Sworn to Restoration Read online

  Sworn To Restoration: Courtlight #11

  Terah Edun

  Contents

  Copyright

  Title Page

  Sworn To Restoration Summary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Back Ad

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2017 by Terah Edun

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN 978-1-946217-08-0

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  Sworn To Restoration Summary

  Ciardis has seen the goddess for what she is — a bloodthirsty deity bent on breaking them before eliminating everyone Ciardis knows and loves.

  She, the daemoni prince, and Sebastian, the sitting emperor of Algardis, have set a trap. A plan in motion that will unleash a wave of magic across the land in quantities not seen since the Initiate Wars.

  Ciardis knows this is their only hope to defeat a god, but she can only pray that she doesn’t do the goddess’s work in the process by inadvertently killing the citizens of the empire that she had vowed to protect.

  But the battle has begun and she’ll do what she has to protect the people she cares about – her family, her friends, her empire. When all the gods feel free to intervene, you do what you have to make sure that the one which wants to destroy you never makes the same mistake twice. In a battle between an immortal and a mortal, the humans are coming to win.

  1

  The palace was falling apart.

  With cracks appearing in the foundation and trailing up the sides of the walls like creeping vines, it got worse every day.

  As she swiftly dodged some falling plaster, Ciardis Weathervane had the thought that life was only mirroring magic right at this moment. The breaks in the palace structure were a symptom of both the physical degradation of the foundation and the weakness of the protections that had been woven into the very fabric of the walls when they were built.

  It was disconcerting to watch something that they all relied on every day for protections, whether or not they realized it, crumble before their very eyes. Which is why although her gaze was focused on making sure she got through this difficult bit of passage safely, her mind was engaged on the conversation she remembered having with Sebastian like it was yesterday.

  Because it had been.

  She wanted to say that they savored the moment that their minds had aligned and they had agreed on what had to be done. That he needed to take the throne. That he needed to be Emperor of Algardis in word as well as deed. That the empire needed stability. That this was the only way to achieve that.

  But she had no time to enjoy the rare meeting of minds between herself and the prince heir. They also needed to kill a goddess and they had less than three days to do so. In order to accomplish this, they were going to set up a trap of ley lines that could save their entire empire.

  Or unleash a backlash of power across the empire we’re trying so hard to save, Ciardis thought glumly as she nimbly leapt over a fallen pile of plaster and proceeded to the door that had been her objective from the very beginning.

  Ciardis knew that by necessity his coronation had to be a short ceremony, and so it was.

  A rushed affair.

  She wasn’t even crowned princess consort, let alone empress. They didn’t have time to wrangle the logistics of what it meant to be the wife of the emperor—not yet anyway. They’d barely even had time to get the proper protocols in place for a coronation, forget getting the actual imperial crown out of the master jeweler’s storage. It was Ciardis. It was Sebastian. It was the representatives of the main provinces of the Algardis Empire and the five heads plus spouses of the most influential families at court.

  That was all.

  That was enough.

  Enough to make Sebastian a legitimate emperor.

  Enough to quell whispers at court that no one had stepped in to formally take on the rule as emperor. However, it didn’t answer the question of what was a proper handoff from one ruler to the next of the connection and fidelities to the land.

  Ciardis Weathervane stood one step below Sebastian as he rose and took the symbolic ornaments of power from the magistrate’s hand—she didn’t sense any rush or transference of power. Nothing to indicate that what needed to be done had been done.

  Nothing at all. And that was bad. Because Sebastian had just symbolically sealed his new rule, but symbolism meant nothing without the power to enforce his rule and his reign behind it.

  Power, magical power, meant everything. Because power was why Maradian as Bastien had siphoned off the prince heir’s inherent powers since he was a child. Emperors of Algardis were tasked with a very special connection to the land and to rule that vast land you needed the gift, the gift that allowed you to connect with the land. To command it. To revive it.

  Sebastian had had that power for as long as Ciardis could remember.

  It had been stolen, but it had been there.

  After the revelation of the theft, that stolen stream of magic had reverted back to its rightful owner.

  So as they stood in the chapel, open-air columns above them, she had to wonder, Where is that gift now?

  As Sebastian looked back down at her, panic flashing in his dark-green eyes, she saw the same sense of confusion and doubt take seed in his mind.

  She wanted to reassure him, but she didn’t know what to say.

  She wasn’t an expert on imperial transfers of power, after all.

  Turns out, though, that she didn’t need to say anything at all.

  The magistrate cleared his throat and said in a lofty voice, “Now that the political transition has been assured, we can move forward with the blood transmission.”

