If the gods do exist, they have a truly terrible sense of humor. They give us cravings hunger, thirst and then they create guys in white robes to tell us that if we give in to that stuff, we're going straight to hell.
Personally, I've always thought that if hell looks anything like the party in the Great Hall of Roccaferro, sign me up right now.
"More wine, Lord Valerian?"
I checked out the serving girl. Red cheeks, an incredible chest, and she smelled of warm bread and sweat. Life, basically.
"Always, Giada. The blood of Christ is far too good to stay in a pitcher," I said, holding out my glass.
She giggled, filled my glass to the brim, and sashayed away. I watched her go, then looked over at the head table. The vibe there was much less fun.
My father, Duke Lorenzo, sat at the head of the banquet, looking incredibly bored. A solid man, like a rock of the Apennines broad, stoic, silent. To his right, my older brother, Marcus, the perfect son, was listening politely to the third guy.
The tedious guest.
Father Benedetto. An envoy from the Capital, dressed in the white silk of the Church of the Seal. He didn't eat. He didn't drink. He just sat there, stiff as a board, hands clasped on the grease-spotted tablecloth, as if he were afraid of catching our germs.
I took a long gulp of wine, savoring the taste of the grape. I hated these guys. Not just priests, but anyone who thinks doing nothing is a virtue.
I stood up, my chair making a racket on the stone floor. The noise in the hall dipped a little. The men of my clan, warriors with braided beards and scars everywhere, looked at me, grinning. They liked me. I was the second son, the one who would never get the throne, the one who charges in first and buys the rounds at the brothel.
I walked up to the table, a smirk on my face.
"Father Benedetto," I said loud enough for everyone to hear. "Looks like you haven't touched your boar. Is our meat too... alive for you?"
The priest turned his head toward me. His gray eyes were lifeless, devoid of emotion. The kind of look belonging to a guy who replaced his soul with a rulebook.
"Overindulgence clogs the spirit, Valerian," he replied in a soft voice. "We are here to discuss taxes and the Rules of Purity, not to gorge ourselves."
My father grunted, a sound like a distant landslide.
"Valerian, sit down," he ordered, though I could see he was amused.
I ignored him and grabbed a bunch of grapes from the platter in front of the priest.
"Purity," I repeated, popping a grape into my mouth. "That's the trendy thing in the Capital right now, isn't it? Word is the Archon of Justice had three villages in the south burned because they celebrated the Spring Festival a little too hard."
Silence fell over the room. The festive atmosphere vanished instantly. Marcus looked at me, begging me with his eyes to shut up. But the wine and my hatred for authority made me chatty.
"They were not festivals," Benedetto corrected, his tone hardening. "They were pagan rituals. Disorder brings Chaos. And Chaos invites... things that sleep beneath the earth."
I paused. *Things that sleep beneath the earth.*
Roccaferro was built on the mountains the ancients called The Scar. There are often earthquakes here. Stories of monsters. Tales to scare children.
I burst out laughing.
"So, we have to stop making love and eating to prevent earthquakes? That's your idea? If the universe is so fragile that a leg of boar or a pair of tits can break it, your gods are useless."
The priest stood up. He wasn't tall, but you could feel he radiated something cold. Not magic, not yet, but the weight of thousands of years of rules.
"Insolence is the first door opened to the enemy," he said calmly. "Enjoy your wine, Valerian. Soon, it will taste of ash. The Celestial Hegemony will no longer let anyone do as they please. Order is coming."
He nodded to my father and left the table, his white robe spotless, as if the filth refused to touch him.
I stood there, a half-eaten grape in my hand, the whole hall holding its breath.
"You're an idiot," sighed Marcus, rubbing his temples.
"And you're too uptight," I replied, finishing my glass. "Someone had to tell him he was killing our appetite."
My father stood up as well. He placed his hand on my shoulder.
"He's right about one thing, Valerian. Times are changing. The Church of the Seal is gathering armies. They no longer speak of converting people, but of correcting them."
I shrugged, chasing away the worry trying to creep into my wine-addled brain.
"Let them come," I said with the confidence of someone who has never seen real war. "We have the walls of Roccaferro and our swords."
"Metal does not cut ideas," my father said before walking away.
The party resumed, but it wasn't the same. The musicians played quieter, and the laughter rang false.
I needed air. The heat, the smell of meat and wine—it all disgusted me. I crossed the hall, grabbed a cloak, and went outside.
The night air was freezing. A violent contrast.
I leaned against the ramparts, looking east. Where the mountains tore into the starry sky. The Scar.
The night was black. The peaks were shadows. But as I looked, I thought I felt... something.
Not a sound. A vibration. Not with my ears, but with my bones. A sort of low frequency coming from the depths of the earth. Like a heart beating beneath my feet.
*Thump.*
The wine, I told myself.
I closed my eyes, breathing in the fresh air. I thought of Lucrezia. I was supposed to see her tomorrow. Her father, the Baron of Valdi, would be furious if he knew his daughter was hanging around the madman of Roccaferro, but that made things more exciting. Her soft skin, her laugh, the way she bit her lip when I kissed her in the old mill...
That was reality. Heat. Desire. Life.
Not the speeches of a priest in white.
I opened my eyes again and looked at the mountains. A shooting star crossed the sky. No, not a star. Too close. A fast, violet light that disappeared behind the ridge, where no one ever goes.
I felt cold.
"Order is coming," I whispered to the wind.
I cracked my knuckles, a smirk returning to my lips.
Let it come. I'll show it how we party at Roccaferro.
I didn't know the party was over. I didn't know that tomorrow, I would leave for a hunt from which I would never truly return. I didn't know that beneath the mountain, the Monolith had awakened, and that it had smelled my soul.
But tonight, I was still Valerian. And I was thirsty.