The Wings of Ashtaroth

Chapter 11: Mercenaries: Section I: Ashtaroth

Ashtaroth: The Palace: Qemassen

Seven days ago, Ashtaroth had killed them: Djana, Thanos, and Shaqarbas's wife. When Lilit had told him there'd be a cost for saving Aurelius's life, he'd thought she only meant to take his crown, not make him a murderer, but as he retraced the passage to his father's council chambers, that word—murderer—trailed him like the wake of a ship. When he held his trembling hands in front of himself, he no longer saw soot, but blood: Lara's blood, and the knife Ashtaroth had stabbed her with.

King Eshmunen's council chambers lay buried in the palace, where neither sunlight nor spies could find them. Walking back along the corridors felt like travelling the winding corners of a labyrinth. Ashtaroth slouched as he walked, the shadows flickering across the walls seeming to slouch with him: an army of Ashtaroths cast in grey. The Yirada officer escorting him stood straight as the walls themselves by comparison.

Ahead of them, approaching feet clacked quickly against the stone.

Raising his head caused a rush of dizziness, and he lowered it again. An unprincely posture was surely better than collapsing in the hallway.

He barely looked up as he passed Bree in the corridor. She was being led between two guards, her mother trailing behind her, their heads held high as though either of them had any dignity left to maintain. Her expression was stony. A true princess might at least have cried for her lover, but Bree appeared unmoved. No doubt Eaflied had beggared some pardon for her, while Ashtaroth's brother had been dragged off in bonds and thrown in a cell below the palace. It was a wonder they'd found anywhere to put him; the dungeons were still packed with slaves.

Aurelius, who Lilit had promised would become king if Ashtaroth saved him. How could Aurelius steal a crown from the dungeons?

It was the best and only place for him. Bree had been complicit, but she hadn't been the instigator. Aurelius had detailed it all to Eshmunen, Ashtaroth, and a small council comprised of the city's most powerful. Only Shaqarbas had opposed Aurelius's confinement.

Shaqarbas hadn't looked at Ashtaroth the entire time. Why should he?

Ashtaroth's feet were a blur against the floor, moving faster than his thoughts, taking him back to Eshmunen's council chambers, to Shaqarbas, Hima, and the others. He couldn't face them. When they looked at him, they'd see his shame: the people he'd hurt, Bree's infidelity. They'd see what a waste he was.

Ashtaroth squeezed his eyes shut, but you couldn't close your eyes to memory, and visions of Djana's falling body pierced the mental veil he'd tried to construct for himself.

The price. Lilit had told him there would be a price for his brother's life. Well, that had been it: three lives for Aurelius's one. That Aurelius had survived the head injury given him by the slaves was miraculous, and it so happened that Ashtaroth had bargained for a miracle.

Three lives. Ashtaroth couldn't say he'd have made the same choice twice, but when he'd hung his neck back and seen Aurelius slump to the ground on that wall, his body had turned to air and emptiness.

Ashtaroth's Yirada escort opened the way for him into Eshmunen's council room. The double doors thudded as they trouped inside. Ashtaroth glanced at the face of the man standing to his right inside the council room. Another Yirada officer, weathered and big. Ashtaroth felt weak beside the man—they were all weak beside such men. Zioban and Lilit had made that plain.

Before the attack, Ashtaroth had thought catching Zioban would return the city to normal, but now Zioban had killed both the Lora and Ajwata ambassadors and Bree had betrayed Ashtaroth. Nothing would be the same ever again.