Wicked Gods: Book One, page 1
Wicked Gods
Book one
Veronica Perez
Also by Veronica Perez
Of Blood and Magic
Book one in the Threads that Bind Saga
Of Shadows and Magic
Book two in the Threads that Bind Saga
Wicked Gods
Copyright © 2025 by Veronica Perez
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. This book contains original and copyrighted material that is not intended to be used for the purpose of training Artificial Intelligence (AI) systems. The author and publisher of this book prohibit the use of any part of this book for AI training, machine learning, or any other similar purpose without prior written permission.
Cover design by JV Arts.
Editing by Liana Maitland.
Map by Kaitlyn Lewis.
First edition.
Wicked Gods
Book one
Veronica Perez
Contents
Dedication
World Map
World Glossary
PART ONE
Before
1. No Heroes in Helgate
2. Iron and Rose
3. Beyond the Veil
4. Creature in the Deep
5. The Bastard Black
6. A Shadow
7. On The Cliffs
8. The Pirate Crow
9. A Bargain for Truth
10. Please
11. Into The Lion's Den
12. The Wrath of a God
13. Don’t Wake The Dead
14. Sunlight’s Touch
15. Monster Slayer
PART TWO
16. Knocking At Strange Shores
17. A Sea Witch's Offer
18. Under The Light
19. The Ceremony
20. One Bed
21. The Cloak of Shifting Tides
22. A Traitor In Our Midst
23. The Deep Has Teeth
24. The Quiet Between Waves
25. Our Dead Drink The Sea
26. Hands That Still the Tide
PART THREE
27. Meet Me on the Eventide
28. Gods and Their Games
29. Dead Wind
30. A Sea of Silver
31. Where the Sea Meets the Sky
32. Sails
33. A Prison of Promises
34. A Hollow Victory
35. Shadows on the Salt Wind
36. The Traitor’s Reckoning
37. Rhyland
38. The Ruin of House Black
39. Twilight of the Gods
Acknowledgements
About the author
For those who crave the storm
more than the shore.
P.S.
I did it, babe.
I wrote the book.
Night comes and stars their wonted vigils keep
In soft unfathomable depths of sky:
In mystic veil of shadowy darkness lie
The infinite expanses of the deep,—
Save where the silvery paths of moonlight sleep,
And rise and sink for ever dreamily
With the majestic heaving of the sea.
Night comes, and tenfold gloom where dark and steep
Into black waters of a land-locked bay
The cliffs descend: there never tempest raves
To break the awful slumber; far below
Glimmer the foamy fringes white as snow;
And sounds of strangled thunder rise away,
And midnight moanings of imprisoned waves.
—”Night” by Edmond G.A. Holmes
World Glossary
PLACES
Hlódyn — realm of man
Countries include:
Ethirya
Staygia
Godror
Eclen
Triel
Bruim
Frayra
Thaydal
Cities include:
Helgate (capital of Ethirya). Divided into districts:
The Slags: poorest district and the gate to the city's underworld.
The Barrows: lower class district
Moor Town: middle and working class district.
High Tower: upper class district
Harbor Valley: Magistrate district
Vireloche (harbor city in Triel)
Umbra (capital of Staygia)
Smithing District
Hallowed Temples
Northern Harbor
Central Harbor
Ashborne (rural town outside of Helgate where Solomon Black’s estate resides)
Islands include:
Aurorae
Isle Elaris
Plydurn (Salt Islands)
Skoyr — Realm of the gods
Dreyma — realm that sits above Skoyr, where the gods eventually go once forgotten
Avegrunnen — realm of purgatory
Dáinnheim [dine-hyme] — realm of the dead for mortal spirits
Eldřheim [Elder–hyme] — a version of Hel for mortal and immortal spirits
Vættirheim [VET-tir-HYME] — afterlife for nymphs, godlings, and other magickal creatures
GODS (OLD RELIGION)
Smaurhiel — the Greater Gods. Divine houses that rule over the core forces of the world: sun, moon, stars, sea, and wind.
Astrein — the Lesser Gods. Subservient or trickster deities tied to minor domains and mortal affairs.
