Free Blood Of Gods (Book 3) by David Dalglish, Robert J. Duperre Page A

the mine was cut into the opposite wall. Numerous candles of thick tallow were scattered throughout, adding their light to that of the torches and creating an oddly ominous atmosphere. The cave ceiling was high, and the light never reached there. Sometimes, when she stood in the middle of the space, it looked to Rachida as if the empty void beneath Afram was coming to swallow her. This was not a place she enjoyed visiting.
    Peytr was in there, Rachida’s husband in name only. His black hair, peppered with gray, was tousled as he sat atop his desk, the sounds of the workers’ tools echoing around him. His lover, Bryce, was with him, twenty years Peytr’s junior. Bryce was a lithe man, almost womanly in appearance, with long silvery-blond hair. Rachida was grateful for his presence. Peytr could be quite distant from her at times, but Bryce had a way of putting the man at ease. The two of them had been lovers for almost as long as she and Moira; in fact, it was their mutual affairs, and their need to hide them from those who might not understand and react harshly, that precipitated their marriage.
    The couple was leaning on the desk in the center of the cave, Bryce placing kisses on Peytr’s pale, powdered cheeks, when Rachida cleared her throat. They both started, their heads whipping around. When they saw her standing there, Bryce smiled sweetly while Peytr frowned.
    “Darling,” her husband said. “I was not expecting you.”
    “I feel there is quite a bit you weren’t expecting,” she answered.
    His frown deepened. “Such as?”
    “Ships, O husband of mine. Three of them.”
    “Oh, is that all? I thought it was something important.” He grabbed Bryce by the cheeks and brought his face back to his neck.
    “I would not be so glib if I were you,” said Rachida sternly. “You know this is trouble.”
    Unexpectedly, Peytr grinned. “Well, I would assume it is representatives from our beloved god come to visit. We should greet them accordingly.” He turned to Bryce, who was hastily sliding his arms into his red velvet jerkin. “My love, please go into the mine and inform our brothers that company has arrived. You should gather the . . . appropriate gifts. Our guests are early, and we must prepare for them.” He then tied his breeches and strode forward, his brown eyes twinkling with excitement as his lover disappeared into the darkness.
    Rachida felt awash in confusion. She began to open her mouth and ask about his apparent lack of angst, but he silenced her when he lightly brushed her cheek.
    “Fear not, most beautiful wife of mine. I have expected this.”
    Two hours later, nearly the entire populace had gathered on the edge of their concealed township to watch as three great ships steered into the crescent bay. Only Bryce was missing. Rachida shrugged off his absence and gazed out at the gray water. She recognized the boats; they had been galleys in the Brennan fleet, sister ships to the Free Catherine , which was docked alongside a pair of clippers—more gifts from Matthew—on the other side of the island. These boats had not been fitted for war like the Free Catherine ; the only thing threatening about them, other than their size, were the banners of Karak, thirty red lions roaring high above the waves. And the soldiers, of course. She thought it foolish that the Free Catherine was not moored closer to the mouth of the crescent. The nine spitfires on her deck would have come in handy.
    The galleys quit rowing a half-mile into the deep bay, and their oars, forty apiece per ship, lifted. The stone anchors dropped. Rachida squinted, watching tiny armor-clad men scurry about the decks as large dinghies lowered into the water. Soldiers climbed down ropes and boarded the crafts before the rowers began paddling. There were fifteen of the smaller boats, each filled with at least twenty soldiers. Rachida shivered and glanced behind her, at the nearly four hundred men, women, and children who now called this