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 Desire Chapter 69: Empty Shelves Chapter 70: Darkness and Light Chapter 71: The Love of Men Chapter 72: The Cursed Ones Chapter 73: Hiding Places Chapter 74: Old Men's Tales Chapter 75: False Prophecies Chapter 76: The Lord Prince Radu Chapter 77: Love Becomes Life Chapter 78: Mistress and Mother Chapter 79: A Test of Strength Chapter 80: The Strigoi-Viu Cometh Chapter 81: Scraps from the Table Chapter 82: A Fool's Errand Chapter 83: The Little Ghost Chapter 84: Stolen Honeycakes Chapter 85: Breathe Chapter 86: Beneath the Palace Chapter 87: Red Pebbles Chapter 88: Common Men Chapter 89: Love and Duty Chapter 90: Nightmares Chapter 91: Earth and Sun Chapter 92: Love and Creation Chapter 93: Until My Last BreathChapter 74: Old Men's Tales
Even in her younger years when her joints were supple, Dasha did not care for the colder season. In those days she could still see the beauty inherent in winter; moonlight reflecting off freshly fallen snow, the blood red of the holly berries against their sharp evergreen leaves, the clear sky filled with stories told by constellations: the dread beast pursued by the huntress and her pack of dogs, the twin daughters, and the river of tears. Now, those moments of beauty existed beyond her grasp, leaving her only darkness and pain as the nights grew longer and colder.
Since the cold came down in earnest, Dasha spent most of her time seeking warmth and comfort near the fires in the kitchen, away from the priests and soldiers who considered food preparation to be women's work. These rooms full of heat, the sound of women's voices, and the smells of food cooking over pleasantly crackling fires filled some of the void left by the loss of her sons and her sense of sight.
The inhabitants of the temple kitchen did not feel the same warmth towards the Holy Mother, though they dared not speak it aloud. Even though she had been stripped of her official rank and power, she still held authority over every Adyllian employed by the temple. And it seemed she would hold court beside the kitchen fire every day until the next Day of Between when the warmth of spring returned.
"Jul!" called the high priestess from her place by the ovens. "Jul! Send one of your girls for the tea blend I drink for my joints."
"Of course, ma'am." Jul managed a quick half bow more from habit than respect before motioning one of the scullery maids to find the herbs needed for the tea. In her position as the head cook for the temple, she was as unhappy with her permanent guest as she was with the lentils she prepared every day.
The young woman hurried to comply with the old woman's request. Finding the crock in the pantry empty, she headed out the door of the kitchen to search for more of the tea in the storehouse. She found herself face to face with a temple priest clothed in white woolen robes and thick furs. A hush fell over the room as every woman present dropped their gaze to the floor and pulled their veils over their faces. The young scullery maid dropped to her knees before the priest.
"Where is the old woman known as the Heresiarch?" demanded the man.
Jul kept her head down and silently pointed towards the place the old high priestess sat at the fire. Dasha struggled to her feet with the help of her cane.
"His Holiness requires your presence immediately in the library," said the priest as he approached. "I will lead you, there is no need to summon the girl who serves as your guide."
"I do not need my Eyes to walk myself across my own courtyard," grumbled the Holy Mother under her breath as the priest took her hand and placed it within the crook of his elbow. He said nothing in response as he escorted her out of the room, down a hallway, and out the door to the courtyard.
Dasha braced herself for the cold outside, but she was unprepared for the winds that whipped her robes about her and the snow flurries that felt like a knife where they found bare skin. The wind felt sharper than it had in past years when she would have spent her winter in the comfort of her private quarters being waited upon by her own staff of servants.
I should be selecting candidates for my successor and playing with grandchildren. If only I had been blessed with daughters instead of sons, surely I would have at least been a grandmother by now! Perhaps it was my punishment for some unknown sin to be cursed with sons. Or perhaps it is a blessing to not worry for the future of grandchildren I will never have. Instead, I can focus on following a filthy foreigner leading me across my temple, following the orders of yet another male who thinks he is my better simply by virtue of what hangs between his legs.
Baraz was waiting for her just inside the door. She could tell by the smell of rosewater and sweat as soon as the door closed.
"Leave her with me," said Baraz. "Stand guard outside until I call you again. The matter we need to discuss is private, and you will not speak of this meeting to anyone. Do you understand?"
"Yes, your holiness." The priest removed the Holy Mother's hand from his elbow and bowed low before leaving to stand in the cold outside the library door.
"Heresiarch," said Baraz. "I have much to discuss with you."
"I am here only to serve," said Dasha. "But these old bones don't enjoy the cold as they once did. If it please you, perhaps we could have this discussion seated? And somewhere free from the drafts of this old door?" She began tapping her way towards the center of the library with her cane, passing the priest along the way.
"Perhaps the place your people hid the scrolls is warmer than this drafty library?" sneered the high priest, taking hold of her arm and almost knocking her off balance. "Perhaps you could tell me their location and I could lead you there?"
"I know not what you speak of, priest," said Dasha, her mind racing. "I told you before, the Queen ordered the oldest books burned before she surrendered the city for fear of the God-King."
"Forgive me, Heresiarch," said Baraz. "I sometimes forget that you cannot see. Let me describe for you the document I hold in my hand at this moment. It is a scroll of great age, black ink paints the words in an elegant script. It tells of old legends of a blood drinking king of the east who drank the blood of children and how he was burned to death by his own people."
"Ah, a story of the strigoi-viu!" said Dasha. "A story told by old men to frighten children. It is nothing of concern."
Baraz grabbed the old woman by her wrists, forcing her to her knees as he whispered in her ear, "The teachings of the Locust tell us those of your sex are treacherous by nature. But never have I met one who can lie to my face with such temerity, crone! You will tell me where the rest of these books are stored, or you will face the same fate as the blasphemous Zora."
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