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Acknowledgements

After the success of the Caledonia Fae series, I was excited, but nervous, to branch out to something different. There were several people who have helped me develop this new world and make this first book in The Gods of Talmor series something I’m very proud of.

My editor Susan Gottfried gave me help when and where I needed it most, even if that was just a friendly ear to listen in moments when I was feeling uncertain. Thank you so much, Susan. You’ve been a rock for me through all the many transitions I’ve made of late.

To my beta readers: Marsha Moore, K.C. May, Dorian Marshall, and Mac Wheeler, thank you so much for your time and effort.

I also want to thank Ailsa Abraham, who helped me understand magic so much better. Developing a new magic system for a fantasy world is a critical aspect, and her insight and advice aided me in bringing it all together.

I owe a very special thank you to Matteo Michelloti. He cooked me meals when I was too focused to remember to eat, took me for walks when I had spent too long pounding away at the keyboard, and even typed for me when an injury nearly prevented me from making my editing deadline. Without his help and encouragement, I’m not sure how I would have completed this project.

As always, I must thank my readers. You never fail to surprise and delight me with your kind words, your messages, letters, posts, tweets, and reviews. Writing can feel like a solitary and sometimes even a difficult job, and your faith and support constantly cheer me on. Thank you.

Chapter 1

“Sit.” Dul Tarsten looked old and tired. His rumpled, dusty clothes revealed that he hadn’t even taken the time to bathe after attending the public hearings for his province. He gestured to the chair opposite him.

“Thank you.” Eliam sat. His frown tugged the scar slashing down his cheek and through his neat beard. He touched the insignia on his tunic, absently fingering the silver sparrow pin as he collected his thoughts. He didn’t know why he’d been summoned to meet with the senior legislator, but the message had been urgent and the wording cryptic.

The older man opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, his scowl familiar to those who worked with him. He sat back in his chair, eyeing Eliam. “I wonder, young Dul, exactly where your loyalties lie.”

“With the emperor, the senate, and the people of Talmor, of course,” Eliam said out of habit as much as genuine feeling.

Tarsten ignored the political answer. The rifts in the senate were well-known and plentiful, even in Vol, this city that housed only eight of the empire’s legislative body. All proclaimed loyalty to the emperor, naturally, but the fractures were deep and the splinters sharp.

“You grew up with the Ulbrich boy, didn’t you? Went to the same schools, the same parties, ate at the family table?”

Eliam grew still. This was dangerous ground. His closest childhood friend, Korbin Ulbrich, was the son of Dul Graiphen Ulbrich, inarguably the most powerful man in Vol’s Council of Eight. Such a relationship might mean power and influence for Eliam, if only Korbin and his father were on speaking terms. “I knew him, yes.”

“So careful,” Tarsten murmured.

Did the old man blame Eliam for his caution? If Eliam confessed that he had contact with Korbin, the disgraced and disowned disappointment to the highest-ranked man in the city, would the revelation help or hurt his position? Dul Graiphen had seen fit to tell people his son had left to study elsewhere. Who could say whether he knew his statement wasn’t true and was guarding his family’s reputation? Eliam wouldn’t be the one to challenge him.

As though reading Eliam’s thoughts, Tarsten chuckled. “I might be equally cautious in your position.” His smile never reached his eyes, and the laughter died in awkward silence. “I need your help.”

“Of course.” What could a senior Dul such as Tarsten require from him, a junior legislator with little influence? And what did his need have to do with the Ulbrich family? If the request was regarding support for a political agenda, the call would have come through official channels, a scribe would be recording their meeting, and an imperial messenger would have brought the invitation, not one of the Talmor Riders. No matter the answers, he had little choice but to agree to whatever the old man asked of him. Unease prickled Eliam’s skin. “What do you wish from me?”

Dul Tarsten stood and removed a half-empty canvas bag from a trunk on the opposite side of the room. As he returned to his seat, his face twisted with disgust. The bag landed on the table between them with a soft thud. “Look inside, but I wouldn’t touch.”

Eliam reached for the sack. He glanced up at the Dul but found no reassurance in the older man’s expression. “What is this?”

The senior Dul scowled again. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Careful to open the bag only as far as necessary to peek inside, a sickening smell invaded Eliam’s senses. He grimaced at the strange collection of hair and bones, sticks and ripped fabric, burned remnants of leather and wax. After a cursory inspection, he folded the edges of the sack over, closing it. The scent lingered, causing a twist in his stomach. “I don’t understand what you think I might know. This looks and smells like something you’d find behind a foreign battlefield healing tent.”

“Foreign, yes. Healing? I don’t think so. I’ve been in touch with members of several temples. They say these are objects used in Kilovian witchcraft.”

Ah.
Now the summons made sense. Parstelia, the province Eliam represented in the senate, almost exclusively contained the inner population of this great city. Vol housed a large Kilovian immigrant segment in the lower east quarter, where the people practiced their native religion. No one made too much of a fuss about the fact that the community shunned the eight Spirits worshipped in Talmor, even though heresy was technically still a crime.

