Read Online The Forgotten (The Lost Words: Volume 3) by Igor Ljubuncic - Free Book Online
Authors: Igor Ljubuncic
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Sometimes, he forgot what he was doing in this miserable place, so he had to seek Adam’s grave to reassure himself it had not been in vain. It could not have been.
But the woman who had killed his son was nowhere to be found.
The king retreated, descending the wide flight of steps that led into the death chamber, his bodyguards trailing, fully armed. He had never needed them before, but reality had changed. He did not fear death. He feared what his demise would cost Parus. So early after the conquest, it would spell disaster for his realm. His work was far from being finished.
The royal—imperial—palace in Roalas, such as it was, was a small, shabby place, hardly fitting his status. Anyone’s really. It spoke volumes of Adam’s legacy and his gruesome work. The man had taken the first big city he had laid his eyes upon and made it into the capital of his young realm, ignoring protocol and custom. He had taken over the military keep and converted it into his home. He had destroyed temples and chapels and made them into warehouses and stores.
Sergei rounded corners, going back to the court room. Servants and clerks edged out of his way, bowing. Athesians, all of them. They had adapted almost instantly. Looking at them, you could read fifty years of history from their cold, emotionless faces. They had seen the councillors rule them, then the Feorans, then Adam and his daughter, and now the Parusiteking. Roalas was a place that spelled doom to those who tried to hold it. An unholy, unhappy place.
Sergei tried to ignore the casual disdain they showed him. It was unsettling.
He found his sister half sitting, half leaning against a large table, her right leg dangling with clockwork precision, her eyes staring at some papers. Her priestess friend was writing, back straight as a steel blade. Two Red Caps stood guard, arms crossed on the hilts of their swords, tips down between their legs. A silly pose, one that left you tired and too slow to respond, but Sasha insisted.
Another person to have embraced reality almost instantly. It seemed everyone but him had accepted Amalia’s defeat and now worked toward making a new future for the Athesians. For some reason, he hesitated. He wavered. He was held back by angry ghosts tugging at his soul.
There was a fire burning unnecessarily in the west hearth, crackling and hissing, sap bursting. Unlike Adam’s grave room, the walls here burst with decorations. You could hardly see the stone. Sasha had commissioned all of Roalas’s painters to create a vivid recollection of the city’s fall, and then displayed the canvases all around the court room. If you stepped close to the paintings, you could still smell the tangy aroma of flax oil.
The Return of Faith
, she called the glorious scenery. She wanted every person allowed into her presence to admire the victory of Parus over infidels. Sergei felt the gesture pointless, but he did not argue with her choice. It was her court room.
She was the ruler of Athesia now.
As a king, it belonged to him during his stay, so he could have asked for any setting. And he’d have exercised his right with any one of his archdukes. But he could not bring himself to do that with his sister. So he let her do whatever she pleased.
Sasha nodded as she heard him approach, without looking up. His bodyguards assumed stations opposite their female counterparts. Sergei stood in the center of the court room, admiring the prize of his campaign. He could see lines where walls had been knocked down, each section a slightly different shade of gray. The Athesian tapestries and armor suits had been thrown out. A pair of fireplaces had been built from fresh brick and mounted with shields. Sasha always complained it was too cold. Sergei hated the smell of smoke.
“Sister,” he said when he realized she would not greet him first.
Sasha looked up, rolling a quill between her fingers. “Brother.” Her priestess companion looked up, staring sharply, almost
But the woman who had killed his son was nowhere to be found.
The king retreated, descending the wide flight of steps that led into the death chamber, his bodyguards trailing, fully armed. He had never needed them before, but reality had changed. He did not fear death. He feared what his demise would cost Parus. So early after the conquest, it would spell disaster for his realm. His work was far from being finished.
The royal—imperial—palace in Roalas, such as it was, was a small, shabby place, hardly fitting his status. Anyone’s really. It spoke volumes of Adam’s legacy and his gruesome work. The man had taken the first big city he had laid his eyes upon and made it into the capital of his young realm, ignoring protocol and custom. He had taken over the military keep and converted it into his home. He had destroyed temples and chapels and made them into warehouses and stores.
Sergei rounded corners, going back to the court room. Servants and clerks edged out of his way, bowing. Athesians, all of them. They had adapted almost instantly. Looking at them, you could read fifty years of history from their cold, emotionless faces. They had seen the councillors rule them, then the Feorans, then Adam and his daughter, and now the Parusiteking. Roalas was a place that spelled doom to those who tried to hold it. An unholy, unhappy place.
Sergei tried to ignore the casual disdain they showed him. It was unsettling.
He found his sister half sitting, half leaning against a large table, her right leg dangling with clockwork precision, her eyes staring at some papers. Her priestess friend was writing, back straight as a steel blade. Two Red Caps stood guard, arms crossed on the hilts of their swords, tips down between their legs. A silly pose, one that left you tired and too slow to respond, but Sasha insisted.
Another person to have embraced reality almost instantly. It seemed everyone but him had accepted Amalia’s defeat and now worked toward making a new future for the Athesians. For some reason, he hesitated. He wavered. He was held back by angry ghosts tugging at his soul.
There was a fire burning unnecessarily in the west hearth, crackling and hissing, sap bursting. Unlike Adam’s grave room, the walls here burst with decorations. You could hardly see the stone. Sasha had commissioned all of Roalas’s painters to create a vivid recollection of the city’s fall, and then displayed the canvases all around the court room. If you stepped close to the paintings, you could still smell the tangy aroma of flax oil.
The Return of Faith
, she called the glorious scenery. She wanted every person allowed into her presence to admire the victory of Parus over infidels. Sergei felt the gesture pointless, but he did not argue with her choice. It was her court room.
She was the ruler of Athesia now.
As a king, it belonged to him during his stay, so he could have asked for any setting. And he’d have exercised his right with any one of his archdukes. But he could not bring himself to do that with his sister. So he let her do whatever she pleased.
Sasha nodded as she heard him approach, without looking up. His bodyguards assumed stations opposite their female counterparts. Sergei stood in the center of the court room, admiring the prize of his campaign. He could see lines where walls had been knocked down, each section a slightly different shade of gray. The Athesian tapestries and armor suits had been thrown out. A pair of fireplaces had been built from fresh brick and mounted with shields. Sasha always complained it was too cold. Sergei hated the smell of smoke.
“Sister,” he said when he realized she would not greet him first.
Sasha looked up, rolling a quill between her fingers. “Brother.” Her priestess companion looked up, staring sharply, almost
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