Trials of the Hierophant: Vol. II of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy Read Online Free Page A

blankets to the floor. Sweat seeped through the back of his dressing robe and he struggled to sit up. With more effort than he realized he had within him, he managed to swing his legs over the side of the bedding and rest his feet on the floor as he hunched over.
    He took slow, deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth, and closed his eyes. If past incidents were of any consequence, he knew what would happen next. His head would throb and it would be as lumber struck with an axe. It always started at the base of his skull, spreading up and outward with the sharpest pain cleaving through the center of his head and focusing between his eyes. But, the pain did not come. His head remained clear, and he continued his breathing.
    A sensation of dry hay in the back of his throat elicited a hoarse coughing fit. This was new, he managed to think as he clenched his eyes, tears already streaming down his face from the exertion.
    His hand trembled as he reached out for the pitcher of water on the table across from him. He managed to pull it toward him and greedily gulped most of the cool liquid down. Only when he stopped to breathe did he notice the blood in his palm.
    A strange thought came to the forefront of his mind. What if he did not live long enough to even finish his period of seclusion, let alone fulfill his initiation? Thoughts of a death more imminent than he had prepared himself for made him feel light-headed.
    He let himself fall back onto the mattress, too exhausted to bother reaching for the blankets on the floor. What would Ceridwen do should she hear he had passed away alone in the forest, far away from Arlais? What would his uncle think? Or Gawain?
    He rolled to face the wall. He prayed sleep would come upon him soon, but his thoughts raced for most of the night.

Chapter III

    ronwen stared at her bowl, filled with a thick horse meat stew, still piping hot from the cook’s pot. Newly-crafted to commemorate the king’s coronation, the intricately carved trestle table in Castle Cærwyn could seat at least one hundred of the kingdom’s nobles. Tonight, it was rather bare, save for herself, Rhodri, and several of his advisors.
    As she looked to his face, she could see his emotions displayed painfully clear. His advisors had been bickering amongst themselves‌—‌a favorite pastime of the council, should their actions of late be any indication. Rhodri looked so overwhelmed. She wished she could reach out to grant him comfort. Never had he confided in her in the time they had been married, but he did not need to. Bronwen could tell he was under terrible strain. He still sought out his bearings as High King, and seemed to struggle every day.
    The scenario reminded her of sitting in her father’s great hall as a child, lavish feasts with nobles from the entire kingdom of Annwyd in attendance. She loved to sit at the table and listen to their conversations, though she did not understand much at the time. Her brother Madoc was too young to attend, which made her feel even more important, as though she were a true lady of court.
    Castle Cærwyn’s hall was not as inviting as it had been when Alric was alive. Rhodri did not seem to bother with luxuries such as lit braziers and incense. The tapestries in the hall had coatings of dust upon them and the cobwebs had not been swept in a season’s time. The castle was but a hollow shell of what it once was.
    Crows roosted in the rafters of the hall, and cried out at all hours of the day and night. Their shrill calls haunted the castle with a somber pall of dread. She felt the eyes of the crows above her, and glanced to the ceiling. She could not help but feel they were spirits sent to haunt her for her lust of Rhodri, and to punish her for her sins toward Siana.
    Bronwen sat in silence, letting the men spar with each other over how the king’s realm should best be run. Rhodri looked bored with the matter. Though, the boredom could have sprung from