Heir of the Gods

The Birth

The king waited in the throne room, the iron throne bitingly cold even through the rich leather of his trousers. His fingers tapped against his knee, and he started when lightning flashed so close it seemed to fill the room itself.

A storm raged just outside the expensive, clear glass windows he'd had imported from Emulsa. They seemed to be nothing more than a thin skin against the fury outside.

He closed his eyes, praying.

Durus Auralius was by no means a devout man, but religion suited him tonight.

His eyes flew open when the massive oak doors carved with the sword and falcon seal of his house groaned open. The glow of the candles next to him couldn't reach across the vast space, but he would not rise. Would not appear too eager for the news.

Another spear of lightning streaked right past the windows, followed by a bone-rattling crack of thunder. Any other than the patriarch of House Auralius might find the storm portentous, ominous even.

Durus didn't believe in portents.

The slither of silk over the silver-grey marble announced the identity of the intruder long before he came into the small pool of light surrounding the king.

He sat up a little straighter. His eyes flickered to the crown he had carelessly hooked onto the back of his throne, but there was no time to retrieve it now. Not without looking like a scrambling fool. 

Of the many things Durus was, a fool was not one.

Durus' heart, against his will and better judgement, fluttered with nerves and something akin to excitement.

His young wife had gone into labor early that morning. He'd spent the majority of the day pacing along the grand length of his throne room, watching the crows that wheeled around the distant coliseum from the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the left-hand wall.

The priest, his jade green robes sweeping along behind him, stepped into the pool of light. His face seemed pale. He bowed to Durus, who resisted the initial instinct to snap at the holy man, demanding that he simply tell him what he wanted to know.

The king's heart fluttered again.

The priest swallowed audibly, then said, "Both your Heir and queen are alive and healthy, Your Majesty."

Durus nodded. That wasn't what he wanted to know.

His teeth clenched as the man took a small breath, obviously steeling himself. The priest looked at the king's feet, and said, very quietly, "It is a girl, Your Majesty."

There was a moment of breathless silence. A spear of lightning flashed outside, briefly illuminating the king and the priest. Then, his voice almost lost in the thunder, Durus roared, "What?"

The priest cringed, bowing again. "Your wife has born you a female Heir, my lord."

"Impossible!" Durus growled, but the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach seemed to contradict him.  

The priest touched his tongue to his upper lip, hiding his shaking hands in the voluminous sleeves of his robes. He jumped and took a step back when Durus stood up, but all the king did was stalk back to the windows to his left.

It would not go over well with the people if he were to kill a priest of Materna, protector of pregnant women and newborns, invoked during the process of childbirth. 

He narrowed his eyes at his reflection in the glass, the dark night rendering him in shades of white and grey. 

Then, his wrinkled brow smoothed. His hand wandered down to the ash hilt of the knife in his belt. His voice low, he said, "This is a problem easily fixed."

The priest gulped, eyes wide. "Y-Your Majesty, surely you would not... she's just an infant, you..."

Durus closed his eyes briefly, feeling rather beleaguered by the stupidity and morality of those around him. With an inaudible sigh, he turned back to the priest, a kindly smile fixed onto his face.

He walked across the room, knee-high boots clicking loudly against the grey marble, his cloak whispering behind him. The priest flinched when he placed his hands on the man's shoulders. His brown eyes were cow-like and fearful as he looked up at the king.

"Of course not. How could you even think that?" Durus let just a hint of faux distress slip into his tone.

This had the desired effect, and the priest relaxed slightly. Durus smiled again, trying to find some spark of happiness at the idea of his first child. 

With a small shrug, he said, "Livia and I will simply have to try again. It is unfortunate that her first child was a girl, but she is young. Bearing another, proper Heir will not be difficult for her."

The priest had paled again and Durus stepped away before asking, "What, priest? You look as if you have seen a ghost."

The priest's eyes flickered upward, perhaps entreating the goddess whose insignia he bore. Then, meekly, he said, "The law is very clear, Your Majesty. The gods will only suffer the ascension of your firstborn, unless they fail the trials. The consequences of disobedience would be severe. As would the consequences of any interference."

Durus' lip curled contemptuously. He choked back a scoff, and demanded, "There is nothing to be done then?"

The priest hesitated, then said slowly, "There is one course of action, Your Majesty."

The king waved his hand for the man to continue, schooling his features to practiced nonchalance. It would not do to appear too eager. 

With a reluctant sigh, the priest pressed his hand to his lower stomach, then cupped his hand before he made a small tossing motion into the air. It almost looked like he was releasing a small bird. A sign of penitence. 

Durus resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Swallowing hard, looking rather nervously toward the ceiling, the priest said, "When the child is old enough—when she comes of age—if she were to choose to step down..."

Biting down on his tongue to keep himself from snarling at the man, Durus instead nodded encouragingly.

The priest did his little goddess supplication once more, then said, "The gods would find this acceptable."