Soma held no desire to argue the point. He took mild amusement in needling the woman and in reminding her of how precarious her actual position and authority were. Wind blew against them, warm from the sea. Soma brushed the waist-high wall of the rampart with his hand. Unlike the rest of Thanet, the castle was built solely in the style of the Mirli castles on Gadir, which in turn were influenced by its own neighboring nations. Giant stone castles, to hold off armies and siege weaponry never deployed upon the island.

  Hideous, to Soma’s eyes, though he suspected it felt like home to Sinshei.

  “Do you believe the Vagrant trustworthy?” he asked. “If he lets matters transpire as they must, it will make the transition easier. I suspect, should he discover the truth of the required sacrifice, that will not be the case.”

  “Ignorance is our ally,” Sinshei said.

  “Still, it’s impressively cold, even for you, promising Keles a crown and a throne to rule an island of corpses.”

  “And so we keep her in ignorance as well. Nothing matters once I claim my rightful place.” She gestured to the wreckage of the five imperial warships. A smile graced her lips. “Never did I imagine how complete Galvanis’s failure would be. How could my father ever doubt his incompetence now?”

  “By casting the blame on you instead of your brother’s corpse,” Soma said. He crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the rampart. “If he considers Thanet your grand failure instead of Magus’s or Galvanis’s, what then?”

  “He won’t,” Sinshei said, much harsher than she intended. She paused a moment to gather herself. “Worry not on this, for I will be the only potential heir upon this island, with months of travel separating us from the rest of my brothers and sisters. Lucavi will have no choice but to grant me his blessing come the ceremony.”

  Soma drummed his armored fingers against the stone.

  “You speak with such confidence in the decisions gods will make. What if you are wrong? What if your father refuses to give you your rightful gift?”

  Thanet’s Anointed turned her back to the shore and marched for the door leading back into the castle.

  “Your family is famous for killing gods,” she said, brave enough to suggest so much when they were high up and with only the wind as witness. “Would you be willing to kill another if it meant becoming one of the most powerful men alive?”

  Soma smirked, and he did not follow her inside.

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  The door shut. Alone on the rampart, Soma glanced about to make sure no bothersome eyes watched from the nearby windows, and then he leaped dozens of feet into the air. He landed lightly atop the castle’s highest spire and balanced upon the tip like a dancer, his weight perfectly balanced as he gazed out across the Crystal Sea.

  Soma removed his helmet and held it against his hip. The wind teased his long hair, and he closed his eyes. As good as it felt, it wasn’t enough. It was still blocked, false, and so he cast the falseness aside.

  Human flesh peeled away. Dirty-blond hair turned bone white. Soma stood to his full height, tilted his head, and let the moonlight fall upon his sapphire scales. At the next gust of sea breeze, he sighed deeply. There it was, the cleansing softness, the flutter of it across his cheeks, a promise of the cherishing waves that cradled Thanet. How he had missed it during his exile.

  “You never appreciated the beauty of what you stole,” he whispered to the night. “You wanted power, you wanted to rule, and so you took it. Is that not the way of the Lion? Is that not the way of all of Gadir?”

  A smile crossed his face, pulling at his scales to reveal his teeth, sharp and numerous like those of a shark. Oh, how sublime his pleasure in burying his spear into Endarius’s eye upon returning to the island. Nothing could compare. Soma had wondered, right at the end, if the god would recognize him. If he would appreciate the irony, the sweet and beautiful justice, of dying on that spear.

  Soma pulled the spear from his back and twirled it before him. It was the same spear that had pinned him to the barge they burned his physical body upon. It was this spear that had held him still as the flames kissed his scales, the wood collapsed, and his corpse fell deep into the sea. The Lion had thought him dead, and in many ways, he had been correct. Soma’s heart had ruptured. His blood had spilled along the sands.

  But it was the water that first birthed him. It was the water that gave him life. His followers had kept their faith and cried out their prayers amid their grief. Years and years passed, slow and steady as the waves. By the time Soma recovered, he found his island conquered and the name “Dagon” now a curse.

