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  “Good afternoon, Ouranos.” Kasimirh rearranged the stole around the priest’s shoulders. “Orange looks good on you.”

  To the outside world, the stole was a clear symbol that the priest had converted to Jakob. Orange was the colour worn by the teachers. Kasimirh hoped that more Merzians would convert if one of the teachers was a priest that they’d been following for a long time.

  “If I could, I would burn this rag,” the priest hissed. He had folded his hands in his lap, but they were shaking from his futile resistance against the magic.

  “I don’t mind helping you,” said Kasimirh. He produced a little flame and held it close to the stole. Ouranos’s eyes widened. Kasimirh laughed. He closed his fist to extinguish the flame. “If you still feel the same way by the end of the service, I will gladly fulfil your wish.”

  “Your message may sound beautiful, Kasimirh, but the more I get to know you, the more I despise you. You don’t practice what you preach.”

  Kasimirh leaned back and folded his hands in his lap. He didn’t even try to disguise the contempt in his voice. “I’m the prophet of the one True God. How dare you question the righteousness of my actions?”

  “You say you offer people life. How does that compare to the fact that you kill dissidents en masse?”

  “Your life and theirs is worth nothing. Your refusal to convert is an obstruction to the realization of Jakob’s dream. I do offer people life, but the choice whether they wish to accept life under Jakob or to die in sin is theirs.”

  “The only reason why my followers convert is because they think you’ll soon be driven out of this city and everything will go back to the way it was,” Ouranos snarled. “I encourage them, for their own survival. Gaia will forgive them.”

  Kasimirh clenched his fists and stared out of the window. Gaia’s priest voiced Kasimirh’s own doubts. Lately, he more frequently considered exterminating the Merzians. After that, the country could be rebuilt. If Lilith had still been fighting on his side, he probably would have taken that step a long time ago, in spite of Jakob’s assignment to give the heathens one last chance.

  “So why don’t you convert then?” he asked Ouranos.

  “My duties as a priest stop me from doing so. I will never voluntarily renounce my Goddess.”

  “You could save their lives if you did.”

  Ouranos was deep in thought. They both stared outside.

  They passed a group of builders. It was mainly the women and children who occupied themselves with the reconstruction of Nadesh. Their husbands and fathers were the soldiers that were camped at the foot of the city. The fact that there were more women than men in the capital had made it easier for Kasimirh to capture Nadesh. The women had put up a fierce fight, but they had been no match for Zuzeca’s army.

  Kasimirh didn’t have much to fear from the Merzians working here. They had grey cloths tied around their arms, which meant that they were students of Jakobinian priests.

  Kasimirh looked around as the carriage rode past the construction site. Small groups of women were discussing what they had just seen.

  “It doesn’t matter what you do,” said Kasimirh. “People will talk about seeing you by my side today. Which means that I’ve reached my goal and will have no further need of you.”

  At the ruin of Gaia’s temple, Kasimirh and the priest got out of the carriage. Flowers had been placed against the collapsed walls in honour of the dead king. Soldiers were guarding the building. A Jakobinian sorcerer had joined them. Zuzeca had warned about riots during the entombment, so all construction work in the vicinity of the temple had been stopped for the day. There was, however, a serene quiet as no Merzians showed themselves.

  The soldiers saluted when Kasimirh walked past. He entered the building through a hole in the wall. Gaia’s priest stopped to look at the ruined temple. The only things standing upright were the remains of the hand-decorated columns. Pieces of debris were scattered all over the floor. Among the rubble lay wilted flowers that had long ago been offered to his Goddess.

  Kasimirh looked down on the statue of the Goddess as he walked passed it. She was lying on the ground with a thick rope around her neck, toppled by Zuzeca’s soldiers. She might have looked happy once, but now she was staring sadly into the distance. One of her shoulders was shattered, and the hour glass lay out of reach. The glass was broken and the sand had poured out.

  “Save yourself the trouble,” Kasimirh said to the priest who was praying out loud. “Gaia’s days are over. No prayer can change that.”

  Ouranos responded by pronouncing the words even more clearly. Kasimirh shook his head and walked towards the waiting embalmers. At his sign, they lifted the bier with Yvar’s body onto their shoulders. The small procession silently descended the stairs to the crypt.

