The Sapphire Altar Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2023 by David Dalglish

  Excerpt from Vagrant Gods: Book Three copyright © 2023 by David Dalglish

  Excerpt from The Blighted Stars copyright © 2023 by Megan E. O’Keefe

  Cover design by Lauren Panepinto

  Cover illustration by Chase Stone

  Cover copyright © 2023 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Map by Sámhlaoch Swords

  Author photograph by Michele Coleman

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Dalglish, David, author.

  Title: The sapphire altar / David Dalglish.

  Description: First Edition. | New York : Orbit, 2023. | Series: Vagrant gods ; book 2

  Identifiers: LCCN 2022026621 | ISBN 9780759557123 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780759557116 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCGFT: Novels.

  Classification: LCC PS3604.A376 S37 2023 | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022026621

  ISBNs: 9780759557123 (trade paperback), 9780759557116 (ebook)

  E3-20221119-JV-NF-ORI

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map

  A Reminder, for Those Who Need One

  Prologue: Keles

  Chapter 1: Vagrant

  Chapter 2: Sinshei

  Chapter 3: Mari

  Chapter 4: Vagrant

  Chapter 5: Vagrant

  Chapter 6: Stasia

  Chapter 7: Keles

  Chapter 8: Arn

  Chapter 9: Stasia

  Chapter 10: Vagrant

  Chapter 11: Keles

  Chapter 12: Vagrant

  Chapter 13: Vagrant

  Chapter 14: Vagrant

  Chapter 15: Eshiel

  Chapter 16: Stasia

  Chapter 17: Stasia

  Chapter 18: Mari

  Chapter 19: Vagrant

  Chapter 20: Keles

  Chapter 21: Mari

  Chapter 22: Vagrant

  Chapter 23: Stasia

  Chapter 24: Rayan

  Chapter 25: Sinshei

  Chapter 26: Eshiel

  Chapter 27: Arn

  Chapter 28: Sinshei

  Chapter 29: Vagrant

  Chapter 30: Rayan

  Chapter 31: Mari

  Chapter 32: Vagrant

  Chapter 33: Arn

  Chapter 34: Vagrant

  Chapter 35: Sinshei

  Chapter 36: Rayan

  Chapter 37: Stasia

  Chapter 38: Arn

  Chapter 39: Vagrant

  Chapter 40: Arn

  Chapter 41: Keles

  Chapter 42: Arn

  Chapter 43: Vagrant

  Chapter 44: Vagrant

  Chapter 45: Arn

  Chapter 46: Mari

  Chapter 47: Rayan

  Chapter 48: Keles

  Chapter 49: Vagrant

  Chapter 50: Eshiel

  Chapter 51: Vagrant

  Chapter 52: Mari

  Chapter 53: Soma

  A Note From the Author

  Discover More

  Extras Meet the Author

  A Preview of Vagrant Gods: Book Three

  A Preview of The Blighted Stars

  Also by David Dalglish

  Praise for David Dalglish

  To Newt and Cherae, who came in and helped exactly when and where I needed it most

  Explore book giveaways, sneak peeks, deals, and more.

  Tap here to learn more.

  A REMINDER, FOR THOSE WHO NEED ONE:

  The Everlorn Empire invaded the island of Thanet and, to Prince Cyrus Lythan’s horror, executed his parents and slaughtered the Lion god, Endarius. Two years later, they publicly execute the Butterfly goddess, Lycaena, despite attempts from the Thanese resistance to stop it. During the following chaos, Cyrus is presumed dead but in truth is rescued by a longtime family friend, the paladin Rayan Vayisa, and brought to the leader of the newly formed resistance: Thorda Ahlai. There Cyrus is made an offer: train under Thorda and become the figurehead of a new resistance. He will become the Vagrant, a skull-faced persona crafted by Thorda to hide Cyrus’s identity until the time is right to reveal the believed-dead prince is alive and fighting for his throne.

  For two years, Cyrus does just that, trains with Thorda and the rest of his resistance. Much of his time is spent with Stasia Ahlai, known as the Ax of Lahareed, as well as her sister, the shape-shifting god-whisperer Mari, also known as the Lioness. A late arrival is Arn Bastell, the Heretic, a former paragon who comes to Thanet at Thorda’s insistence. Reluctant but still willing to fight with them is Keles Lyon, once known as the Light of Vallessau before publicly forsaking her belief in the slain Butterfly goddess to spare her life. Along with her uncle, Rayan, they become a vicious group of killers, attacking the empire at every turn in the island’s capital of Vallessau. Their foes? The God-Incarnate’s daughter, Sinshei vin Lucavi, her loyal paragon, Soma Ordiae, and the head of the invasion, Imperator Magus of Eldrid.

  Their progress is threatened when a group of devout believers in the Vagrant, to whom Cyrus has revealed his true identity, are captured by Magus and scheduled for public hangings. They plan an ambush but are betrayed by a traitor in their organization. The innocents are hung, soldiers attack from all sides, and high atop a bell tower Cyrus faces off against Imperator Magus. During that fight, Magus gloats to Cyrus about the truth of the island—Cyrus’s family has done something similar to what the empire has done. Four hundred years ago they arrived on Thanet as invaders, overthrew the ruling Orani family, slew their beloved Serpent god, Dagon, and then buried the truth of their deeds.

