Past High Priest Jewel Novels & Stories

I remembered how the High Elders used that God-forsaken jewelry to force out the truth from their subjects, exactly like Wonder Woman's lasso of truth. "However, King Aero doesn't know that I tweaked this bracelet a bit," he confessed. I narrowed my eyes at him. What a fucking sly pest. "When King Aero talked about you and when he showed me the filliyaens, I quickly deduced the facts. There was no question you were Ehnrelil's lost rogue priestess. Your guardian spirits never make a mistake." Effortlessly, he plucked one gem out of the bracelet. If my memory serves me well, those gems were supposed to be a beautiful sapphire blue, now it had turned to a blood red.

An ancient deity of the Wastes that had been trapped beneath the Silver Moon for eons. ​"Lyra!" I tried to rush forward, but a wall of force slammed me back. ​A man stood at the edge of the pit. He wasn't Caleb. He was older, dressed in robes of human skin, his eyes entirely gold. The High Priest of the Wastes. ​"The girl is the final key," the Priest chanted, his voice vibrating through our bones. "With the Seer's eyes, the Master shall see the path to the surface. The Silver Moon shall fall, and the age of the Sun shall end!"

“High Priest. Now that things have come to this, will you finally tell me what this so-called sacred relic truly is?” The air inside the carriage turned thick and stifling. Even the howling wind outside seemed to pause for a moment. Staring at the diary, the old High Priest’s eyes flickered with struggle. She sighed, her withered fingers brushing the moonlight crystal atop her scepter. “It is no Dark Blood relic.” “It is a fragment of the Star-Locking Seal.” Eira straightened her back sharply. “The Star-Locking Seal?” The High Priest nodded, her voice lowered for fear of awakening some slumbering evil.

My disgust when I realised that the overly religious bastard trying to bring me down, built a church and dutifully attended mass but trafficked the young and helpless when he didn't need to. The Mafia crime ring didn't have to be dishonourable. Him and the others I have taken out were the scum of my world. He was the last of the dishonourable dons in the mafia world. I had picked him right outside the church. Eliminating him and his likes had been my life's work, a work my father started and I was finishing. "Bring me four of his fingers, two from each hand," I order my man, sipping the gin.

The moment it left my body, it became incredibly fragile. "This is the Princess's protective charm. The high priest says he can use a retrocognition spell to show its last impressions." Alaric took the tray, his pale fingers trembling uncontrollably. Seraphina would never have destroyed something he gave her so easily. "Fix this damned thing for me! Find a way, now!" A moment later, the high priest projected the reconstructed images before Alaric. Broken fragments of light flickered to life, showing the last few images the pendant had received.

’ And, I add to myself, if the tradition of using dhampirs to strengthen the line began with him, he was also the current Prince’s great-grandfather. Annia nods. In the sanctuary of the shrine, the silence is oppressive, unnatural. The interior surfaces have all been worn away by millennia of visitors and obsessive polishing, all smooth stone and glossy gold. A small altar lies at the centre, upon which lies a box carved entirely out of a dark, faceted material that I recognise immediately as sapphire. I smell that strange salty-and-flowers scent again. I frown. Could it be the high priestess? Only, I always thought the high priestess kept mainly to the Westminster temple. I walk forward to

“We will see. Please, just call me Olwyn. We’ve known each other long enough that we can drop the formalities.” “Are you calling about the talismans?” I gave the necklace and watch to the High Priestess in hopes that we could figure out who created the enchantments on them. It wasn’t a priority, so I told her to take her time. We have to figure out who’s creating items that are interfering with the mate bonds of werewolves. “I wish I were calling about that. I’m still looking into that issue, by the way. We’ve had a lot of things going on lately so I haven’t been able to devote my full attention to that.”

She looked up at me, pale, “You’re insane!” “Not at all.” I said softly, eyes never leaving hers, “I had it crafted from jewels sometime before I came here, and it was made by Richard Piccardo, so it really was expensive.” Richard Piccardo was one of the most famous jewellers in Imperial City, and he loved works that had ominous meanings. So getting him to do this wasn't very hard, “I have heard a lot about you and thought about the most suitable gift I should give you. I thought hard about this gift, so you should like it, don't you? It looks just like you.”

The messenger's hands shook as he unfolded the parchment, but his voice remained steady: "To His Majesty, King Malakar Veyrath. Your ultimatum has been received and understood. While Aethermoor cannot provide the tribute you demand without destroying our people, I offer something far more precious than gold or grain. I offer you the hand of my daughter, Princess Eryndra Nightveil, in marriage. She is nineteen years old, pure of heart and noble of blood, trained in all the graces befitting a queen. A union between our kingdoms would benefit us both and demonstrate your mercy to the world. I await your response with humble respect. King Aldric Nightveil of Aethermoor." When the messenger finis

“What is it?” The priestess opened the box. Inside lay a black ring. It looked carved from onyx, with a red sheen like dried wine. In the center was a small seal, Jessica’s crest. The same seal that used to hang on the back of her business cards. The same symbol on the old documents from the Rivers Foundation. Olivia felt her skin prickle. “That’s Jessica’s,” she said. “No,” the priestess corrected gently. “It’s yours.” Olivia frowned. “Mine?”