  “Blood transmission?” Sebastian asked in a low voice.

  Low enough that the assembly of courtiers and officials surrounding them wouldn’t pick up on the words without some very invasive physical movements on their own parts. So far they were holding off, though the half-circle gathered around the couple had begun to whisper animatedly to other guests nearby.

  Excited whispers.

  But whispers nonetheless. Which meant that, according to the rules of court protocol, she could ignore it. They could be plotting treason for all that she cared. But because they whispered between hidden hands, they weren’t ready to act. They weren’t brave enough to force their cause, and Ciardis Weathervane knew that she could scatter them to the four corners of the room if they so much as tried.

  She wanted to believe that everyone was on the same page now, but that would be foolish. This was the imperial courts of Sandrin after all. Coercion and deception went hand-in-hand. They had managed to convince the nobles
and the representatives of the need for compliance, but she never forgot that the courtiers’ willingness to behave only went so far. The moment the threat from the heavens had passed, they would make Sebastian and Ciardis’s rule a living hell.

  And why shouldn’t they? Thanar asked in a mockingly innocent tone. You give them nothing better to do.

  They’re grown men and women, Ciardis snapped at him internally.

  Who are but children in larger bodies, said a voice that Ciardis was surprised to find belonged to Sebastian. I grew up in these courts. I know how to handle them. We just need to get through this ceremony first. This one. Then war.

  Ciardis couldn’t disagree with that, so she looked over at the magistrate with her own sense of frustration glimmering in her eyes.

  She desperately wanted to get this transference over with; they all did.

  “The first step of the transfer of power was really a formality, if you will,” the magistrate said in a hurried voice. “This one…this is the one you need to make sure that the protection and spells set in place in the past by the imperial family line recognize their new master. The new Emperor of Algardis.”

  Hurriedly, she asked the magistrate, “And how is that to be done, Magistrate?”

  He cleared his throat and then said, “Well, to instigate the true passing of power from one ruler to another, we must follow the traditions.”

  Ciardis narrowed her eyes as she said suspiciously, “Sebastian’s power has always been his own. That was proven. He has the connection to the Landwight already.”

  The magistrate looked down his beaky nose at her. “That may be so, but that is just one form of power that the ruler wields. It is the prince heir’s natural instinct to convene with the land. As emperor he won’t convene, he will mandate.”

  Voice firm, Sebastian, now officially if not actively installed as emperor, said, “And how is that done?”

  “Yes, how?” Ciardis said, letting sarcasm drip from her voice.

  She wasn’t sure she liked where this was going.

  She definitely didn’t like what was supposed to be a simple ceremony being dragged out into an uncertain affair. They had plans to lay and a goddess to slay. Ceremonial procedures were getting in her way. Their way.

  The magistrate must not have had a death wish, because he quickly dropped his arrogant tone and went for a more appeasing expression as he spread his hands and gave them what he probably thought was a placating look.

  To Ciardis he looked like the dog who had peed in the corner and was desperately trying to look like he had no idea where the “accident” had come from.

  Which suited her just fine. She always found out who was responsible for errors in the end, and that person would pay. Magistrate or not.

  Calm down, Ciardis¸ she heard Sebastian say appealingly in her head. He hasn’t actually done anything wrong.

  Yet, she snapped back.

  Do I detect a note of anxiety in your voice? Thanar said with no little amusement.

  Shut it, Thanar, Sebastian retorted as he quickly turned to her. And as for you, Ciardis—

  What? she asked in a tone that was just short of a pout.

  He’s a justice of the peace—try not to fry him where he stands, Sebastian said with a bit of desperation. He tilted his head to the side to emphasize his remarks.

  Ciardis glanced down in the direction of his gaze and saw unfortunate lightning sparks jumping from clenched fingertip to fingertip on both of her balled hands.

  She sighed unhappily and opened her fists to gently smooth her dress out.

  A gesture that helped her calm down immensely.

  It’s a good thing I took a bit of time to change, she thought placidly. I’d hate to see the reaction of the lightning to the metal bits on the belt I was wearing.

  She didn’t think the interaction would have hurt her, but there was no telling whom the bits of energy would have hit if they’d been forced to peel off in opposite directions upon contact with the metal.

  When she looked back up from her careful attention to her embroidery, anything to give her time to let her pent-up magic distribute itself peacefully back into her core and along the connecting strands of magic back to her bondmates’ cores, her gaze focused with convenient sharpness on the still-standing magistrate.

  He got the message loud and clear.

  “As I was saying,” the man said in a harried voice, “we can move on to our second—and very quick—procedure.”