The immigrants were mostly poor refugees, but they didn’t cause much trouble. Their hard-working nature allowed the citizenry to overlook their peculiarities. Still, in the seventeen months Eliam had represented the province, he’d spent most of his time dealing with Talmoran citizens and merchants, rather than the poorest of his constituents. After all, they couldn’t vote.

“Where did you get these things?” he asked, daring, for once, to be direct.

The older man didn’t appear to take affront. “Dul Graiphen Ulbrich’s private home in the city.” Before Eliam could ask why any decent Talmoran would possess such accoutrements, Tarsten added, “Priests of Nyloc suggest these items have been used to curse him.”

Eliam laughed. Kilovian witchcraft was a cartload of nonsense, superstitions for foreigners and the weak-minded.

When he saw Tarsten’s expression, the chuckle turned to a dry cough. “You wish me to direct the city watch to investigate a break-in?” Eliam’s personal involvement was hardly necessary. Perhaps the senior Duls were being polite by informing him of such a sensitive case. The city
was
within his constituency.

The Dul leaned forward. “No, you idiot boy. I want you to find someone to remove the curse.” When Eliam started to respond, the elder man held up a hand. “This is no laughing matter. Graiphen Ulbrich is very ill.”

“Ill?” Eliam repeated, confused. He’d heard no such reports. He thought back, realizing he hadn’t seen Dul Graiphen in months. Because of his relationship with the senior legislator’s son, the lack of contact had relieved him rather than raised concern.
When
was
the last time I saw Graiphen?

“Yes,” Tarsten said slowly, as though weighing how much to reveal. After a few moments, he appeared to reach a decision. “His mind has grown addled. He has nightmares, even when awake. Visions.” He paused. “No one must learn of this. I’m placing great trust in you.”

“How long has he been sick?”

“I noticed the first signs months ago, but they didn’t become alarming until recently.”

“If Dul Graiphen is as ill as you say, shouldn’t the senate be informed? The emperor even? The people—”

“It would be detrimental to his position if the people thought their most beloved senate leader suffered from a prolonged illness. And if they believed him cursed by some foreign god? No. First, we find out what these things are. I’m not making official declarations until I am certain what has happened and how to undo the damage. The less public involvement, the better.”

Eliam sat back, staring thoughtfully at the canvas sack. A bag of smelly bones might make the air unpleasant, but they couldn’t make a man mad. If, in fact, Graiphen Ulbrich had lost his grasp on reality, his days in the senate were numbered. Soon, the axis of political power in the empire would shift. On the other hand, if Eliam did this favor for Tarsten, he’d have earned the man’s gratitude regardless of the true source of Graiphen’s ills.

“I can ask around,” Eliam said.

“Be discreet,” Tarsten warned him. “No one can suspect the truth.”

“What about Korbin?”

“So you’re still in contact with him?”

Eliam nodded. “From time to time. He lives in Chelotti Strand.”

“The slum along the river?” Tarsten blinked. “Here in Vol?”

Populated by working class people, Chelotti Strand was by no means a slum, although the wealthiest avoided it. Even merchants looked down their nose at those living there. Which was why the section was a perfect place for Korbin Ulbrich to hide from his wealthy, noble family.

Eliam shrugged. “He enjoys a simple life.”

“I had no idea he stayed in the city.” Tarsten frowned thoughtfully. “The family estrangement is a source of ire for Dul Graiphen and isn’t a matter we discuss. I hope they’ll reconcile one day, but today is not that day. I’m not even sure Graiphen would recognize his son at this point.”

Especially not with Korbin dressed as a Talmor Rider.
Eliam wondered what Graiphen would think if he saw his son earning a wage, bartering with merchants, drinking with the riffraff. Of course, the Dul would be horrified, incensed even. But surely part of him would be proud of the hard-working side of his son. Korbin had always insisted that was romanticized crap and that his father had never been proud of him and never would be.

“So you’ll do it?” Tarsten asked.

Eliam’s reverie was broken and the Dul’s stare weighed on him. “Yes.” With disgust, Eliam reached for the canvas bag. “I’m not convinced about any witch’s curse.” He stood, holding the sack away from him as though it contained venomous snakes.

“Neither am I.” Tarsten struggled to raise his ample girth as he rose as well. “This line of inquiry is my last hope. We can’t lose the Dul to our enemies.”

Our?
So by taking this assignment, he’d become a member of the higher Duls’ inner circle? “I’ll inform you if I find any useful information.”

“Hurry. Dul Graiphen grows more confused by the day. We don’t have much time, I fear. It’s getting difficult to contain him.”

Eliam frowned and nodded. Had he stepped in over his head? He didn’t like the way Tarsten said
contain
.

∞

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