Blood of the Goddess Book I: The Locust King
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Locusts at the Gate Chapter 2: A New Name Chapter 3: The Capital Prepares Chapter 4: The Princess is Dead, Long Live the Princess Chapter 5: Outside the Gates Chapter 6: Inside the Black Tent Chapter 7: Surrender at the Temple Chapter 8: The Cult of the Locust Chapter 9: The Locust's Tenets of Faith Chapter 10: Mourners on the Cliff Chapter 11: The Eye of Betrayal Chapter 12: The Dead King's Bedchamber Chapter 13: The Arms of the Goddess Chapter 14: Zayaan of the Narim Chapter 15: The Eyes of the Priestess Chapter 16: A More Permanent Disguise Chapter 17: Tribute Chapter 18: Sacrifice of the New Moon Chapter 19: The Lost Bird Chapter 20: Manah and the Priestess Chapter 21: Desert Creatures Chapter 22: Become the Swarm Chapter 23 The Price of Betrayal Chapter 24: Life Under the Locust Chapter 25: Wild Rose Chapter 26: The Lady Wren Chapter 27: Thought and Desire Chapter 28: The Lady's Captivity Chapter 29: The Wine Maiden Chapter 30: End of Childhood Chapter 31: The Children of Aisha Chapter 32: The Forest Runner Chapter 33: Three Sisters Chapter 34: The Hunt Chapter 35: Bones in the Forest Chapter 36: Lullaby Chapter 37: The Hunter's Horn Chapter 38: Ways Between Ways Chapter 39: Morning Star Chapter 40: A Prophecy for Baraz Chapter 41: Equinox Fires Chapter 42: The Lord Prince Takri Chapter 43: Evening Star Sets Chapter 44: Chaos in the Courtyard Chapter 45: Dasha Chapter 46: Memories Chapter 47: The Body Slave Chapter 48: Caged Beasts Chapter 49: Message from the Capital Chapter 50: Heresiarch Chapter 51: The Color of Blood Chapter 52: Winter Winds Chapter 53: The Bookmaker's Closet Chapter 54: Wrapped in Dignity and Beauty Chapter 55: Vessel of the Goddess Chapter 56: Cracks in the Walls Chapter 57: Two Brothers Chapter 58: The Court of Women Chapter 59: Favored of the King Chapter 60: The Sweetest Fruit Chapter 61: Daughter of the Temple Chapter 62: A Nation of Bastards Chapter 63: The Lute Player Chapter 64: Aisha's Prayer Chapter 65: Promises Chapter 66: Lives Lost Chapter 67: The Tea Maker Chapter 68: Object of DesireChapter 63: The Lute Player
"I can sing if it would please you." Nasreen's words burst from her mouth before she was aware she was speaking. "I have been trained from a young age in all methods of entertainment."
"I do not want to hear my praises sung from the mouth of a filthy harlot," said Mahleck, his voice little more than a whisper. "I want my WIFE to obey me as she should."
"My God and King," began Takri. "I..."
Mahleck cut him off. "This is business between a husband and wife. Attend to your meal, Lord Prince. I will not be disrespected at my own table!"
Lilua kept her head bowed, but her fingers continued to move soundlessly above her plate, speaking to Takri.
Quiet. You will only anger him further.
Mahleck grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. "Stop fidgeting like a nervous idiot! I know you can hear me. Why do you hold yourself back from me? I gave you everything. I saved you from a life in the sand and placed you in a beautiful palace, wrapped you in silks, and surrounded you with flowers. You sleep in safety by my side. And this is how you repay me? By keeping secrets and withholding your worship and respect?"
Lilua shrank in on herself against his onslaught, making herself even smaller. Her mouth opened and shut almost soundlessly. But the words were not there.
"I deserve more than what was given freely to the idolatress who called herself Queen of Adyll. I deserve more worship than a demoness! And you will give it to me, wife!" Mahleck forced her to meet his gaze. "Do you understand me?"
Lilua held his gaze for a moment, almost defiantly, then nodded in acquiescence. Mahleck released her, and she crumbled to the floor.
"Let me fetch your instrument. And then you shall sing my praises for everyone to hear!" Mahleck dragged her bodily across the room to a low couch before grabbing her lute where the eunuch left it. Lilua smoothed her garments back into place before taking the lute from his hands. She stared at it silently until Mahleck resumed his place at the table.
"Play. Do not make me punish Takri for telling me lies about how his little cousin could sing more beautifully than anyone else," growled Mahleck.
Lilua rested the edge of the lute's small body on her lap and placed her slender fingers around the long neck of the instrument. She strummed the instrument once, then began tuning the pegs on the top of the lute. The motion caused her silken sleeve to fall back from her forearm, revealing a lace like web of white scars from wrist to elbow.
"Enough of this! Play!" shouted Mahleck.
She looked up again, defiant only for a moment before her fingers flowed across the strings in an intricate dance. Her eyes closed against her audience, and for a moment she was alone sitting in the shadows of the mountain as she did before she was joined in marriage to the man who massacred her people.
To a time when she still had a voice.
The walls of the palace melted away around her as she played, just as they always did. Where the music was, she was. There was no space inside the music for the terrors she witnessed. No space for Mahleck. No space for the Swarm. She opened her mouth and began to whisper to herself, willing herself to become louder, even against the lump that always rose in her throat when she played.
Words did not come. They would never come. But music could. Music was breath.
Her voice gained strength, wordless, over a song of deep grief. A new song, played not in the shadows of the mountain, but in the shadow of a tyrant. Against the tyrant.
He commanded me to sing, but he cannot control my song. I will not sing of his greatness. I will sing of my desert, and freedom lost. I will sing of loneliness. I will sing of captivity, and pain. And how he will never own all of me.
As she played, a deep melancholy settled over the occupants of the room. Nasreen surreptitiously wiped tears from her face. Takri's hand found hers under the table, and she did not pull away. Baraz continued to consume the venison on his plate, mopping up the juices with a handful of bread, almost oblivious to the magic being woven in front of him. Mahleck sat with his arms crossed over his chest, staring intently at his favorite as she played her song of yearning.
Lilua opened her eyes, and she was once again a captive child bride. Meek, fragile, submissive. And mute.
"See, now, that wasn't that hard," said Mahleck. "But I think I take more pleasure in the sound of your lute. Come, sit with me." He pushed himself back from the table enough to make room for her to sit on his lap like a child. She obeyed.
"There is a certain wild charm in your song," said Mahleck, as he stroked Lilua's hair. "I have heard the Zorya witches in the aspen forest also use song in their enchantments. I believe The Lord Prince is one of the few to survive to tell the tale. If they sing like you, I can understand the danger."
"The sound of a female's voice is sure to lead any man to temptation," said Baraz. "As you have taught us, they live only to deceive."
"My wife would never deceive me," said Mahleck. "But it is the natural state of women to lead men astray. Take Nasreen, for example. Without my intervention, Takri would still be under her spell. All women are witches, Takri. Especially those who are not given proper guidance. Lilua is an example of what can be done with a woman if she is trained from a young enough age."
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