Page 16 of House of the Beast

Chapter

H ouse Avera had a public pavilion, halfway down the mountain, that housed the largest temple in all of Avera province. Though located outside of estate grounds, it was still tended to by estate staff, and its proximity to the House of the Beast meant it was the center of worship in Avera.

My exalted forebears had spared no expense on it.

Even the gates were a work of art, towering overhead like a monster’s gaping maw and leading into a courtyard large enough to hold over a thousand worshippers.

All along the perimeter were altars displaying famous swords once wielded by the Dread Beast’s Hands.

They were replicas, of course—the real relics rested inside the mausoleum.

But they had been made to impress, and each stood taller than a grown man, carved from black marble shot through with gold veins.

Gold-scripted plaques sat beneath with brief descriptions to remind visitors that crossing the Beast meant crossing his chosen harbingers of destruction.

And so on.

The attendant sent by my father led me to the temple through a back entrance accessible only via the estate.

As we descended the stairs, I stopped briefly to marvel at the mass of people filling the courtyard, spilling out of the wide gates, and trailing all the way down the mountain road.

Excitement buzzed through the air, the collective voices a hum that could be heard even from this distance.

“That’s quite a crowd,” I murmured.

“Yes, my lady,” said the attendant demurely. “They are here to witness Lord Kaim and your lord father’s holy trial.”

“And yours, of course,” Aster added. “Your future subjects, finally meeting you for the first time. How they shall cower and stare!”

I nudged him in the side for his theatrics, and he grinned at me.

The path opened into a quiet, secluded garden at the back of the temple, shaded from the late-morning sun by the elegant curved branches of ancient pines.

Noise from the courtyard was muffled by the high walls and by the rock of the mountain.

It felt like a pocket out of time, a true holy space for only the blessed to inhabit.

The attendant bowed to me before scurrying away on silent feet to attend to their duties elsewhere.

At the far side of the garden, my father was a sharp black silhouette against the shadow of the temple.

He was accompanied by none other than Sevelie, who was so busy trying to impress him she didn’t even notice my arrival.

I made a face. I hadn’t had anything more than a few passing interactions with Sevelie over the years, but as we both grew older it became impossible to miss the way her cheeks flushed every time she saw my father.

The sight had always left a bad taste in my mouth—I used to think her so proper and perfect, yet here she was, giving her attentions to the worst choice of a man she could have made, as if being betrothed to the second worst choice wasn’t enough.

Even more miserable was the fact that my father clearly knew of her affections yet did nothing to discourage her.

Even now, as he lifted his gaze to meet my own revolted expression, he did not look at all embarrassed to be in this situation. Instead, he placed a hand on Sevelie’s shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.

“You had better go back inside,” he told her with a gentleness he had never used with me—and thank heavens. “Kaim must be waiting for you. I need a word alone with my daughter before I join the others.”

Sevelie whirled around, at least having the good grace to blush slightly as she caught my eye. “Of course,” she said, curtsying quickly. She turned to my father again, her lovely face open and sincere. “I wish you the best of luck in the trial ahead, Lord Zander.”

“Eugh,” Aster enunciated, sounding both repulsed and delighted beside me. “What a mess.”

I couldn’t agree more, watching with narrowed eyes as my distant cousin hitched up her skirts and hurried through the door to where Kaim was supposedly waiting.

I highly doubted that he actually was. Despite Sevelie growing only more beautiful over the years, he had never once expressed any more interest in his fiancée than he had on that first day.

I couldn’t blame her for wanting someone else. I only wondered if my father got some sick satisfaction out of being the one she turned to.

Once the temple door closed, my father strolled over to the only altar in the garden, hands behind his back.

He wore a coat in the customary Avera style, the military cut making the line of his shoulders straight and severe.

The hum of the crowd both in the pavilion and inside the temple itself had grown louder, the vibrations rattling through me until I felt myself draw tight like the string of a bow.

The envoys from Sorrowsend would be here soon.

