Page 17 of House of the Beast

TWO STORIES HIGH AND VAST ENOUGH TO SHELTER AN ARMY , the temple was as much a display of prestige as it was a place of worship.

Its foundations had been built from great boughs of wood so polished they gleamed almost black.

The entire back wall was a rich mural of the celestial chaos from which the Beast had come.

Standing before that, in the place of honor upon the altar, was a statue of the Beast Himself, posed bloody and triumphant over a mangled heap of warriors, with a sword in each of His six hands.

There was an animalistic elegance to His hulking form skillfully captured by the sculptor, like a wolf about to leap at its prey.

Firelight from the glistening bronze braziers made shadows flicker across His three mirrored eyes.

“I always liked this statue,” said Aster, tapping at one of the tortured warriors with his head tipped back to gaze upon the statue’s full height.

With his pleasant features and pristine white robes, he barely resembled this terrible image carved in his name.

The only similarity was his eyes—just as full of fire, mesmerizing the way a predator’s were before a kill.

“It’s so violent . Whoever made this was a real artist.”

I could answer with only a noncommittal grunt. The rest of House Avera was already gathered around the altar, and I could not risk giving myself away now that it was finally time to execute my goal.

The Antecedent sat front and center, ready to greet the arriving envoys in his impeccably polished wheelchair.

About three years ago he had realized that his legs weren’t much good for walking anymore, and now had two dedicated attendants to wheel him to and fro.

His coat today was fancier than I had ever seen, with glittering gemstones sewn in among the heavy embroidery, and I worried for a moment that he would collapse under the weight of it.

My father, Euphina, and I were stationed to his left.

Euphina had not acknowledged either of us as we came in.

In all these years, she had barely bothered to look at me again— not even with that hatred that had so burned me when I first arrived.

The message was clear: I was beneath her notice, and she would not lower herself to acknowledge me.

Uncle Maximus was still in the capital, so in his place to the Antecedent’s right stood Darantha, looking less crotchety than usual but only because she was so busy preening over her son.

Kaim had grown into the very picture of a perfect young lord, tall and broad-shouldered and handsome; the female household staff fawned over his “dark brows” and “perfect jaw,” and hearing their whispers never failed to churn my stomach.

Thankfully, I had not had to witness any of this firsthand until quite recently.

When my cousin turned fifteen, he’d been sent to the capital to practice the art of butchery with other masters—a more prestigious education than I was offered, of course.

He’d only returned to Avera a month ago in preparation for this day.

During his time in the capital, he hadn’t lost that arrogant air that had made him so unlikable as a child—but what rankled me was that he had earned it.

He was a fierce fighter, and wholly dedicated to the family’s cause.

I was as wary of him as I was of my father—perhaps even more so, if only due to the unique advantage he held over the rest of us.

My eyes wandered over the attendants and found him soon enough: Fion, my cousin’s perpetual shadow.

Not long after my father had begun tutoring me with the sword, I finally gave in to my curiosity and asked him who the boy with the mismatched eyes was.

“You had best be careful of him” had been his terse response. “That boy should have been given to the Lady’s Church. He would have, if Maximus and Carnus Metia had not broken protocol.”

I had learned about people like Fion from one of my tutors—people born with an affinity for godhood, who were then given the choice of serving the Weeping Lady or being labeled a heretic and executed. “You mean to have his emotions wiped away?” I asked.

“Careful with your words,” my father had reprimanded—but he had not refuted the point. “It is the best way to keep those people under control. Leaving power like that unchecked is dangerous.”

Of course, the greatest threat to the Four Houses was the possibility of anyone else gaining the same access to a higher power. That was the reason the Pilgrimage had come to be—to keep false gods from taking root in Kugara. It was the reason why people like Fion were not allowed to roam free.

“But they gave Fion to House Avera instead?”

“They gave him to Kaim, to make up for his lack of natural prowess,” sniffed my father.