  The four seasons were depicted on the walls. Kasimirh passed a tree in bloom followed by a tree with overhanging branches from many ripe fruits.

  Spring had come, Kasimirh mused with a smile. It wouldn’t be long before the glorious summer began. Yvar’s entombment was an important step in the right direction. Jakob had promised him a Golden Era. A time to harvest the fruits from the trees.

  Kasimirh cast a glance over his shoulder at Yvar’s body. It was a pity that so few Merzians understood that today was a day of celebration. The king had given his life, so that his subjects could live in affluence.

  The priest joined the company again. Kasimirh realized that Ouranos was going to compare the recent events to the pictures they were now passing. In the eyes of the priest, Merzia was now in the autumn of its existence. A tempestuous time that heralded a harsh winter during which Merzia would suffer even more destruction.

  Inside the crypt Ghalatea had made a herb carpet. There was a lovely smell of lavender and sage. Ghalatea curtsied as Kasimirh passed by. The dry leaves crackled underneath his boots. A few steps later, Kasimirh turned around and realized that Ghalatea was curtsying for Yvar and not for him.

  “Ghalatea,” he said in a stern voice. When the Ancilla Princeps rose, he saw her face and swallowed his words. Even though Ghalatea had recovered somewhat since he had taken her away from Zuzeca, she was a mere shadow of the woman he had seen during Yvar’s wedding. A week after Kasimirh had found her, he had discovered why Ghalatea had stayed behind in Nadesh. As Ancilla Princeps she wanted to serve her king up until the moment of his last journey.

  Dinak had told him that Ghalatea was a good student who quickly picked up the new religion. Therefore, Kasimirh had decided to reward her. Ghalatea’s study had been temporarily put on hold, and the Ancilla Princeps had been brought to the citadel, to do what she had stayed in Nadesh for. Meanwhile, she could learn a few important lessons about her new God and his prophet.

  Kasimirh smiled. “You did a good job. You can stay during the entombment.”

  Ghalatea hesitated, then she curtsied again. “Thank you, lord,” she said quietly.

  Kasimirh took his place at the foot of the tomb where the king would have his last resting place. He thoroughly inspected the inside to ensure that the stone casket was empty. He was reassured by what he saw. No one had tried to smuggle items into the grave.

  Kasimirh motioned for the entombment to begin. While the four embalmers sang their songs, the body was placed in the tomb. Kasimirh listened intently, but they were all common songs about the previous kings’ journeys to heaven. They weren’t about Yvar himself. During the songs, the urn with Yvar’s intestines was placed inside the tomb as well.

  A sheet covered the embalmed body. There were symbols on it: a crown, of course, over Merzia’s coat of arms. But also symbols representing Yvar’s deceased brother. The sheet wasn’t fully embroidered, which meant that Yvar had had an easy life. He’d never had to defend his country, until Kasimirh showed up.

  Kasimirh had hoped Yvar would be on his side. Therefore, he had sent him a few gifts, including one of his most beautiful books containing Jakob’s lessons. He had retrieved the book in Yvar’s room. The king
had truly been interested. It had undoubtedly been Ferhdessar who had changed his mind, Kasimirh thought with irritation. If that semi-sorcerer hadn’t interfered, there might not have been any reason for the current war.

  Gaia’s priest was placing gifts in the tomb: strings of beans that guaranteed wealth in the hereafter. Kasimirh didn’t really understand the Merzian customs. In the heaven that Jakob had described to him, everyone lived in prosperity. No one needed to sow or reap anything to be able to exist. The Merzians, however, even gave their king a pouch of money. Kasimirh shook his head as he watched.

  Prayer after prayer echoed through the crypt. Kasimirh’s gaze wandered from Yvar’s tomb to the graves of Yvar’s ancestors and the statue of Thibauld at the rear of the room. On the wall behind the statue the royal family tree was painted. There were dragons painted behind the names of the earliest ancestors in Yvar’s lineage. It had been centuries since the last dragonshifter had sat on the throne. Kasimirh’s thoughts wandered off to Lilith. He clenched his fists.

