The Dead God's Due (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

She’ll not have
me return while a single Jacynthi dog still rules!” Michael
pounded his fist against his chest to emphasize his point. “And
I am a prince! Never mind that the Jacynthi are evil and deserve what they get. What will you do to sway the masses of sex-starved
soldiers?” He turned away and began pacing, glaring at the
floor, the walls, his gaze anywhere but on Yazid. “I tell you,
it’s inevitable, and it will be soon .
My father knows it, and still he drags his feet. It’s
madness!”
    Yazid drew in a deep breath and
let it out slowly, determined not to be drawn off topic. “Michael,
you must listen!
This is not some fevered zealotry, it is hard fact! These are not
religious writings I put before you, they are historical documents!
Xanthius himself wrote of this!”
    “You interpret them
zealously,” Micheal said with a snort. He continued pacing for
long moments. Yazid’s heart seemed loud in his ears as he
waited, hoping against hope, but it was in vain. Michael stopped
pacing, looked him in the eye, and declared, “This is a fool’s
errand.”
    Yazid opened his mouth to
protest, but Michael stopped him with a raised hand and a face of
stone. “My decision is made. If you are set to go traipsing
off to Prima on a wing and a prayer, most likely to die, then you’ll
do it on your own, with your own men. Xanthia’s soldiers are all needed here.”
    “You could spare a single
century!”
    “I cannot. They would be
noticed leaving, and it would raise questions that I cannot address
at the moment.”
    “But Michael—“
    “Enough!” Michael
shouted. He slashed his hand through the air in a gesture of
dismissal. “Try not to break anyone else’s arm on your
way out, Prelate.”
    With that, Michael turned and
left, leaving the door open behind him.
    Yazid struggled to constrain
his anger, and failed. He smashed a mailed fist into the bench,
splintering the wood, then, as an afterthought, lifted the bench
into the air and hurled it against the wall, sending debris flying
in all directions.
    For long moments Yazid stood,
chest heaving, tears of frustration welling in his eyes, when
suddenly, he heard movement from the doorway. He spun, instinctively
reaching for his sword, to find himself face to face with a second
chance.
    Philip, Michael’s
brother, stood in the door frame, armed and armored, hair bound and
tucked against his head as was proper for a warrior, his expression
grim. He was considerably larger and more powerfully built than
Michael, but shared the same features, the same smoldering stare,
the same skin colored halfway between Yazid’s and that of a
Laurean. “It must be important, indeed, that your passion
would move you to destroy my furniture.”
    Yazid bowed his head in shame.
“Forgive me, my prince,” he said softly. “I insult
your home. I will repay you ten times for it, I swear.”
    “It’s nothing.”
Philip strode into the room, his feet sounding heavily on the
stonework, and closed the door behind him. “And I am no
politician. I leave that to my brother. If you must use an
honorific, I prefer Imperator.”
    “Imperator,” Yazid
said with a nod. “I thought you were—“
    “In Erikar, yes. I was,
but matters here require my presence.” Philip looked toward
the painting of Xanthius, his eyes clouded and distant, and he said,
half to himself, “My father is becoming an impediment that
Xanthia can ill afford.”
    Yazid nodded his understanding.
“He is of the old ways. He provokes you deliberately.”
    “Aye.” Philip
allowed himself a slight smile. “Still, it is a difficult
thing to raise my hand against him.” Philip's expression grew
wistful, and his eyes distant. “The beatings he gave me as a
boy when I dared such things. He will always be a titan in my mind,
I think, even after this.” He grew somber once again as he
focused on Yazid. “But that is not why I am here with you.”
    “You heard our
conversation?”
    Philip nodded. “And I
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