  And so he left for a land of gods and goddesses foreign to him, a place called Gadir by those who lived upon its endless miles of grasslands, mountains, forests, and deserts. A world so unlike Thanet, at least when it came to the animals and geography. The people, though? Oh, the people were the same. Fickle. Scared. Bowing in fear before their chosen gods, gods that dwindled in number as the God-Incarnate claimed them all.

  “So long was my exile,” he whispered. “But at last I am home.”

  Soma expanded his thoughts to the sea. His influence could only reach so far, but the water surrounding the island remained his obedient servant. It was his skin, his body, his mind. He sensed the creatures below, the fish, the crab, and the squid. Most importantly of all, he felt the slice of warships across its surface.

  Despite the vast distance, Soma could see the burning golden aura of the one who commanded the largest ship. The God-Incarnate of the Everlorn Empire. The one ultimately responsible for Thanet’s suffering, and for Endarius’s arrival. A blight upon the mortal realm. The greatest living insult to the divine. A travesty. A crimson joke.

  “Four hundred years of planning, of plotting, of waiting.” He clipped the spear to his back. He cast his face once more in human flesh. “Soon come to an end.”

  The story continues in…

  BOOK THREE OF THE VAGRANT GODS

  Coming in 2024!

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Ah, so I can finally chat about what I’ve wanted to chat about forever. But just in case, to you people with inexplicably horrible morals who read these notes before the rest of the novel, I beseech you to leave now. With these notes at the end, I always try to peel back the curtain and provide a glimpse into my writing process, and that’s what I’m doing once more. We’re talking spoilers here. Once you’re finished, my note and I will be waiting for you, I promise. So we good? Yeah? All right.

  So while plotting out the bones of what would become the Vagrant Gods, I read Velocity Weapon by Megan E. O’Keefe. To those of you who haven’t read it, there are two very big twists in it that reshape your entire understanding of the story and the events taking place. I loved it. The construction, it was so fun, so perfectly hidden in plain sight, I was inspired. It led me to wonder… could I do something like that? Could I embed a twist that deeply into the narrative? I already had Thorda training Cyrus to eventually betray him, but could I do bigger? Better? So I began evaluating the plotline, the events, and tried to find where I could add layers to it. This led to the history of Cyrus’s family and how the Lythan family overthrew the Orani family upon their arrival hundreds of years ago.

  Not bad, but I wasn’t satisfied. All the twists would be done by the first novel. They only changed the perception of events that happened hundreds of years ago. Where is the immediate effect?

  And so I did what I always do when I’m stuck on something: I called my friend Rob and rambled on the phone with him for an hour or so. I told him the basic ideas, of the Lythan family, the Orani, etc. This led to seeds of Keles’s new role, which was nice. But in adding in the Orani, I also introduced an intriguing idea. When the Lythan family invaded, surely Lycaena reacted, right? Why didn’t she fight back? Or what if… what if Lycaena didn’t, but another god did? A god who stood by the Orani family. And so Dagon came to be. I started working through the plot, pondering ideas of how to seed Dagon’s history, people who still worship him in secret, maybe even a moment when Mari whispers him and we learn more of the past. Interesting, interesting, but then somewhere in that phone call, the idea hit me:

  What if Dagon is still alive?

  Now, that’s intriguing, but that left a single question. If Dagon was alive, where had he been all this time? Why not appear when Thanet was invaded? I can’t remember for certain, but I believe Rob suggested a simple answer: He wasn’t there. And that’s when I knew.

  Soma already existed in my rough outline at the time, unchanged in how he’s portrayed at the start of The Bladed Faith. He was meant to be a fun wild-card character working for Sinshei, someone to do her dirty work and likely be involved in a climactic battle with one of the main characters when I needed one. But what if… what if… and then I realized. Soma would be Dagon in disguise. Soma would be the one to kill Endarius in the very first chapter, avenging a crime committed against him four hundred years ago, before there was even a whisper of his very existence.

