The Contessa of Mostul Ûbar: A Sundering the Gods Novel by L. James Rice

Author:L. James Rice [Rice, L. James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781951068103
Publisher: Twelfth Star Publishing
Published: 2023-05-24T16:00:00+00:00

“Sêleveru Juvonis has indeed suffered spells all of her life.”

“A Juvonis? You could have told me.” The Juvonis family was a constant rival to House Juvilêus. Their competition was subtle and lacked blood but always bubbled beneath the surface.

“We feared she might claim you an imposter to embarrass our family, but she showed honor.”

They strolled the barren rocks of Kinmôl Point that reached toward the sea and, from here, gazed upon Mostul Ûbar in an orange sunset. The fortress of Old Ûbar stood across the bay as a monument of rectangles on a hill, surrounded by the city proper. A handful of ornate towers sprouted from the buildings forming cluttered streets. It was beautiful, but seeing a ship sailing into port brought the familiar itch to be away from this place.

“Something happened.”

“Seizures since she was four. A humiliation for her proud father until she excelled in the robes of the Moon Queen; she is the youngest Îûmuselermô in Remembered Time.” He moved to a massive stone block and leaned against it. “Any marriage wouldn’t have benefited House Juvonis any more than breeding fine horses, but as a Priestess of the Living Eyes? Oh! Your father fumed.”

She joined him, staring at the passing ship and dreaming of it being The Undaunted and her onboard. “And you? You’ve no love for the Juvonis.”

“As a whole, I’ll admit a petty animosity, but I try not to begrudge an individual’s successes.”

“Her fame will pale compared to the return of the Written Stones.”

A smug smile took over Nobûn’s face. “It will, indeed.”

“You’ve taught me so much, you and Teverish, yet you never mentioned her before.”

“Once attaining Îûmuselermô, she is said to no longer belong to a Great House. To no longer have a name.”

“Yet you feared she would abuse her power.”

“One must always be suspicious. But we also didn’t want the risk to taint your conversation. Your meeting was always a possibility.”

“Bad form.”

“Worse. Bad whispers.” He grinned before striding away, turning with a flourish of his cloak, hand on the hilt of his streetsword. “Shall we?”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“You? Not in the mood to fight?” A sea breeze caught his cape, and he snatched it back to his waist. “One hundred ontorê then.”

She groaned as she stepped from the wall, but she preferred an exercise to crossing blades. For now. Ontorê was a Mostulê fencing term for a quick cut executed with the strength of the wrist. It lacked power, but aside from speed, its main advantage lay in losing only a flicker of defense. Her blade rang from its sheath and sliced the air. “I could do this all day with a blade so light. And it isn’t even sharp.” She knew the answer before it left his lips.

“A nail may cut like a knife.”

“Not exactly.”

He grinned. “Two hundred dustôn when you are finished with those.”

Ontorê cuts came one after the other in silence, her mind wandering. “My father’s obsessed with Hudêd. I see him maybe once a month, and it seems he brings up killing The Butcher every time.

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