  Unfortunately for Magus, the sacrifices of the faithful empowered the Vagrant, granting him power akin to the rituals used to empower the empire’s paragons. The two duel, with Cyrus killing the Imperator before escaping with the others in the aftermath. His joy is short-lived, for Magus has confirmed a traitor in the organization: Thorda himself. The leader of the resistance wanted the sacrifices of the faithful. He wanted the lives given to the Vagrant, to craft a god of death to finally challenge the empire’s God-Incarnate.

  After confronting Thorda, Cyrus chooses to abandon the resistance and strike out on his own. He swears to forsake the Vagrant persona, though Thorda insists it shall not be so easy. Meanwhile, boats arrive in Vallessau’s harbor, bringing the God-Incarnate’s son, Galvanis, to Thanet’s shores, where he looks upon the lack of faith with dismay and swears to bring the entire island to heel.

  PROLOGUE

  KELES

  Keles stood in the center of the empty tent, her arms crossed and her hands bound behind her back. The rope dug into her skin as she slowly twisted her wrists. The rational part of her mind said to be afraid, but oddly enough, she felt no fear. She had suffered imprisonment at the hands of the Everlorn Empire. What threat were loyal followers of the slain Lycaena?

  Of course, they might not be truly loyal to the Butterfly goddess. Based on their claims, they might even be insane…

  The tent flaps opened behind her. She tilted her chin and turned, determined to present herself as calm and honorable despite her current predicament.

  “I am Keles Lyon,” she told the new arrival, “faithful servant of Thanet, and I demand that you remove my bindings.”

  Her authoritative tone wilted into surprise before the man towering a good foot taller than her. His head and face were clean-shaven, and twin butterfly wings tattooed in black ink curled up from his eyebrows and across his bald pate. His face was thin and bony, as if he were a few harsh days shy of starvation, and his nose crooked from being broken and not properly healing. He wore a red robe tied with a rope sash and a silver dagger tucked into it. His arms were crossed over his chest, and the loose sleeves of his robe fell back to expose his bare arms. Where there weren’t tattoos on his pale skin, there were scars, deep and winding ones more fitting to a m
an of war than a priest.

  “No,” he said. His light brown eyes studied her as he paced a circle. “I don’t think I will.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “Do you believe me a threat?”

  He continued circling her, his right hand gently stroking his chin. His voice was deeper than the sea and smoother than any wine.

  “There’s not much left of the little girl I once saw,” he said. “But war tends to strip away the vestiges of childhood. I know your face, and I remember your name, but it was not the one you used when we last met.”

  Keles’s insides twisted. She had tried to bury that past.

  “I’m not her anymore,” she said.

  “What did they call you?” this strange priest said, ignoring her protest. Around and around he walked, a wolf prowling a newly discovered lamb. “If I remember right, you were ‘the Light of Vallessau,’ were you not?”

  She flinched at the title. It had been foisted upon her when she was sixteen, the heroine paladin fighting the invading forces of the empire.

  “I forfeited any such claim at the forsaking ceremony,” she said.

  “And yet now you are here, so very far from Vallessau. Might you explain, Keles? Set my mind at ease?”

  Keles met his narrowed gaze with a faint smile.

  “I will confess no secrets to a man whose name I do not know. Only a fool would do so under such a disadvantage.”

  The priest drew his dagger.

  “Are you a fool, Keles?”

  “Do you think me a fool, stranger?”

  At last, he smiled. It lit up his narrow face.

  “I think you are many things, daughter of Vallessau, but a fool is not one of them.”

  He curled around her and then cut the ropes that bound her wrists. The severed pieces dropped to the dirt floor of the tent. Keles stretched her shoulders as she rubbed at the raw skin. When he returned to face her, he dipped his head in apology.

  “My name is Eshiel Dymling, faithful servant of our beloved goddess, Lycaena.”

  Tradition would have her salute with her sword, then lay the blade flat over her left arm, but she had been disarmed upon arrival, so instead she lowered her head in greeting.

  “Well met, Eshiel. I must admit, I expected a warmer welcome when I came to your little forest camp.”

  “We must always be watchful for imperial spies. A little silver, and an empty belly, can loosen even loyal tongues.”

  Now that he had ceased his circling, he faced her directly. She felt judged, but would he find her worthy, or wanting? And why did she suddenly care?

  “Your wrists are freed, and our names are shared,” he said. “We are as equals, so I ask you again, Light of Vallessau, why have you come to my village?”

  The thought of voicing her reasons filled her with embarrassment. They were childish, delusional hopes, yet here she was, two weeks of hard travel into the northern reaches of Thanet, through the Cliffwoods, to an unremarkable little camp lost amid the trees. All for a fool’s hope. All for a dream that could not be real. But oh, what a dream it was…

  “Certain rumors have reached us in Vallessau,” she said. She stared him dead in the eye and challenged him to lie. “I have to know. Is it true?”

