Ascendant's Rite (The Moontide Quartet) Read Free Page A

us, the evil viper in female form who had slithered into our midst and awaited the perfect moment to commit her crime. Imagine the Paradise on Urte that would have been, had Corineus but lived!
T HE B OOK OF K ORE
After five hundred years, we’re no closer to understanding why, in the midst of the Ascendancy of the Blessed Three Hundred, Lillea Selene Sorades, known to the world as Corinea, murdered Johan Corin. She vanished before most were even aware of the crime, and she was never seen again. What happened that chaotic night to prompt her attack? We may never know.
A NTONIN M EIROS, O RDO C OSTRUO, 880 (500TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE A SCENDANCY)
    Teshwallabad, Northern Lakh, on the continent of Antiopia
    Rami (Septinon) 929
    15 th month of the Moontide
    Alaron Mercer sat on a muddy temple step, contemplating the waters of the Imuna River lapping his feet. A few feet away, the Zain monk Yash was playing with seven-month-old Dasra Meiros. Both little boy and young man were soaked, and gleefully happy.
    ‘I’ll look after him if you need a break?’ he called to Yash. The young monk had spoken for them when he, Ramita and Dasra had arrived at the monastery seeking shelter.
    Yash looked vaguely offended. ‘Al’Rhon, this is the best time I’ve had since I got here.’
    He’d never been the most spiritual of monks.
    Alaron was glad to have someone else to keep an eye on the child. He couldn’t look at Dasra without seeing his twin brother, Nasatya, stolen away by Huriya Makani and Malevorn Andevarion two days ago. Scrying had given no clues as to where they had gone, and his thoughts were full of self-recriminations.
    I had Nasatya in my hands and I lost him.
    I held the Scytale of Corineus in my hands, and I lost it.
    I faced Malevorn, and I lost. Again.
    He lowered his face into his hands, borne down by the weight of his failings.
    After fleeing the mughal’s palace in the wake of the carnage wrought by Ramita’s former blood-sister and her Souldrinker followers, they had taken refuge in this Zain monastery, where his friend Yash dwelt. Outside in the city, Mughal Tariq hunted them. It felt as if they were outstaying their welcome.
    Why Malevorn was helping Huriya was unfathomable: he was an Imperial Inquisitor and sworn to the destruction of all Souldrinkers. It made no sense. Despite that, they’d trapped Alaron and Ramita and with the babies held hostage, forced an exchange: one of Ramita’s twins for the Scytale.
    I let Ramita down . . . she must despise me!
    What made his failure worse was how hopelessly in love with her he was. The realisation had struck at the worst possible time – in the midst of their battle with the Dokken – but it was now fact, as key to his being as water and air. It had been growing inside him during the months they’d spent together, training in the arts of the gnosis and sharing dangers and discoveries alike, and had crystallised as they faced death together. She was the drumming of his heartbeat. But he was pretty sure she didn’t feel the same way; after all, she’d made him her adopted brother in a Lakh ceremony called rakhi, probably to ensure he didn’t get any silly ideas. After all, she might have been born a lowly Aruna Nagar market-girl – but she was the widow of Antonin Meiros, one of the Blessed Three Hundred and greatest magician of the Age.
    Who am I to dream so high?
    Yash, his friend since they’d met at Mandira Khojana monastery and travelled together to Teshwallabad, had persuaded the Masters to take them in, but to stay much longer was to endanger their hosts. Having brought so much death and destruction, they owed it to the monks to leave soon.
    He’d barely seen Ramita since they’d arrived; she had spent most of the last two days praying to her Omali gods in the temple. The Zains held all gods to be equal, but they had Lakh roots, so Omali shrines were maintained within their walls. So when her voice floated out of the temple door, quavering and