Page 29 of Veil of Vasara (Fate of the Five #1)

CHAPTER 29 – NATHON

T his was monumentally, devastatingly, bad.

No fertility, no child. No child, no way our father’s plan could come to fruition. Not in the way he had intended.

Which only meant he would seek an alternative means of its success.

I didn’t believe in the Gods, and hence the sacrifices, and hence…the Prince’s true lack of fertility. But I did believe the Prince would now go to great lengths to ensure he did not bear an heir, with anyone, after declaring this his divine sacrifice.

A discomforting sickness, a tension, clawed at my gut. I could only imagine what Loria was feeling. But we couldn’t move, couldn’t react. Nobody else in this entire hall was doing so. We couldn’t show any sign this meant something to us at all. Theoretically, yes, this would mean something for each of the five candidates, but for us, it was something entirely different.

Why had this Prince chosen to sacrifice his fertility? What Prince, what noble in the whole of Athlion, would do such a thing? It would guarantee no heir, which for many, equated to their notion of no legacy. It would increase the fragility of their position. It would make them a far less…

It would make them a far less desirable candidate for marriage.

It couldn’t be. We were already here. The Prince had already agreed to this Courting Season, it would have to be seen through until the end, one of the women standing at these front benches would become his Queen. That was already predetermined.

At least, I believed so. Was it? For once in my life, I could not anticipate the actions of my target.

“But no, with a young, inexperienced, and if rumour is to be believed conceited King… now is our chance.”

I recalled my father’s words to Loria. Young, yes? Inexperienced, naturally. But conceited? No, this King was not conceited. He was simply certain of his own mind, his own strategy.

The High Priest’s face, his lackeys, the members of the Prince’s Council, their faces left no room for doubt, they had not known about this either.

“Is Your Highness…” the High Priest started. “Sure?”

The Prince, without moving his head, glanced at him, moving his eyes to the side. I had never heard of someone being asked if they were sure about their divine sacrifices before. If my life hadn’t just been thrown into imminent danger with this Prince’s decision, I would have found the entire scene enthralling. In fact, despite the threat to my existence, there was still a part of me that did.

He had managed to complete a manoeuvre that had taken everyone by surprise, one that by their own laws and faith they could not reverse.

It was almost enough to make me consider taking him as the King seriously.

“It…it shall be done. Let the Gods witness it. Let the King honour it. Let the people reap from it.” The High Priest sounded unsure and utterly dispassionate.

A tall auburn-haired man made a move to step forwards, presumably to stop the sacrifice. The movement was slight, but I caught it just in time to see a large hand grip him around his bicep and hold him in place with little difficulty. The drunken cousin had stopped Fargreaves just in time. Fargreaves stared at him, trying to shake him off, but Elias’ grip only tightened, to the point of evident pain for the Councilman.

Perhaps the cousin had known. Perhaps.

The High Priest brought forwards a larger bowl, containing a liquid, and a small blade, which Eliel used to draw across his hand, the one still hung in a sling. He dropped his own blood into the mixture. He then drank it and turned, kneeling to the position he had started in.

“By the divine energy that flows through me, by the will of the Gods, I crown thee, Eliel Arcon Solisan, King of Vasara and of Athlion.”

The High Priest placed a large crown on his head, fashioned in the shape of the sun’s rays, it had been similar to his crown as a Prince, but larger, and adorned with dark ruby, amber and golden gems.

Eliel turned, and at once the crowd roared.

“All hail the King! All hail the King! All hail the King!”

The High Priest spoke to the crowd. “His Majesty will now hold his audience, for those who have not been permitted, please enter the adjoining banquet hall, where the Grand Feast will—"

The doors swung open. The mass sound of the entire crowd turning around sounded like a strong gust of wind. Hundreds of eyes were met with the sight of a young man, dragging a woman in by the wrists. Her shackled wrists.

A Vessel.

I couldn’t help but think of that night, that woman.

The man was carrying a sword, which he pointed directly at the King. He let go of the woman, and raised his other hand, seemingly stretched out towards nothing. But his eyes…they glinted with the unmistakable surge of sorcery.

He dropped his free hand.

The hand he had used to freeze us all in place.

A Telepath.

None of the guards were moving in to apprehend him.

Nobody was doing anything at all.

I wasn’t doing anything at all.

We couldn’t move.

The man’s grip on the sword never wavered as he moved further down the aisle. As he came closer, I could see the scars adorning his arms.

He was a Vessel too.

And now, he was free.