The Moon That Devours Gods

s occupied by mourners dressed in dark clothes and grave faces. King Varick's casket had been displayed near the altar, shrouded in velvet and flo

current of discomfort. People lowered their heads, and a hush fell that was almost too good to be true. Then, a sudden wind roared down the aisles an

d at the dead torches, his heart speeding faster than any prayer. He remembered the whispers about Vesper circulating with the rumours of

aze flicked among the gathered nobility as he spoke. Rhyker Frostbane loomed near the front, jaw set, arms crossed in a stance of silent watchfulness. Kaelen

of the towering pillars - two glimmers of gold that disappeared before he could focus. His pulse jumped. A flicker of gold eyes? It was less than a hear

she could smell trouble. Draven carried on with the liturgy, unwilling to let fear hack the king's final rites. Incen

g exchanged. The extinguished torches were blackened stubs, unwilling to catch fire again even as a pair of servants rushed to relight them. Draven

cern was etched in his face. It was only a draft, a coincidence of timing, Draven told himself. But the suffocating feeling on his chest would

s would not open up scarier ones. When he opened them, the hall turned cold as if a door were cracked open into a pla

he was." Above the funeral's muted chants and within the princess's private tower, there was no true happiness. Runic symbols cut into the stone walls glimm

ie spread by terrified servants? Either way, her heart twisted at the thought of King Varick lying in his casket. She remembered once when he'd tried to

in the distance, faint and decrepit. The rise and fall of Draven's voice taunted her with the reality that she was stored away, too dangerous to attend with the mourners. She bange

r and haunted eyes. She inherited her father's dark hair, but that was the end of the similarity. Her features were drawn as though restless night

childhood memories of him going to the temple library. Even then, he was soft but intent, different from the other acolyt

It crackled from her fingertips, and she could feel the wolfish energy roiling in her muscles. She fought to swallow it, but the surface of t

fear. Had that one wave of power destroyed the mirror? Her throat went dry. If she wasn't capabl

her. She couldn't stand their pitying gazes or disdainful whispers. She bit her lip and sank to the floor, he

Varick's life, what was she? Unanswered but with the potential to strike the mome

vision exacted from her. But tonight, the air in the room was stifling, and the walls held their breath. A single brazier burned low and cast jumping shape

e bowl's rim, quaked as she funnelled energy into the water. The reflection shimmered. Tendrils of light converged into forms that writhed in gh

he ceremonial robes appropriate to the High Priest, but his expression was more haggard than regal. "Elara,

," she gasped, breath wheezing. In the reflection, she saw the shape of a rising eclipse, the edges rimmed by sp

tark relief. Grey hair, short on her scalp, clung to her temples; concern wrinkled her brow. Draven stepped forward and

omething ancient and inexorable is coming up." And Vesper is at its centre." Her hands trembled on the b

that followed each reference to Vesper's name, and the nightmarish glimpse he'd gotten as a

ding her, may be all we're able to do. But do we want the realm consumed by fear and flame?" She w

before the Bloodmoon rises," she whispered. We must not allow Vesper to become one with t

death of King Varick had been a misfortune, but this prophecy foretold a disaster that dwarfe

dim glow of the brazier was all that illuminated their concern. Outdoors, on the temple steps, low echoes of mourning still drifted through the temple corri