The very first idea that would become The Night of Fallen Gods was had the Saturday before Easter, 2025. So while I think it’s been a little more than exactly a year, I think I am going to treat my bookaversary as one of those specific day but not date holidays.

So to celebrate, and bring the chapter numbers in line with the follower goals I have on Bluesky, here is Chapter 2. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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2 – Rodgier

Rodgier tried to effect a regal boredom as the doors to the reception hall swung open despite his mounting nerves. 

He immediately recognized Father Jonah, walking just aside the other men who entered. The priest was of average height and thin, his sandy hair streaked through with grey and tied in a loose tail. His close fitting black robe covered him from its white trimmed collar to the ankles of his soft black boots and from wrist to wrist. The only splash of color about him was the wide crimson sash tied across his waist. He would have been handsome with his strong nose and high cheekbones, if it weren’t for the unsettling, vacant look to his eyes.

Rodgier’s eyes next wandered over the four men bringing up the rear of their party. Something about them made him uncomfortable. 

To help keep her busy, he’d found Roderika a tutor in the fighting arts as a child. It’d been pleasantly surprising when she not only enjoyed the lessons but excelled. Over the years that training had given a grace and confidence to her bearing beyond her years. 

The four men trailing behind the Bishop carried themselves in much the same way, but also all together different. Something about them turned the qualities that made his daughter refined and beautiful into something predatory. 

Each wore plain black wool pants and shirts with a white tabard over top and calf high riding boots. The first was the tallest and walked with a commanding set to his shoulders ahead of the rest. He had a harsh face like an axe blade, dark hair kept close to the top of his head with the sides shaved down, and hard piercing dark eyes that drank in every detail of the room around him. The man behind and to his right lacked the same height but was wider in the chest and shoulders, with flowing golden hair spilling over his shoulders. His eyes were a deep sapphire blue and seemed to be weighing everything he saw against some tally in his head. Opposite the second, the third man was gaunt enough to appear emaciated, with lank, uneven hair and wet, bloodshot eyes. The last, nearly lost in the shadow of the first, was the shortest and most unassuming of the four. His face, eyes, and hair were all simply average, like thousands of men you might pass walking the city streets outside. The other three unnerved Rodgier, but the fourth he could not help but be afraid of. 

In contrast to the rest of his entourage, Bishop Dominic was a portly older man. A ram before the pack of wolves at his back, but walking with the grace of a shepherd guiding his flock to pasture. Adorned in fine black vestments trimmed in a dark wine red, he appeared half again Father Jonah’s age. Rodgier could not tell if his head was shaved or if he had gone bald, but he wore the look with a dignity few men could. His expression was equal parts bemused and bored, taking in the details of the meeting hall with an apathetic, wandering gaze. 

Rodgier had to keep from clenching his teeth when his gaze lingered several moments longer than was appropriate on Roderika. 

The six men came to a stop at the foot of the stairs leading to his and his daughter’s seats. “Lord Rodgier, Princess Roderika,” Father Jonah announced, “it is my pleasure to introduce you to Bishop Dominic, the highest member of my order to have left the holy city, and my successor as leader of the faithful in the Tower City.” He then bowed at the waist, hands over his thighs. 

Rodgier waited for Bishop Dominic to bow, or show any other sign of respect. The silence between them stretched, the priest simply staring up at him with sharp blue eyes from the base of the dias. He had to fight to put a smile on his face as he spoke, “Please Bishop, be welcome to the Tower City. I hope you are well after so long on the road.”

“Oh yes.” Dominic had a rich, almost lilting voice with the barest hint of an accent. “Yes, only a small mishap this morning. A broken axle on my carriage. I appreciate your taking the time to wait for my arrival, Justiciar Rogier.”

He had to cover his blink of surprise by standing. “Grand Justiciar” was one of his titles, but not one anyone ever called him by. “Sovereign” was customary, and Father Jonah addressed him as such readily enough. That Bishop Dominic would know his titles well enough to choose what he had was strange. 