  Eshiel crossed the wide tent to the entrance, pushed aside the flap, and gestured for her to follow. He still held his dagger.

  “Nothing I tell you would ever be enough,” he said. “So come see for yourself, if you are willing to endure the blood it costs.”

  A shiver ran through her. Was it fear, or excitement? This handsome man, he was watching her, studying her. She would not cower. As the Light of Vallessau, she had strode the front lines of the battlefield, her blade gleaming and her shield unbreakable. She feared no spilling of blood.

  Together they stepped out into the heart of the bustling camp. Her first impression when she had arrived in the waning evening hours had been of a loose collection of tents and huts built from the surrounding ash trees and then covered with linen. It was orderly and clean despite the meager standard of living. Keles had estimated maybe thirty or forty people lived there while she’d been marched into Eshiel’s tent, but that estimate had been off by a wide margin.

  “Stay with me,” Eshiel said as the train of followers swelled. Hungry, distrusting eyes watched her, and Keles made sure to keep beside him. They walked a well-worn path through the trees to the white cliffs that gave the forest its name, all conversation about them dwindling with each passing step.

  The crash of waves greeted the forest edge. Beyond were steep clifftops towering in defiance of the Crystal Sea beyond. The path they walked ended at the highest of the cliffs. Six lit torches awaited. Appointed members of the procession pulled the torches free of the earth and carried them high above their heads. Eshiel led the climb up the incline, where a half circle of tall stones, six in total, lined the narrow clifftop’s edge. These pillars were wide at the bottom but slender and curved inward near the top, so they appeared like fingers of a buried giant reaching out from the ground. Moss grew along their wind-blasted gray surfaces. Walking into their center felt like walking into the presence of history. These stones were old. Who had placed them, and how many centuries prior?

  The sacred feeling of this site was clearly shared by the others. The people accompanying Eshiel and Keles’s walk fell silent. No one spoke. The only sound was the muffled shuffling of feet, the rustle of cloth, and the heavy breathing of the elderly. Even the children held their tongues, which was a miracle in and of itself. The young had certainly never shut their mouths during the sermons she’d attended at the Twin Sanctuary.

  Then again, the Twin Sanctuary did not possess a massive stone slab in its heart caked in deep red stains that could only be dried blood. A man lay upon it, his hands tied behind his back in the same manner the villagers had bound Keles. His mouth was gagged and his eyes blindfolded. He had been stripped of all clothing but his undergarments. Whether he was unconscious or sleeping, she did not know, but there was at least visible movement of his bruised chest. Two men stood guard over him, clubs in hand.

  Keles tried to remain calm when she spoke. To her relief, there wasn’t the slightest quiver in her voice.

  “Who is that man?”

  Eshiel halted just shy of the half circle. The accompanying villagers fanned out to either side, and they moved with a purpose. The torchlight flickered.

  “An imperial soldier we captured on patrol to Chora,” Eshiel said, referring to the nearby village whose elder had guided Keles into the forest. He loosened the sash to his robe and then shed it so that he was naked from the waist up. All across his muscular body were winding tattoos, and for each tattoo there was a matching scar, some a full foot in length. Whatever had been done to this man, it had been brutal. He turned to her, no more smiles on his face or sharp banter on his tongue. His voice lowered, meant only for her.

  “There is no coming back from this, Keles. If you stay, you must share in all of it until the necessary end. I will not blame you for leaving… though I will be disappointed.”

  The movement of the people ceased, for they had taken their places. Completing the ring, Keles realized. What had been a half circle was now full. Stone and flesh, the everlasting and the ephemeral. Torches burned in the human ring, while only moonlight lit the six weathered pillars. In the center, the prisoner upon an altar, and the man with the knife.

  “Lycaena has never preached a need for blood sacrifice,” Keles said, feeling the first hints of panic nibbling at her mind.

  “And what need was there in a time of peace?” Eshiel asked, this time louder and for all in attendance. “On calm days, the sword stays sheathed, but let it be drawn when night falls and the burglar comes prowling.”

  The bound man rocked, a moan escaping his lips. He sounded drugged, which would explain his lack of struggle. Faint hope had dragged Keles here, and it died as she watched Eshiel lift the knife. This couldn’t be right. This was madness. The people were indulging Eshiel’s slaughter of imperial soldiers because they were frightened and angry. It was rebellion framed as ritual. It was war disguised as worship. Stars help her, there were children in attendance.

  “On this night we give to our beloved goddess,” Eshiel continued. The deep rumble of his voice was his thunder; the moonlight shining off his raised dagger, his lightning. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but it seemed the tattoos across his face and arms glowed a faint crimson. He stood at the altar, the bound man before him, the stones behind him, and a field of stars above. There was something primal about his presence, wild and unchecked by the laws of the priesthood and the structure of faith Keles learned during her paladin training within the Heaven’s Wing.