Dark Communion (Godswar Chronicles Book 1) by Perry CJ

Author:Perry, CJ [Perry, CJ]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2016-10-30T04:00:00+00:00

Deetra ran her hand along the steel railing that encircled a recessed portion of the floor housing a scale replica of the arena. She studied it from above, circling. Rested and fed, she was ready to plot Ayla’s rescue, but Butch made no mention of it until she did.

He leaned with his hands on the railing opposite her, one foot out behind him. His amber eyes watched in her peripheral as she descended the two stairs to the map floor. The design of the room made it so that the morning sun from the open door shone on the model below her.

Butch spoke from over her shoulder. “The Priestess said no rescue attempts.”

The model held Deetra’s attention as she replied, “Ayla wouldn’t have traded her life if she knew something could be done about her calf.”

The closer she got to the replica, the more it took her breath away. She squatted down and inspected the waist-high miniature arena, envisioning the battles in the hall, and Ayla giving orders from the arena floor while healing the wounded.

Deetra looked up and met Butch’s disapproving glare. No matter what he said to the contrary, the orc blamed her for Ayla’s decision and Alex’s death. In that, they had something in common.

Uncomfortable with his silent accusation, she shifted her gaze to the faded mural on the domed ceiling above. It depicted the arena floor and gladiators combating a giant spider with a man’s torso and head.

Butch’s voice echoed off the dome. “I told her the arena surgeon could help her, it was early enough. She said no.”

Deetra stood up to make another objection, but Butch’s eyes had followed hers to the ceiling and still lingered on the mural. Deetra waited, but he turned away from the railing without looking at her.

The taxidermied heads of animals on the walls stared at her with their glass eyes. Furious, she balled her fists and marched for the stairs to the main floor of the war room.

“Why?”

Butch sat down at the Arena Master’s desk. Weapons and tapestries adorned the walls behind him, all old, but well-tended. He settled into the oversized chair – the Master of the Arena’s chair – and folded his arms.

“The surgeon told her that aborting her calf carried risks. A lot of women die from fever. Once she heard that, she refused. She said that if she was going to die, it would be trying to save her people, not herself.”

It sounded nothing like the old Ayla, but Deetra believed him. Deetra liked the new Ayla; she had hope in spades and shared it with every person she touched. Deetra put her coarse hands on the smooth wood of the desk and leaned toward him, letting the medallion catch the light of the lamp on the desk.

“The Priestess also left me in charge.”

Butch nodded. “And you are. But battle plans are the General’s job, not the temple’s, Priestess.”

The word hit her like a smack in the face. He said it as if she needed to know her place.

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