Upon taking the throne as High Lord of Katraman and Liege of Scura, Lornyc Reagalos’s focus on rebuilding one city and reassuring another leaves little time for his husband, Methian. Added to that, he must contend with the unexpected revelation that his grandfather, Romanus, set up his own religion and named an enigmatic figure called The One as its deity. Through some twisted interpretation of the signs left by Romanus, the Cerulean Cult comes to believe Lornyc is their god and invites him to sanctify the Cult as part of its five-hundred-year anniversary.
During the Sanctification Ceremony, the Cult’s holy relic, an orb given to it by Romanus, is split, releasing an entity that tears a hole in the dimensions. The species that guards the dimensions, the Valen, force Lornyc to fix the breach, or they will have him extinguished.
Now as Lornyc faces a race through the different planes of existence to capture the escaped entity, he must rely on his own Valen guardians to help him. With Methian and his family by his side, Lornyc must fight to repair the damage or lose his life.
Lornyc looked under the bed where Methian was pointing. The snide comment about Methian’s mental faculties, or lack thereof, disappeared as he stared at a version of himself crouched, clearly terrified, under the bed. Flabbergasted, Lornyc didn’t know what to say, but it was evident that the other Lornyc was equally confused. The stress of seeing himself must have been too much, as the other Lornyc slumped forward and passed out.
“Help me get him out from under there,” said Lornyc, sliding onto his belly.
Together they dragged the unconscious man out from beneath the bed. Methian scooped the other Lornyc into his arms and laid him gently on the mattress.
Lornyc stared down at him. “Go get Vella. He’ll need a doctor.”
Methian didn’t move. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve no idea.”
Lornyc couldn’t take his eyes off his doppelganger as Methian left to get Vella. He was thinner, and Lornyc himself could hardly be accused of carrying extra weight. The other Lornyc’s face was gaunt, and he had a smattering of dark marks across his skin, disappearing under the collar of the simple tunic he wore.
Vella charged into the bedroom. “I think your husband has gone mad,” she said, but stopped in midstride on seeing the man on the bed…
About the Author:
Rebecca is a Brit abroad. Having swapped the Thames for the Rhine, she has left London behind and now lives with her husband and baby son in Basel, Switzerland. She can often be found with a pen in one hand and a cup of Darjeeling in the other.