  Kasimirh suddenly started upright. Something was quickly placed inside the tomb, and the accompanying prayer was unintelligible. The priest wanted to continue, but Kasimirh raised his hand.

  “Repeat that for me,” Kasimirh ordered.

  Ouranos hesitated. Then he repeated the prayer that he had spoken when he had laid the keys of Yvar’s heavenly palace in the tomb.

  “Not that!” Kasimirh shouted. “What you said after that.”

  The priest shook his head. “That was the last thing I said.”

  Kasimirh walked around the tomb and pushed Ouranos out of the way. The priest fell against the grave of Yvar’s mother and barely remained standing. Kasimirh groped around underneath the sheet. He found a small object. Kasimirh moved it towards him and looked at it, lost in thought. He was holding a jade ankh cross. “Royal life,” he muttered. “Your king had a child?”

  The priest shook his head, but didn’t look Kasimirh in the eye. Kasimirh’s gaze wandered to the tomb of Yvar’s first wife. No, he was sure they hadn’t had children together. In the library he had found a chronicle about the marriage. Caliste had fallen ill only a few weeks after the wedding. She had been so seriously ill, that she hadn’t been able to carry a pregnancy to full term.

  Kasimirh looked at the stone object again. “Nigesanla is pregnant,” he concluded. He clenched his fist around the jade piece. His hand was shaking.

  Ouranos turned pale. He had taken a risk by including the unborn child in the ritual. However, it would have been worse if he hadn’t done so, Kasimirh knew. The ankh cross acknowledged the existence of the successor to the throne. Leaving it out, would be like putting a curse upon the child.

  Kasimirh put the cross in his pocket. “Continue,” he ordered as he turned around and left the crypt so quickly that Ghalatea had to jump out of his way.

  13

  Kasimirh was all alone in Gaia’s temple. Clenching his staff, he crouched down. Yvar had thwarted him after all. He had fathered a child and provided an heir. Merzia’s hope lived on in Nigesanla’s womb.

  Kasimirh rose and kicked a vase. He had watched Nigesanla leave Nadesh, but hadn’t recognized the danger. He should have known. Why else would Ferhdessar have put her on a plane in the middle of the night?

  He rushed out of the temple. Outside, Kasimirh beckoned the sorcerer who was guarding the palace together with Zuzeca’s soldiers. “As soon as the ceremony is over, you offer the priest and the embalmers their last chance to convert. Make sure that Ghalatea doesn’t overhear. Ask the embalmers first. Maybe they’ll be deceived by the stole that Ouranos is wearing. The priest’s answer won’t come as a surprise. Carry out the sentence in a place without Merzian witnesses.”

  The sorcerer bowed and took a step back as Kasimirh’s carriage started to move.

  “Take me to Zuzeca,” Kasimirh shouted at the coachman.

  It wasn’t a long ride from Gaia’s temple to the library where Zuzeca was living, but because many streets were blocked, they had to make a long detour. Kasimirh didn’t notice much of the ride. Lost in thought, he was staring absently in front of him. He twirled the stone cross between his fingers. When they crossed a bridge, he threw it out the window. The cross disappeared over the edge into the deep.

  Kasimirh got out of the carriage and entered the palace. “Where’s Zuzeca?” he asked the first woman he encountered.

  The woman curtsied and pointed to the end of the hallway. Kasimirh walked on. He threw the doors open. Zuzeca was deliberating with one of his commanding officers. They were talking about the nightly riots. The commander nodded and walked away saluting Kasimirh.

  “I take it that you didn’t know that Nigesanla is pregnant?” Kasimirh asked as the door fell shut.

  Zuzeca had taken a seat. He shook his head. “If so, I would have told you.”

  “Well, now I have a problem,” Kasimirh snarled.

  Zuzeca nodded. “An even bigger problem than you think. It’s good that you’ve come, I’d like to talk to you about something.” He gestured at the other seat.

  Kasimirh ignored the offer. He paced to and fro. “He got her pregnant,” he grumbled.

  “Yvar’s child won’t be a problem for fifteen years to come. There are more pressing issues demanding our attention. The rebels are putting up a strong fight. Nevertheless, we gain victories every night. Together with the piles of executed disbelievers, the number of dead bodies in the city is growing too large.”