He motioned to the servants standing just out of sight. “I had refreshments prepared for your arrival. Please, sit with us.”

Members of his staff appeared from behind the drapes between the columns of the reception hall, bearing a round table and chairs. Roderika stood and followed him down the steps, making a curtsy to Jonah and Dominic as they came to the bottom. 

After four chairs were set down Dominic halted the men and women bringing more with a look. “Oh that’s quite alright, quite alright.” He gestured dismissively over to a nearby wall and said without looking over his shoulder, “Gentlemen, go loom someplace else, yes?” 

The four men behind him snapped their heels together, turned as one, and walked away. They came to the wall and turned back around, only the one with the flowing gold hair looking back towards the table. Glancing at Roderika, with a look that made Rodgier’s skin crawl and hand itch for something sharp to put in his eye. 

The Bishop must have noticed Rodgier’s glance at his men as they took their seats and huffed an apologetic chuckle. “Can’t be too safe on foreign roads,” The Bishop said as he settled in his seat, “but to be honest now that I am here, I feel a bit silly. The roads and your city have been very safe, yes, even despite some of your, ahem, other citizens.”

No matter how Rodgier steeled himself against it, he hated how the Faithful talked about the other Alliance members. All insults masked in innuendo. Father Jonah had spoken the same way when they’d met, but grown better at moderating himself in front of Rodgier and his court. But “foreign roads?”. All roads were common in the Alliance, and the land the Bishop’s city stood on was the same common land as every other. A city Rodgier’s predecessors had built for him and his faithful.

Between the unexpected attendants, the casual disdain for his citizens, and the obvious entitlement of this man, this meeting was veering further and further from his plan. 

“Thank you, Bishop Dominic.” He said in his most diplomatic tone. “I hope you continue to find your stay in the Tower City as surprising.”

“Ah yes! Yes, I do hope so.” Agreed Dominic. “I have something of a surprise myself, though maybe this is the wrong word.” He reached into his robe and withdrew a rolled up piece of parchment and handed it to Rodgier. “With your blessing, it is our hope that the church here in the city be refurnished into a cathedral, and that a Bishop be stationed there from my tenure moving forward.”

He thumbed open the seal and rolled out the parchment. Inside were sketches of the current church, a humble building down in the First Ring, and another larger and grander building alongside it. “These are certainly… ambitious plans. I will need to discuss this with my city planners and guilds.”

“Naturally, naturally.” Dominic nodded sagely. Refreshments were being brought by Rodgier’s staff. Tea, coffee, and wine to drink with bread, cheese, and sliced meat to eat. They each were served their preference, Dominic taking wine for himself while the rest took tea. Hot towels were provided for the Bishop and his men to clean their hands and faces.

Rodgier managed to stop himself from reaching for food before Jonah spoke, “Your Excellence, would you lead us in prayer?”

“Of course my son, of course, should it please our hosts as well?” Dominic turned his gaze to Rodgier and his daughter 

He nodded his ascent, while Roderika slowly moved her hand back from the plate she had been reaching towards. Not for the first time, he kicked himself for not involving his daughter in this work more and sharing with her what he had learned about the Faithful. Or, more importantly, why he’d bothered to learn it. 

Dominic reached out his hand to Jonah and half heartedly to Rodgier, the expectation clear he would not take it. He surprised them both by doing so, and his daughter shocked everyone by taking his other hand and Jonah’s. The two priests paused for several long seconds before bowing their heads and Dominic intoned: 

“Benedic, Domine, nos et dona tua, 

quae de largitate tua sumus sumpturi, 

et concede, ut illis salubriter nutriti 

tibi debitum obsequium praestare valeamus, 

per Christum Dominum nostrum.”

The priests remained with their heads down for a moment after the prayer, during which Rodgier risked a glance at his daughter. She smiled at him and winked. Before he could return her look, she leapt up and began asking Dominic and Jonah their preferences, and serving food onto their plates. 

