Page 15 of House of the Beast

And I had done my best to be everything the Beast required of me.

I trained first with my flesh hand, learning the foundations of combat until they became second nature.

My father was a merciless teacher and took pride in beating me senseless with a practice sword until I learned how to stop him from doing so.

Then began the training with my metal hand.

It was the vessel through which the Dread Beast acted, and I was expected to be equally proficient using it as I was the other.

It was an arduous process, one that would traditionally take years.

For me, the true struggle lay in pretending that there was a struggle at all.

My initial show of proficiency when I first received my arm had done its job of unsettling my father, but it would not do to have him begin suspecting me.

So I acted slow on the uptake. I would fumble with the grip, swing too wide or too slow on purpose.

Once, I had even let Aster convince me to let my weapon go flying toward my father, hitting him square on the forehead.

It had taken momentous effort not to laugh as Aster collapsed into hysterics behind me.

I had been sorely admonished for that stunt, treated to a whole week of scalding remarks about my lack of control.

But it had been worth it to see the bruise on my father’s skin, knowing I had put it there and hearing Aster cackle about it behind me.

My father was content to believe me lacking, and I was content to let him.

Aster was the only one who knew how well I could hold my own.

He would instruct me after my father returned to his private estate for the evening—on how to meld my mind into the metal and treat it as my own flesh.

How to let instinct take over and wield my sword in a way befitting the Beast’s name.

How to listen to the heartbeat of a living thing, and how to end it.

In Kugara, madness was an inevitability for those dedicated to their elder gods.

It was why my Uncle Maximus, well known for his outbursts of violence, was so revered by the court.

They saw it as the culmination of years of communing, of slowly opening one’s mind to divine power.

A weaker grasp on reality meant a stronger connection to godhood, and that deserved respect—at least until one was too far gone to be of any further service, at which point they would be hurriedly thanked for their deeds and ushered away from the public eye, probably to be killed by an ambitious relative.

It was why, despite all my protests and attempts at normalcy around the household staff, I was somewhat proud of my reputation.

Aster had been with me, driving me mad with his antics from the start. I was privileged. Blessed, as my father had tried so hard to convince me in the early days.

Nobody in Avera knew what to make of me.

It set in too early , was what they whispered.

I hadn’t fought in a war or completed a great deed in Kugara’s service.

I hadn’t done much other than stay sequestered away in my guesthouse for the past eight years.

It made no sense to them why I heard the Beast so closely, when even my father showed no sign of losing his senses yet.

I was regarded with a mixture of derision and fear, and the rumor mill churned.

There was talk of my blood being impure.

I wasn’t suited to be a vessel, and my control was weak.

But I knew the truth. Aster was as real to me as my own hand.

He might have planted in me the seeds of insanity, but he had saved me from my grief, the day he found me wasting away in my bed.

He had trained me to be strong, and dispelled my loneliness, and made me laugh when I thought I couldn’t anymore.

Despite all the ways he annoyed me, all the torment he subjected my feelings to, I trusted him to my core.

“Are you sure you can’t do me a favor and take away my father’s and Kaim’s powers for the day?” I asked. “It would save me a lot of trouble.”

I’d made this request many times over the last few years. His answer always remained the same.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he said, only half teasing. “This is as much a trial for you as it is for them. It’s time to prove you’ve mastered all I’ve taught you, and that you are worthy.”

“Of being your favorite?”

“Of course!” He winked at me, a saucy gesture designed to make me snort. “Now show us both that I’ve chosen right.”

There was no easy way out. My devotion had to be absolute. Aster had a divine plan, and I was to trust him to lead me to victory. It was a stark reminder that any affection he showed me served a higher purpose. I was still a vessel of Avera—a Hand of the Beast.

I was a tool.

But I did not mind being a tool as long as I was used to bring my father down.

A movement at the entrance of the mausoleum caught my eye. An attendant, one of higher rank judging by his robes, hovered in the doorway. Despite his station, it was clear he did not know how to act around me. Most of them didn’t.

When he saw me looking back at him, he dropped into a practiced bow. I wondered if he’d caught any of my conversation, and decided I didn’t care.

“Lady Alma,” he said. “Your presence has been requested at the main temple.”

“I’ll make my way there shortly,” I told him.

He hesitated. “Your lord father has requested that I escort you.”

I wanted to laugh. My father must have thought that I might not show up—that my rebellious streak would rear its head on the most important day of his life and I’d embarrass him in front of all of the envoys.

He need not have worried. I would not have missed this for the world.

I stood, belting my sword around my waist again and brushing down my dress. It was a lovely thing, made of heavy black silk and cut to fit my frame exactly. The left sleeve ended at the perfect length to cover the leather straps of my metal arm while leaving the rest of it free for movement.

It was a shame that it likely wasn’t going to make it through the day intact. If I had a choice, I would have shown up in my training fatigues. But appearances were important. If it got me what I wanted, I would play by the House’s rules.

I took one last look around the mausoleum halls. The tombs of my ancestors stood in silent reproach, cold and resplendent.

There was a grave, very different from these displays of opulence, waiting for me in Merey. One that I hadn’t yet visited—one that I didn’t yet deserve to visit. After this ordeal, I would make my way there. Perhaps then I could finally muster up the courage to apologize.

A hand rested on my shoulder. My dark companion came to stand beside me with a smile.

“Let’s go ruin your father’s day,” he said.

I nodded and made my way to the temple.