because the fires within him need time to heal his outward form.”
    “But . . . but . . . ”
    That was all the king could spit out before he fell into another fit of sobbing. Howard Baedan finally ceased his scowling and rolled his eyes, again rubbing the king’s shoulders. The unremitting sniffles and moans nearly drove Ahaesarus insane.
    “Get him out of here,” he said. “Now.”
    “This is his chamber, the king’s place of rule,” Howard shot back. “It is his right to remain—”
    “I care not for his right,” snapped Ahaesarus, flinging his wet cloth at the man. Howard backed out of the way, and the cloth slapped against the side of the young king’s face, making him bawl all the harder. The master steward made to step out from behind the wicker throne, his hand on the hilt of his belted knife. In return Ahaesarus glanced to his sword, which was propped against the wall in the corner. At that look, “Sir” Howard abruptly wedged his hands beneath King Benjamin’s armpits and lifted the king off his throne. He led the sniveling boy away, straightening his white pallium in the process.
    The door slammed shut, leaving Ahaesarus in blessed silence with his unconscious god. The Master Warden leaned back, closed his eyes, and let out a deep breath as he snatched his mug from the table beside him. Tipping the mug back, a scant few drops of water dripped into his mouth. He glanced at the large bucket he’d been using to bathe his deity, saw that it was nearly empty as well. Sighing, he grasped the bucket by its handle and left the room.
    When the door closed behind him, he felt a sort of lessening, as if the vitality were being sucked from every fiber of his being. Over the last eleven days, he had experienced a similar feeling each time he left Ashhur’s side. He wondered if the others who frequented the makeshift throne room felt the same thing; if they did, that begged the question why more people didn’t remain in the god’s presence, whether he was conscious or not.
    The hallway of Manse DuTaureau was long and straight, the carpet underfoot as red and fiery as the hair of the children of the First Family who lived within it. There was a definite gloom to the corridor; none of the candles lining the walls were lit, and the narrow windows that opened up to the outside world revealed a sky bathed with clouds and murk. Autumn is here and it is angry. Ahaesarus could hear traces of the untold thousands outside, but the thick stone and wood of the walls deadened the racket to a vague murmur.
    Isabel DuTaureau’s children and grandchildren passed him in the hall, their lithe frames draped with crumpled cotton dresses. Cara offered him a slight bow as he walked by, and Keela and her husband stopped him in the hall to ask of Ashhur’s state. Brigid and her husband ushered a battalion of