  And from that moment on, every single Soma chapter was a delight to write. I’ve never done quite so long a mystery before, and walking that tightrope of offering clues (the blue scales underneath his skin when Stasia wounds his face, the promise to a dying Magus that he’d topple the empire, his emotional reaction to Keles unknowingly pledging servitude to him) without giving too much away was a difficult but utterly enjoyable one. I hope I did all right. If not, please know the effort was there!

  As for what Soma/Dagon has been doing on the mainland, why he hid himself as a paragon, what his plan is with Sinshei… well, that’s for book three. I hope you’re as excited for it as I am.

  All right, time for a quick wrap-up of thank-yous. Thank you to Brit, for as always being the best editor one could hope for. Thank you to Lauren and the rest of the art department at Orbit for giving me top-tier covers most authors can only dream of. Thank you to Angela for guiding me through all the various publicity aspects for The Bladed Faith’s launch. Thanks, Newt, for the sensitivity read as well as helping finally name Eshiel. Thank you, Cherae, for guiding me through Rayan’s development. Thanks, Rob, for enduring my way, way too long phone calls.

  And last but never least, thank you, dear reader. You’ve once again stepped into my world and spent time with my characters, entrusting me to keep you entertained. I hope I did you well.

  David Dalglish

  March 30, 2022

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  meet the author

  Michele Coleman

  DAVID DALGLISH currently lives in Myrtle Beach with his wife, Samantha, and daughters, Morgan, Katherine, and Alyssa. He graduated from Missouri Southern State University in 2006 with a degree in mathematics and currently spends his free time tanking dungeons for his wife and daughter in Final Fantasy XIV.

  Find out more about David Dalglish and other Orbit authors by registering for the free monthly newsletter at orbitbooks.net.

  if you enjoyed

  THE SAPPHIRE ALTAR

  look out for

  VAGRANT GODS: BOOK THREE

  by

  David Dalglish

  The adventure continues in the third novel of USA Today bestselling author David Dalglish’s new epic fantasy trilogy.…

  DARIO

  Dario knelt beside his bed in his quiet little room, his head bowed in prayer. It was his twelfth hour doing so. No food. No drink. No sleep. His bladder ached, and he smelled of sweat, but this was not his first time enduring such a trial. He had done similarly when his brother vanished in the wake of Vulnae’s fall. In the ruins of the captured castle, before the vanquished throne, Dario had bowed with his hands resting on the empty throne’s cushion and pleaded for his brother’s safety. He had prayed for guidance and wisdom for the missing Arn Bastell, that he might remain upon the true path despite the fire, ash, and bones that littered the city. Conquest was hell, but the rewards were great, and the dark deeds necessary.

  That first time, Dario had felt the presence of Lucavi descend upon him and speak words of comfort and wisdom to his heart and mind.

  You are beloved, and I am with you always, honored son. Fear not the path your brother walks. Mind your own heart, and walk with my truth proudly cherished. My eye is ever upon the lost.

  Dario had bathed the throne’s cushion with his tears. The relief had overwhelmed him. Wherever Arn went, whatever doubts he felt, they would be forgiven by his god upon his return. A place of honor would be waiting for him come the final war in the eternal lands beyond.

  “Please,” Dario whispered all these years later. The hours broke his resolve. The silence amid his room stabbed him incessantly. “You gave me succor once, in the shadow of Onleda’s conquest. Why will you not comfort me now?”

  His god walked the lands of this island, occupied this very same castle, and yet suddenly Dario could hear him no longer. What did it mean? About the God-Incarnate? About himself?

  Two rapid knocks on his door. Dario startled to his feet. Little jolts of pain arced through the muscles of his back at the sudden movement. He was naked from the waist up and wore only a simple pair of trousers normally reserved for underneath his armor. He ignored his desire to dress. Those knocks… Could it be? Had Lucavi himself come after hearing the earnestness of Dario’s prayers? Had this been a test, one finally decided?

