This Poisoned Tide: The Last Water Witch Book One

CHAPTER 36

Dageor came and stood next to him, his long robes brushing close to Roth's ankles. Had the sun dimmed? To stand in the priest's shadow was surely to feel the death of light and warmth and joy, not that Roth found much joy in anything these tides.

Dageor's mouth twisted into a grin of sorts. "It is always most pleasing to indulge in the company of one of the King's most trusted subjects. We once stood side by side, you and I, in our service to His Most Exalted. To do so again fills me with a deep satisfaction that I have not felt since the time you were our Special Commander."

Roth inwardly shuddered. He knew the satisfaction of which Dageor spoke and it had little to do with Roth being Special Commander and everything to do with the blood-drenched mosaic floor of the throne room. Blood would not seep into the tiny porcelain tiles as it did into the dust, but that did not mean it stained any less.

"I am honoured you would think so, my Lord," Roth said. "And while I yearn to serve the King, I confess, I am unsure of the purpose of today's summoning, and to the esteemed barracks of The Order no less."

Dageor peered down into the bloody square and back to Roth, gesturing around them with a sweep of his bony hand. "I would have thought a man such as yourself would relish the opportunity to stand on these very balconies once again, my friend. To see what you yourself sowed, nurtured, and moulded, all in the name of our beloved King. It is quite the achievement."

"I am more than aware of all that was achieved here, my Lord but I need not see it to know that my service to the King surpassed that even of my own father, and his father before him. Your nostalgia surprises me, and yet I do not think you have summoned me here for nostalgia's sake?"

Dageor stared at him, unblinking. That wide, all-reaching look could unnerve even the sturdiest of men, but Roth refused to look away. Eventually, the dark priest inclined his head in agreement.

"You know me too well, Master Librarian," he said, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth and stretching the pale skin over his cheekbones. "You are right, of course. Nostalgia is for those who refuse to acknowledge the future. After all, how does one even begin to plan the way forward if they are forever stuck in the binds of the past? This tide, I hope to see a glimpse of that future, my friend, and what better way to determine the future of our great Kingdom than by ensuring only the better men endure?"

By the dead gods, Roth despised these fucking word games. To parry back and forth was a pointless endeavour and it was doing nothing to ease the nausea that continued to haunt him so. The longer this went on, the more it tortured him, but he was certain that Dageor knew that.

"Lord Dageor, I have much business to attend to at the Library. The King has bid me..."

"The King bids you to be here at my side, Vi-Garran." Dageor's tone was cutting. "Would you not wish to see Novice Vikaris succeed in his final trial?"

Roth's heart thudded. "Trial, my Lord? But Juda has completed the King's Trial, has he not? Was there some irregularity of which I am not aware?"

Dageor turned fully to face him and while Roth had a good head's height on him, he still wished he could step back out of the priest's reach. "No irregularities, my old friend. The King merely wishes to vigorously test those who would follow your worthy path, and his grace wills one final trial."

As if on cue, the novices of The Order began to file along the overlooking balconies, the march of their footsteps sounding strangely ominous to Roth despite having heard it many times before. They lined the yard on all four sides, uniform and still—like silent statues of obsidian stone.

The Grim moved behind the ranks of soldiers until he reached Roth's side, stopping to acknowledge the man who had once been his superior with a sharp, perfunctory nod of his head.