  Murmuring in the circling nobles around them made Ciardis severely side-eyed several suspects, but one brave man still spoke up, “Yes, it’s time to pass the crown.”

  Ciardis counted mentally to three in her head and closed her eyes.

  She was trying to keep her impatience in check.

  It was working. Sort of.

  As patiently as she could, she asked, “Yes, why don’t we proceed? It would help if you explained the necessary accomplishments needed.”

  The magistrate said, “Well, once the last ruler passes on their deathbed, the heir is acknowledged and brought forth for the first ceremony.”

  He paused and looked around the fledging group with a disdainful eye and continued, “Usually with a bit more pomp and circumstance in mind.”

  It was clear that he was quite displeased by what had just passed as a coronation before his very eyes. Ciardis hadn’t been alive for the investiture of power to Sebastian’s father but she had heard that thousands of citizens had thronged the streets of Sandrin straining to get a glimpse of the passing prince heir as he paid tribute on his way to claim his throne. Bastien had been that prince heir. Sebastian was his son and obviously taking his place in the ceremony without nearly as much fanfare.

  Ciardis could care less that the magistrate, who had probably been dreaming his whole life about conducting such a ceremony, was displeased. They had other priorities in mind. Like not dying when fighting a deity and shoring up as much of the protections surrounding the empire as they could. They didn’t need draconic magic leaking into their palace just as they were setting off to face a goddess in battle. That was like leaving your backdoor open to thieves while you took care of the aggressors out front.

  “It’s hardly a requirement,” Ciardis muttered disdainfully.

  The magistrate’s nostrils actually flared as he said, “Well, tradition usually calls for a route that loops through the city and down to the waters that gave birth to our fair empire along with the fealty pledges of all the great families—”

  “Who are here,” the seneschal managed to interrupt in a gravelly voice.

  Ciardis shot him a grateful look; it seemed she wasn’t the only person getting fed up with the magistrate’s whining. You’d think that man had been robbed of being crowned in an elaborate ceremony himself the way he was carrying on.

  When the magistrate proceeded to whine again, the new emperor had apparently had enough. Sebastian held up a commanding hand and said, “I understand what tradition dictates very well, my lord. It dictates continuity of the line. It dictates having a ruler in place with a firm hand. This assured that. The fact that we had to make some allowances for circumstances cannot be helped.”

  Ciardis also deadpanned, “Right. We were on a tight schedule. So continue on, please.”

  The rising frustration in her voice toward the end was unmistakable.

  The magistrate grimaced. “The death of the preceding ruler frees up the ancient obligations to be laid on the next ruler.”

  “And how is that done?” Sebastian asked with impatience seeping into even his voice.

  Which was fair. They’d only repeated the same question for the thousandth time this hour.

  “By passing from this life into the next,” said the same noble with bloodthirsty eagerness in his voice.

  Ciardis tried to keep calm as her stomach dropped. In fact, she’d say she was downright congenial when she asked in an icy tone that would do her mother proud, “What, exactly, do you mean by that?”
>
  Courtiers, who also happened to be conclave members, looked at each other helplessly.

  “Well,” said one old fart with a disturbingly slow drawl. “It has been required since time immemorial for not only the reigning ruler to pass into death, but also for the next ruler to briefly pass between realms as well. To commune with the ancestors. To seek out the answers lost between generations.”

  Ciardis lost all pretense of placidity.

  She whirled around and threw up her hands, nearly dislodging the gleaming circlet that rested atop her head in acknowledgment of her status as future wife in the process.

  Practically foaming at the mouth, the lady companion launched into a blistering tirade. “What is with this court’s obsession with death? Sebastian is not going to die. I won’t let him. I’ve had enough death.”

  Each sentence was emphasized by a thrust of a sparking finger into the oversized doublet of the courtier who’d opened his big, fat mouth in the first place.

  The man was stumbling back as fast as he could and she was striding forward with the determination of a woman infuriated.

  He was lucky she hadn’t fried him on the spot.

  As she got angrier, she thought she still might.

  Ciardis closed her eyes and prayed to whomever was listening, as long as their name didn’t happen to be Amani, Heavens help me, I need someone to make sense of this all. I need someone who can force them to take their heads out of their bums before I kill them all. I am not cut out to coddle these idiots, I can’t. But if I don’t get help this very second, I can’t be responsible for who lives and dies over something as inane as a parade anymore. Send someone who can talk sense into them. Send a savior.

  She did finish her prayer before putting in one last entreaty, one that she never thought would have worked.

  But desperation was on her side as Ciardis said three final words: Send my mother.

  To her everlasting surprise, that was exactly who appeared.

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