The meal was light and pleasant. Bishop Dominic complemented the food and the wine, while Father Jonah and Roderika regaled him with suggestions of delicacies to try and restaurants to visit. After the plates were cleared away and Dominic had moved to his second glass, Rodgier tapped the rolled up plans where he’d set them on the table. “With these plans, does the Church intend to bring more faithful into the City?”

“Yes, yes,” Bishop Dominic gestured towards Father Jonah, “under young Jonah’s tenure we anticipate this year’s pilgrimage to be the largest we’ve ever had! And your efforts to be more, mmm, welcoming to the Faithful have not gone unnoticed. I have, in fact, been sent with an additional request from the Holy See.”

He steeled himself. If he had the measure of the situation correct he had anticipated what this request would be. “What would that be, your,” the word caught in his throat, “Excellence?” What a ridiculous title. 

Dominic smiled appreciably, though Rodgier thought he saw the ghost of victory there too. 

“In return for sending myself, and as a symbol of greater cooperation between our cities and faiths, I have been asked to request an envoy be sent to the Holy Bastion to attend our own autumn… I believe you call it a festival, but they are more familiar to me as Mass. The Holy Father holds such a Mass to welcome back our pilgrims on their return, which will fall on the same day as your city’s celebration I am to attend. Fitting then that your representative should be there and show our increased solidarity.” 

He’d planned for this. Jonah had openly hinted in the lead up to this meeting that the request would be made, alluding to practices from the Faithful’s original world. It had also been framed as if The Faithful and Alliance were somehow two distinct powers instead of the former being a guest and also part of the latter, which still chaffed at him, but this was the first opportunity for the Sovereign of the Tower City to get eyes inside the Faithful’s holy city since its completion. 

He nodded, smiling. “Nothing would please me more. I have in fact taken the liberty of compiling a list of viable candidates from my advisors for you to interview if you wish.” He gestured for a serving man in the corner.

“Oh! Oh! Quite industrious of you, and appreciated, but entirely unnecessary. We have the perfect candidate here with us now!” Dominic waved a hand across from himself to Roderika. 

Rodgier froze, and his smile turned stiff and cracked. 

Damn it. Why in the names of the Nine would he want Roderika to go? She wasn’t a diplomat, and while Jonah had never outright said as much, he’d long suspected that women held a much lower station than men among the faithful.

“Ah!” Exclaimed Jonah, clapping his hands together like he did in prayer. It was the most emotion he’d ever seen from the man. “A fine idea, your Excellence. Lord Rodgier, I mean no insult to your other advisors, but they have hardly so much as attended a service. Unintelligible as I am sure it was for you, you have both received readings of the Word from myself. And the Princess’ station is,” he looked askance at Bishop Dominic, seeming unsure if what he was going to say next was appropriate, “is comparable to His Excellency’s,” 

At this, Dominic nodded sagely. 

Bastard. Either he was the perfect toady or Jonah and Dominic had planned this. Rodgier hated calling his daughter “Princess”, as Jonah had explained that in their original world it meant Roderika would inherit his station and wealth upon the end of his term. What wealth he had was his station’s, not his, and while it wasn’t impossible that the Dragon God Solonathrax would choose Roderika to succeed him, such a thing hadn’t happened in centuries. 

But Rodgier had miscalculated. More than the norms of their faith, the Redeemer’s Faithful were bound by the norms of their old world. No amount of explanation would convince them that the status they projected onto him and his daughter did not work the way they thought it did. And any further attempt at dissuading them from this path would be seen as insulting their ways. 

Letting his smile die in full and taking on what he hoped was an air of contemplation he said, “That is not something even I can order. You call her Princess, and I thank you for that respect, but Roderika has no responsibility to me or my station beyond being my daughter.” That was as little push back as he could allow himself. He turned to Roderika, finding her schooling her features much as he had his own. “It is up to her whether she wishes to undertake such a task.”

The two priests turned to Roderika as well, saying nothing, and Rodgier cursed himself for having brought her here in the first place.