  “What do I care?” Kasimirh screamed. “I have bigger worries. Yvar’s child is a sign of hope that will feed the rebellion.”

  Zuzeca sighed. “We can no longer bury the dead. We’ve used up every spot that isn’t too rocky. Unless we can use the land around the Fountain.”

  “Never!”

  “No, of course not. But burning is no longer a solution either. We need the fuel to cook and to heat the water for the rituals.”

  Kasimirh collapsed into the chair. He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face. “Yvar has a child,” he growled. “This ruins everything, and all you can do is warn me about the dangers that the dead can cause us.”

  “If you don’t take action, disease will spread through the city,” Zuzeca said. “We need to get rid of the bodies.”

  Kasimirh growled. He was clenching his hair. Then he got up out of the chair. A smile appeared on his face.

  “What have you thought of?” Zuzeca asked.

  Kasimirh didn’t answer for a few seconds. Then he said: “We return Ferhdessar’s followers to him. Let him decide what to do with the bodies.” Kasimirh explained his plan.

  Zuzeca grinned. “That sounds like a perfect solution.”

  “Ferhdessar will have the bodies buried outside the fortress as quickly as possibly, to prevent any diseases from spreading. So many new soldiers have arrived lately that in all the bustle no one will notice another new arrival. This will be the perfect opportunity for Ghideon to kill Nigesanla and get rid of Yvar’s child.”

  Kasimirh looked at Zuzeca to fathom his reaction. The pontifex gave an indifferent nod and chewed on a cookie.

  14

  Cold fingers against his neck startled Ferhdessar from his thoughts. The maidservant helped him out of his dressing gown. Three other women were filling the bathtub with hot water. When they were ready they lined up along the wall and humbly stared at their feet.

  The maidservant who had undressed him guided Ferhdessar to the bathtub, and supported him as he stepped over the edge. The water was so hot that Ferhdessar involuntarily jerked back his foot. Then he slowly lowered himself into the bath. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  He heard the women come to stand around him. He could tell by the little tugs on his head that they were undoing his plaits and combing his hair. As the long strands of hair were plaited again, his thoughts went back to Yvar. Ever since the Merzian army had fled Nadesh, Ferhdessar had been wondering what Kasimirh had done with Yvar’s body. He had imagined the most horrible things,
but the biggest torment of all was the uncertainty.

  Ferhdessar hoped that Yvar would stop dominating his thoughts soon. This afternoon, after Yvar’s farewell ceremony, Ferhdessar was going to be sworn in as Merzia’s new leader. From then on he was going to have other things to occupy his mind.

  The Gods have passed on the power to me.

  Ferhdessar opened his eyes and studied the servants’ faces. Did they have any notion of his thoughts?

  As Yvar’s friend, Ferhdessar hated the idea that the king’s death had been necessary or even predestined. Nevertheless, it truly felt as if the Gods had intervened.

  Ferhdessar closed his eyes again and concentrated on the little tugs on his head. A smile crossed his face. His father and his teacher had prepared him for the role he was about to play. For decades, sorcerers had been dreaming about a realm that surpassed Merzia in its glory days. Ferhdessar’s father had therefore joined Ingemar, Yvar’s father. Both men had fostered great ambitions to restore Merzia to its former glory.

  While Ferhdessar had been determined to follow in his father’s footsteps, Yvar had never shared those ambitions. The Merzia he ruled was big enough for him. Yvar thought that invading the neighbouring countries was a wrongful act that would cost many innocent lives, not least the lives of his own soldiers and subjects. He wasn’t willing to pay that price for their fathers’ grand visions. Ferhdessar couldn’t disagree with him more, and this difference of opinion had tested their relationship time and again.

  In the long run, Ferhdessar had had to swallow his disappointment. He had started his own preparations for the task he had appointed himself. He had always had a strong feeling that he was going to outlive Yvar, so he had started making plans for after Yvar’s death. Today, his plans were going to be set in motion. When Ferhdessar was Merzia’s official leader, he was going to oust Kasimirh from Nadesh and chase him far beyond Naftalia. Then no one would ever doubt his powers as a sorcerer again.