Page 71 of House of the Beast

As the circle ward dissipated into the air, my father began, almost conversationally, “Lord Carnus must have given you the rundown of Kugara’s dirty little secret. But I suspect he hasn’t told you the whole of it.”

I wanted to ignore him and wallow in silent despair.

He did not deserve the breath it would take to respond.

But as always, he had a way of getting under my skin.

When he received no reply, he raised an eyebrow at me and said, “Come now, Alma—are you telling me Carnus Metia kept it from you? Perhaps he trusted you less than I thought.”

“He’s told me enough,” I said, fuming, as we climbed. “You want to become like a god. You’ve stolen knowledge kept by the court and committed sacrilege for the sake of your ego.”

“My ego,” repeated my father, with the gall to sound genuinely baffled. “I am only taking what others have been too afraid to pursue. The court is full of fools who think they can keep shackles on us without repercussions, when the power to change everything slumbers undisturbed above them.”

“If they had elected you as First Hand instead of Uncle Maximus, you would have been content to play your role. Instead, you’ll unleash chaos without a single thought for the consequences just to prove you’re not as pathetic as everyone thought you were.”

He turned on me. His palm struck my face, hard enough to snap my head to the side.

“Perhaps then my own daughter would afford me a little more respect,” he said coldly.

My cheek felt raw. I had forgotten what it was like to feel so acutely helpless. I glowered at him. “I will never respect you. You can be assured of that.”

“Perhaps so,” he agreed lightly, marching on again like he had never been interrupted, while I was left to follow him like a trained dog. The second ward fell just as quickly as the first. “But if you won’t respect me, at least respect the wishes of our god. He wants this as much as I do.”

I couldn’t help my pathetic “Why?”

For the life of me, I could not understand why Aster would want the same thing as my father—and that hurt most of all.

“Penance. Retribution. This I was once told in commune. Imagine—an elder god who feels regret. Ah, but I doubt the Grand Heavenseer wanted to reveal this.”

Penance?

We had reached the Church doors. Though they had been thrown open in Sorrowsend, in this realm, they were locked.

Here was the final ward—a grand sentry mechanism crafted by House Goldmercy covering the entire length and height of the doors with twisting clockwork.

This one, my father unlocked with a golden key he took out of his pocket.

The Mother Meister must have given it to him.

As the doors clicked and whirred, the mechanisms disengaging in acquiescence, my father turned to me and said, “You know, you could have made a good daughter. You are a lot like me.”

“I’m nothing like you,” I spat. “You killed your own son. You sacrificed him to fulfill your goals years ago, and when that didn’t work, you brought him back to try it again.”

I had hoped the mention of Ephrem would pluck a chord in his conscience. Perhaps hearing someone accuse him of such a horrible thing would finally elicit some sort of emotional response. Perhaps it would stop him from trying the same thing again with me.

He didn’t even blink. “You are as much a murderer as I,” said my father calmly. “Would you like a list? Olissa Goldmercy. That guard whose face you tore off as a child. How many others? You have justified those deaths to yourself, yet you condemn me for doing the same.”

“No. That’s different.” But even to me, it sounded like a weak denial.

He snorted humorlessly.

I had nothing more to say. Perhaps he was right. I knew the price paid for my revenge—all of my sins, all the marks against my soul. I couldn’t forget them if I tried.

But if my guilt was the only thing that kept me from being the same senseless narcissist as him, then I would cling to that guilt until my dying breath.

Light spilled out as the doors opened. The Church in Sorrowsend had been magnificent, but here in the realm of the gods, it was enough to inspire worship.

Alive with arcane lights and symbols, it was the amalgamation of all the mortal devotion given to it in the mundane world.

The waterways sparkled like they were filled with liquid gold.

The vignettes of the Four on the stained-glass windows moved as though they were alive.

Upon the grand altar sat the Lady herself.

She resembled a human woman, perhaps one of her Disciples draped in holy cloth, but there was no doubt about it.

She was an elder god in the flesh. The very air around her seemed to warp with power.

To look upon her felt like blasphemy—and indeed, it was a very difficult thing to do.

A light emanated from her that made her shape hard to perceive.

Her edges seemed to pulse in and out of existence.

When my eyes grazed across her form, a low ringing sounded between my ears.

At our entrance, she lifted her weeping face from her hands. Her eyes opened to look at us—one black, one the color of solar fire.

I stared. I had never seen her with both her eyes open before.

My father bowed to her, and she watched him serenely. If she knew of her fate she wasn’t fighting it.

“Lady,” he greeted the elder god. “I regret to do this to you after all your services to Kugara. But I aim to elevate us; I hope you will forgive me, when you see the results of my enterprise.”

Leaving me at the entrance, he began his march down the pews to meet the final guardian of the key to godhood.

Desolation overtook my rage. For the first time, I realized that my father truly was about to get everything he wanted. This crooked, selfish man was going to emerge victorious while I would meet my pathetic end here, having achieved nothing and having mattered to no one.

All because I had trusted the only friend I ever had. I had listened to his lies and his vague assurances out of desperation to keep him close. To have a companion, to have a purpose. To be someone’s chosen, even if that someone was terrible.

And though this was all his fault, I still wanted him to take my hand and tell me everything would be all right.

I wanted his comfort, the one thing that had kept me going through the long, hard years.

I wanted him near—had been unconsciously cling ing to him even as he violated my body, hoping for an answer to all my insecurities.

In an act of irony, perhaps he was the closest he had ever been, inhabiting me in the flesh.

Suddenly, I could not stand it any longer.

My skin crawled with the knowledge that someone I no longer trusted was inside it.

I wanted to scratch at myself, to claw the intruder out, but I could not do even that.

A silent scream grew deep in my belly. I needed him gone.

I needed to draw my sword against my father and my violator both.

I would likely die here, but I could do it in defense of the Weeping Lady and know that there had been some value in that fruitless endeavor.

First, I would need to get rid of my monster.

So I closed my eyes and thought of home.