“Your cousin had a difficult time communing with the Beast in his childhood. Maximus pulled some strings, and of course the court played favorites. Thanks to Darantha, House Metia agreed to perform the arcane ritual to bind Fion’s eye for Kaim’s use, so he could better channel the dark hunter.

Your cousin is not to be underestimated. ”

Kaim’s advantage came from the eye he commanded on Fion’s face—the gray one with the scars around it.

Three eyes, just like the Dread Beast himself, even if one was not actually his.

He was no slouch with the sword either, training twice as hard with it as if to make up for his childhood deficiency. A dangerous opponent indeed.

“His connection is still nothing compared to yours,” Aster had reassured me—but still, here in the low light of the Avera temple, when Fion suddenly caught my gaze and smiled, I turned away quickly.

Something about his familiar attitude had always unsettled me.

I cast an assessing look at the balconies overhead.

Seated from wall to wall on the second floor of the temple were all the minor nobles of Avera province, here to witness the spectacle of today’s trial.

Quite a few of them had their attention on me, I noticed.

What a spectacle I was: Lord Zander’s bastard daughter, appearing in public for the first time in years.

It was a great deal of people I would need to prove myself to.

Not that I had expected anything less. This was a nationwide event, and we were the swords of Kugara.

Everyone was excited to see the Hands of the Beast prove their skill in combat.

But having been sequestered away for the past eight years, I could not deny that the sheer numbers in the audience made me a little nervous.

As if sensing this, Aster left the statue he had been lounging against and bumped his shoulder into mine, a familiar touch to ground me.

“Don’t be scared, Alma,” he said. “I’ll be with you the whole way.”

My flesh fingers smoothed over my metal ones, feeling the grooves and dents of the intricate carvings—tiny skulls and bones, eyes and pointed teeth, symbols of my god that swirled in an interlocked pattern from wrist to shoulder. “I know,” I said under my breath, taking comfort in his presence.

The call of a horn from outside silenced the chatter that had filled the air.

My breath caught before I forced myself to exhale slowly.

The envoys were finally here.

Dreadguard, the elite protectors of House Avera who were stationed along the walls, stood at attention, bringing their swords up in a salute, one after the other in a perfectly coordinated line all the way to the entrance.

For a long moment all was quiet, the air still humming with the reverberation of the horn.

Then there came the faint clanking of many footsteps ascending the temple stairs.

The banners of Sorrowsend’s envoys slowly fluttered into sight.

First was the silver-and-white four-pointed star of the Court of Divine Hearers, heralding the arrival of a Cardinal of the court, here today to officiate the event.

His resplendent white silk robes glinted starkly against the dark temple walls as he stepped over the threshold, flanked by two Church knights.

The Church’s banner came after—also silver and white, but instead depicting a single tear falling into still waters. With it came the rest of the two dozen knights in the silver surcoats and polished armor that marked them as sworn to the Weeping Lady, the official protectors of the capital.

Last came the copper-toned insignia of House Goldmercy, who would be responsible for the trial itself. A low murmur buzzed among the crowd as they approached. I stood a little straighter, my hair standing on end.

The scrawny Goldmercy Meister entered first, dressed in a coat of shimmering gray fabric.

Following her was the real source of the excitement—a figure at least eight feet tall, walking with slow steps that seemed to shake the very ground.

A gray hooded robe was draped over its uneven, hulking form, bound in place by sacred rope, obscuring it entirely.

It was one of the Tinkerer’s Things. As I had never visited the capital, it was my first time in the presence of one.

I’d heard tales of these creations of reanimated flesh and clockwork, of how mindlessly vicious they could be.

Yet this one was currently docile as a rabbit as it moved forward with mechanical tedium, steps slow and heavy.

The procession came to a stop, still some distance from the altar. The Church knights stomped their heavy boots one final time in perfect coordination.

With great effort and the hurried assistance of his two attendants, the Antecedent struggled to his feet and took a step forward.

“Good men and women of Avera,” he warbled, his voice bouncing across the walls of glossy wood. “We welcome the envoys of the Divine Court, here today to oversee the trial of the Pilgrimage.”