  “Come in,” he said.

  It was not Lucavi, but instead his daughter, Sinshei, looking as beautiful as ever in her crimson dress. Her bound hair decorated with gold lace shimmered behind her like a cloak. She stepped inside and closed the door. Dario tried to hide his disappointment. He suspected he failed.

  “How goes your hand?” Sinshei said. If she cared for his lack of clothes, she showed no outward sign.

  “Healing,” he said. He flexed the fingers of his bandaged hand. Its pain had been a thorn in his mind for the entirety of his prayers. The wound was a direct result of a clash between him and his heretical brother. They had directly opposed each other, fist against fist, strength against strength. The ultimate test of their convictions, Dario’s faith put to proof against his brother’s doubt and cowardice.

  It had been Dario’s hand that faltered, his bones that surrendered into pieces.

  “Let me see.”

  Sinshei unwrapped the thin cloth. While the bruises and marks from his humiliating beating had faded from his arms and chest, the same could not be said for his hand. His skin was puffy and swollen. Deep purple bruises marked his knuckles and joints where the bones had broken. Dario had popped them back into place himself. The innate gifts of a paragon should have healed them within a night or two. That they hadn’t was… troubling.

  “It could be better,” Sinshei said after a moment. Her dainty fingers were dwarfed by his meaty own as she gently poked and prodded. “But it could also be worse.”

  She rewrapped his hand, apparently satisfied with her investigation. Dario stood there awkwardly as he let her. He shouldn’t be so curt with her. What if Lucavi had sent her as proxy in answer to his prayers?

  “Why have you come?” he asked when she finished. “I doubt Thanet’s Anointed would bother checking on a lone paragon’s wounds without some additional reason.”

  Sinshei stepped away, and her violet eyes drilled into him. Dario knew little of the woman, but what few times he’d met her had left him deeply unimpressed. Her station and birth had insulated her from much of the world. When she prayed for others, it rang hollow. When she spoke to Thanet’s people of the troubles her divine father would solve, there was no understanding there, only regurgitation. Even Arn’s prayers during their training had sounded more genuine.

  “Signifer Weiss has been gathering testimony from all involved in the incident that led to Galvanis’s death,” she said. The “incident” was the planned ambush by Cyrus Lythan and his allies, with Dario’s brother as the bait. The Heir-Incarnate had vastly underestimated the Vagrant’s strength, and many paragons, as well as Galvanis himself, had paid the ultimate price.

  “Aye, I know,” Dario said. “I’ve spoken with him.”

  “Indeed, you told him of your fight and your injury,” Sinshei said. She crossed her arms. “And yet others describe what you neglected to mention. You told Weiss you fled your brother after sustaining your injuries. Others, though, tell a different tale. You did not flee Arn.”

  She stepped closer.

  “No, he let you live. I would like to know why.”

  Dario looked away. Something about her gaze unnerved him. It was too curious. Too… hungry.

  “You would question my younger brother’s sentimentality? He did not have it in his heart to kill me.”

  “He has killed so many others. Why would he spare you? You interrogated him while we held him prisoner. Perhaps your words found a place in his heart?”

  Dario couldn’t help it. He laughed.

  “No,” he said, turning back toward her. He lifted his injured hand. “No, it was quite the opposite. His faith, in whatever it may be, has not wavered. My foolish brother instead thought he saw hope in me, that I might come to join him in his heresy. That is why he let me live.”

  He thought his laughter and smirk would show how ludicrous a thought that was. The last thing he wanted was the attention of a member of the church, let alone Thanet’s Anointed One. That she was Lucavi’s daughter made it only worse. So he stood tall and exuded every bit of the bravado and confidence that had carried him through his training in the Bloodstone to become one of Eldrid’s most cherished paragons.

  Sinshei stepped closer. Her hand rested against the side of his face, an act of love to some, but to Dario, an unwanted connection. That gaze, it saw too much. Perhaps she was not so oblivious as he first thought.