Read Online Heretic (The Sanctuary Series Book 7) by Robert J. Crane - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert J. Crane
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that make you the Sovereigness of Saekaj Sovar?” Mendicant asked.
Kahlee Lepos’s smile turned wry. “No.”
A door banged open at the far end of the chamber, causing Cyrus to turn his back on Mrs. Lepos abruptly. The Sovereign of Saekaj Sovar himself came storming down the carpet, his axe in his hand, moving with a startling alacrity.
That’s how I used to look when I held Praelior , Cyrus thought with a sudden surge of regret that felt like a hole had opened up in his chest. Dammit .
“Cyrus,” Terian said, slowing his pace as he came closer, slinging the axe over his shoulder and drifting back to human speed. The Sovereign wore the battered metal armor of the Ghost of Sanctuary. He took off the helm and carried it under his arm, approaching Cyrus at a normal pace now, his pointed nose standing out in the middle of his face, undisguised relief writ across it. He placed a hand on Cyrus’s shoulder, reaching up to do so. “I’m glad to see you survived the Goliath ambush.”
“Not just Goliath,” Cyrus said, feeling stiff in his own armor.
“I heard,” Terian said, letting his hand drift back down and pacing toward his throne, stopping before he got there. His wife threaded between the gorgeous wooden seats and came up to stand behind her husband. He glanced back at her movement. “Have you met my lady wife?”
“Briefly,” Cyrus began.
“I know all your names,” Kahlee said with that same coy smile. “No need to delay your meeting for introductions.”
“Everyone knows my name,” Vaste said, nodding sagely. “Apparently it’s not often you meet a troll with such stunning good looks and excellent wit.”
“It’s very true, Vaste,” Kahlee replied impishly, “most of them struggle with even forming basic sentences in the human language.”
Vaste sighed. “Oh, you married well,” he said to Terian.
Terian smirked, then shifted his attention back to Cyrus, the gloom of the throne room hanging over them as the Sovereign’s smile faded. “I heard that squirt of wet feces Rhane Ermoc got Praelior.” He did not glance at Cyrus’s scabbard for confirmation. He doesn’t even question it; he already knows.
“He did,” Cyrus said, feeling a very taut sensation bubbling back up inside. “I’m sure he’s dancing a merry jig right now at his triumph.”
“Well, I do hope you’re ready to feed that triumph back to him,” Terian said, “blade-first, of course.”
Cyrus started to speak, but held onto his first thought and sighed. “I would,” he said when he spoke, “but this was not a simple attack that merits quick revenge. This was a plotted assassination attempt against me that was followed by a declaration of—”
“Heresy,” Terian said, nodding. “I got the notice yesterday after you were ambushed. They wanted me to turn against you, can you believe it? It’s as though they haven’t been paying attention this last year when we allied against Danay with Emerald Fields.” He broke into a smile. “Naturally, I sent their missive back with one of my own.”
“What did you say?” Vaste asked.
“I didn’t say anything,” Terian replied. “I did, however, wipe my arse on a piece of parchment after a particularly wretched bowel movement and had it sealed with wax, writing, ‘For the Eyes of Pretnam Urides Only’ upon the envelope. I do hope he followed the instructions to the letter.”
“You are the soul of regal comportment, my husband,” Kahlee said.
“Oh, come on,” Terian said, still grinning, “these are the moments that make being Sovereign worth the headaches of trying to get this nation to run.” He looked at Cyrus. “Like I said before, in the Jungle of Vidara, I’m with you. What do you need from us?”
“Nothing at present,” Cyrus said, though he heard Longwell harrumph and tap his lance against the floor of the throne room. “We have enough forces to guard our walls—”
“You have very little in the way of forces left, to my
Kahlee Lepos’s smile turned wry. “No.”
A door banged open at the far end of the chamber, causing Cyrus to turn his back on Mrs. Lepos abruptly. The Sovereign of Saekaj Sovar himself came storming down the carpet, his axe in his hand, moving with a startling alacrity.
That’s how I used to look when I held Praelior , Cyrus thought with a sudden surge of regret that felt like a hole had opened up in his chest. Dammit .
“Cyrus,” Terian said, slowing his pace as he came closer, slinging the axe over his shoulder and drifting back to human speed. The Sovereign wore the battered metal armor of the Ghost of Sanctuary. He took off the helm and carried it under his arm, approaching Cyrus at a normal pace now, his pointed nose standing out in the middle of his face, undisguised relief writ across it. He placed a hand on Cyrus’s shoulder, reaching up to do so. “I’m glad to see you survived the Goliath ambush.”
“Not just Goliath,” Cyrus said, feeling stiff in his own armor.
“I heard,” Terian said, letting his hand drift back down and pacing toward his throne, stopping before he got there. His wife threaded between the gorgeous wooden seats and came up to stand behind her husband. He glanced back at her movement. “Have you met my lady wife?”
“Briefly,” Cyrus began.
“I know all your names,” Kahlee said with that same coy smile. “No need to delay your meeting for introductions.”
“Everyone knows my name,” Vaste said, nodding sagely. “Apparently it’s not often you meet a troll with such stunning good looks and excellent wit.”
“It’s very true, Vaste,” Kahlee replied impishly, “most of them struggle with even forming basic sentences in the human language.”
Vaste sighed. “Oh, you married well,” he said to Terian.
Terian smirked, then shifted his attention back to Cyrus, the gloom of the throne room hanging over them as the Sovereign’s smile faded. “I heard that squirt of wet feces Rhane Ermoc got Praelior.” He did not glance at Cyrus’s scabbard for confirmation. He doesn’t even question it; he already knows.
“He did,” Cyrus said, feeling a very taut sensation bubbling back up inside. “I’m sure he’s dancing a merry jig right now at his triumph.”
“Well, I do hope you’re ready to feed that triumph back to him,” Terian said, “blade-first, of course.”
Cyrus started to speak, but held onto his first thought and sighed. “I would,” he said when he spoke, “but this was not a simple attack that merits quick revenge. This was a plotted assassination attempt against me that was followed by a declaration of—”
“Heresy,” Terian said, nodding. “I got the notice yesterday after you were ambushed. They wanted me to turn against you, can you believe it? It’s as though they haven’t been paying attention this last year when we allied against Danay with Emerald Fields.” He broke into a smile. “Naturally, I sent their missive back with one of my own.”
“What did you say?” Vaste asked.
“I didn’t say anything,” Terian replied. “I did, however, wipe my arse on a piece of parchment after a particularly wretched bowel movement and had it sealed with wax, writing, ‘For the Eyes of Pretnam Urides Only’ upon the envelope. I do hope he followed the instructions to the letter.”
“You are the soul of regal comportment, my husband,” Kahlee said.
“Oh, come on,” Terian said, still grinning, “these are the moments that make being Sovereign worth the headaches of trying to get this nation to run.” He looked at Cyrus. “Like I said before, in the Jungle of Vidara, I’m with you. What do you need from us?”
“Nothing at present,” Cyrus said, though he heard Longwell harrumph and tap his lance against the floor of the throne room. “We have enough forces to guard our walls—”
“You have very little in the way of forces left, to my
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