Chapter 4 - Blood on the Citadel Steps
The thunder overhead rolled like a warning drumbeat, echoing the frantic thumping of Evander’s heart.
"An execution order?" Evander’s voice dropped into a register so cold, so terrifyingly lethal, that Captain Soren instinctively took a step back. "Issued by the Regent Council? Without my knowledge, using my own seal?"
"Sire, look at the signature stamp," Soren said, holding out the wet parchment with a trembling hand. "It’s stamped with the Master Seal of the High Priest. The same priest who drove this woman into the desert this morning."
Evander’s eyes flared with a dark, predatory fury. For years, he had suspected that the council of high priests and noble regents had been running the kingdom from the shadows while he sat on the throne as a figurehead, bound by his curse and isolated in his tower. But actively issuing an assassination order behind his back—targeting the very person who held the key to the realm’s survival and the truth of his family’s darkest sins—was an act of high treason.
On the ground behind him, Mira pushed herself up onto her elbows, wincing as the rain washed away the dried blood crusting her arms. The baby dragon curled protectively around her neck like a living scarf, its sapphire eyes fixed warily on the circle of armed soldiers surrounding them.
"They don’t want peace," Mira rasped, her voice cutting through the downpour like a razor blade. "They want the drought to continue. In a dried-up land, the temples control the granaries. In a starving empire, the priests hold all the power."
Evander turned back to her, kneeling down once more, this time without hesitation. He reached out, sliding his bare hands under her arms to help her stand. As his skin met hers, the same soothing, magical warmth rippled through the air, melting away the bitter cold of the rain.
"Can you stand?" Evander asked, his tone softening into something surprisingly gentle.
Mira looked into his dark eyes, searching for deception, finding only an unyielding storm of resolve. She nodded slowly, leaning her weight against his side. "I have survived the Glass Desert, Your Majesty. I can manage a few corrupt priests."
"Soren!" Evander shouted over the roaring storm.
"At your command, Sire!" the captain barked, snapping to attention.
"Mount the extra horses. We are not returning to the perimeter camp. We are riding straight for the Inner Citadel." Evander’s jaw tightened as he hoisted Mira onto his own massive warhorse, swinging up gracefully behind her and settling the tiny dragon safely inside the folds of his heavy leather cloak. "Let the council see what happens when they try to murder my guest."
The ride back through the storm was nothing short of apocalyptic. The Glass Desert, usually a barren hellscape of burning quartz, was now being beaten flat by sheets of torrential rain. Dry riverbeds that hadn't seen water in a generation suddenly surged with rushing, muddy torrents. Across the plains, crops that hung dead on their stalks began to miraculously uncurl and drink in the life-giving moisture.
By dawn, the looming silhouette of the Inner Citadel rose before them out of the gray mist—a colossal labyrinth of white marble, black iron spires, and towering defensive walls.
As Evander’s cavalry thundered across the drawbridge, the heavy iron portcullis shrieked in protest. The guards lining the ramparts stared in stunned disbelief not only at the king returning ahead of schedule, but at the impossible sheets of rain pouring down over the city roofs.
Evander reined his horse to a brutal halt right at the grand marble staircase of the Hall of Justice.
Before the royal stable hands could even step forward, the massive double doors of the citadel swung open. Stepping out onto the landing was High Priest Malakor, dressed in sweeping robes of crimson and gold, flanked by a dozen heavily armored temple paladins with drawn halberds.
"King Evander!" Malakor boomed, his voice dripping with false piety and suppressed panic as he noticed the rain soaking his pristine vestments. "You return triumphant with the dragon! But what... what is the meaning of this creature riding behind you? That is the poisoner! The traitor who murdered the governor’s son!"
Evander dismounted first, his boots splashing into the puddles on the stone steps. Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached up and lifted Mira down from the saddle, keeping his arm firmly around her waist to support her weak legs.
The moment Malakor’s eyes landed on Mira’s face—and more importantly, upon the glowing silver Rainkeeper crest etched brightly onto her wrist—the high priest’s face turned the color of curdled milk.
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"Kill her!" Malakor shrieked, pointing a trembling, jeweled finger straight at Mira. "She is a witch! An abomination of the old blood! Cut her down before her curse brings ruin upon the crown!"
The dozen temple paladins charged down the steps, their heavy halberds gleaming with lethal intent.