I itched with restlessness, my heart beating a quick rhythm in my chest, hungry to prove something.

Impatiently I joined my father in his contemplation of the replicant sword and waited for him to speak.

After a long moment, he finally opened his mouth.

“Did you know,” he began, placing a hand on his own sword, “when I was a little boy, I dreamed of nothing but having my blade displayed here among the others.”

“No,” I answered, not really in the mood for his reminiscing. “I didn’t.”

“Only the greatest of Averas earn a place in this pavilion,” he continued, not bothered by my tone. He sneered. “Your Uncle Maximus will almost certainly receive that honor.”

I did not respond. I knew better by now than to provoke him in matters regarding my uncle.

My father raised reverent fingers to the black marble sword, stroking along a line of pure gold that cut through the center of the blade.

“The last time the umbral gate opened was more than thirty years ago. I was freshly eighteen at the time—not much different in age than you are right now. Maximus went in, of course, along with your Great-Aunt Yinde. But he had convinced me it was too dangerous. He said it was my duty to stay behind and watch over Avera if he never came out. Being foolish and young, I believed him.”

A breeze blew through the pines overhead, rustling their branches. My father raised his face toward the sound, still lost in memory.

“He emerged from the umbral gate with all the glory a Hand of the Beast could ever want. He had slain the fallen star—the youngest Pilgrim to ever do so. And I have lived with regret ever since, knowing that had I been braver, I could have had a chance at that glory myself.”

You wouldn’t have , was what I wanted to say.

The Beast wouldn’t choose a coward like you .

But I still had the role of the dutiful daughter to play—at least a little while longer.

So I remained silent, allowing him to divulge his emotions for once.

My father rarely expressed anything like regret, let alone to me.

It occurred to me, suddenly, that perhaps this was his twisted attempt at trying to bond. For the first time in all these years, he was letting himself be vulnerable.

It was a distinctly uncomfortable experience.

My father turned to me. “Now my chance has come again,” he said.

“The star has been given a name: the Wanderer of Still Waters, here at last after its long journey through the skies. Maximus has officially announced that if either vessel of House Avera slays it, they will become the next First Hand. I will do what I was always meant to do. And you will be there as my second—an opportunity I was never given. I know you have worked hard over the years, Daughter. I know you will not disappoint me.”

It was the closest he had ever come to telling me he was proud of me.

The sentiment took me by surprise, leaving me momentarily speechless.

In the midst of that surprise, a thought crept up on me.

What would have happened if I had truly been the obedient daughter he sought?

Would we march to Sorrowsend together and slay the fallen star with the power of not one Hand of the Beast but two?

Would I finally be recognized as a proper vessel of Avera, welcomed into the main estate under my father’s decree?

Would I be able to forgive him then?

A tug at my hair drew my attention. I turned to see Aster picking a sprig of stray pine needles from the loose waves I had painstakingly styled it into this morning.

“Don’t want leaves in your hair while you’re taking center stage,” he said, eyes crinkling sweetly. “Not that it makes you any less lovely. You’re going to take their breath away.”

Underneath his playful tone, I knew what he was really trying to say.

Don’t get swept up by your father’s words. You must be ready.

Thank you , I mouthed at him.

I wasn’t here to field useless daydreams about a spineless, more comfortable version of myself. My father had brought me here, yes—but only to fulfill his own ambitions. He’d never cared about what he had taken from me, only what he could gain.

I wasn’t going to be like him, sitting with regrets for years and years until they made me selfish and sour.

Today, I was going to get what I wanted. And I would make sure that my father never found his place among the vaunted swords of the Avera temple.

“I will honor my position and make the Beast proud,” I answered sincerely. I did not specify that the position was not the one he had assigned me—but the one bestowed upon me by my god.

My god smiled, slow and pleased, and said, “That’s what I like to hear.”

“Good,” my father responded, oblivious. “Now, let us join the others. The envoys will be here soon, and we must be ready.”

***