Smaurhiel (Greater Gods):
House Sól (Sun line):
Ireus — god of the sun and fire
House Máni (Moon line):
Trine — goddess of the moon, serenity, and shadow
Their children:
Galen — god of healing (male twin)
Mór — goddess of magick and prophecy (female twin)
Talon (Rhyland) — god of war
Harial — trickster god of deception
House Stjarna (Star line):
Nekane — goddess of death
Skelfir — god of death
Mehr — goddess of marriage
Cerys — goddess of beauty and love
House Aethelmaer (Sea line):
gods/goddesses unknown
House Aethra (Wind line):
gods/goddesses unknown
Astrein (Lesser Gods):
House Hvískra (Whisper line):
Norne — god of gossip and secrets
CENTURISM (NEW RELIGION)
A faith born of empire and conquest, Centurism centers upon the Book of Hush and the worship of the Twin Triple-Aspects: the Triple God and Triple Goddess. Unlike the Old Religion’s sprawling pantheon, Centurism recognizes only these two deities, their faces mirroring: Ireus and Trine
The faith was shaped by the Sons of Serenity and the Sisters of Silence, then weaponized by the imperial magistrate through the Divine Conversion — a crusade to unify nations beneath one creed. The Old Gods seethe, for only the Triple are honored, leaving others to fade into silence
Centurists believe the soul journeys to the Hush after death, a realm of stillness and light, rejecting the four realms of the Old Religion.
The Triple God (Ireus): Warrior, King, Sage — facets of strength, authority, and wisdom.
The Triple Goddess (Trine): Bloom, Thrive, Wither — facets of growth, abundance, and inevitable transformation
CREATURES
Nymphs — a magical race of women created by the goddess Mòr. Subraces include:
Akheloides — bound to rivers and waterways but known for their ability to transform into avian creatures
Alseid — shyest and most beautiful of the nymphs, bound to groves and glens
Dryad — known for their beauty and their ability to transform to trees and manipulate plant life
Fiernaid — born from the Ever Flame with the ability to control fire
Hydraids — an exception from their cousins, these nymphs were born from the sea, created by the sea line, House Aethelmaer
Leimonades — flower nymphs who spend most of their time sleeping in soft meadows
Meliads — bound to their ashgroves, meliads are fierce protectors of Aurorae
Oread — mountain nymphs with a nose for treasure and rare riches mined from deep underground
Godlings — mortals with one god or goddess parent.
Kepra — scaled, winged creatures that patrol the Shadowed sea. Created by Harial as a plague upon man. Drawn to torchlight but unable to survive in the sun. These creatures dwell in the salt caves of the Plydurn Islands and hunt for prey at night.
Móri — the dead who cannot die, once the worst of men. Upon their death they are forbidden passage into the afterlife by Ireus himself and condemned to the Shadowed Sea where they hunger and overrun unsuspecting ships
Grimalkin — Mòr’s magickal bloodhounds
Völva — witches who specialize in rune magick
RUNES
Laguz — rune of the sea
Tiwaz — rune of the warrior
Ansuz — rune of the trickster
EXTRAS
Moðir — Nymph name for ‘mother’
Njól — the gods’ title for the Midnight Crown
Eyrir — coins
Quyln — type of gray bird native to Isle Elaris
The Fade — magic used by nymphs to hide their true form
Læknir — green healing potion
Theiosporos Necrotica (Godsbane) — black, vine-like plant that is deadly to gods
Sævar breyting — cloak of shifting tides
Vagril — followers of the Old Faith
Halda — sigil spell to hold or bind someone
PART ONE
THE BONDS WE BREAK
BEFORE
When I washed ashore, I remembered nothing but the acrid taste of sea salt and smoke. How the stain of blood red tinted the water and pale arching white cliffs rose around the coast like broken teeth.
Beneath scorching rays of light my body was dry; the skin brine-raw and aching as waves lapped around me and my fingers twitched to life in the sand.
The sky above stretched wide and hungry. A distant rumble of thunder faded into the ether as the storm retreated, leaving the land at the mercy of a relentless sun. I rolled onto my back, ignoring the frothy seafoam coating my hair and a stray clump of driftwood that bobbed against my quivering thigh. Gulls screeched and took flight, a twist of wind rippling beneath the ashy gray tips of their wings, and I coughed—once, twice—dispelling brackish seawater I must have sucked down during the storm. The heaving made my already sore muscles spasm. I fell back into the sand again, eyes fluttering shut, fingers trembling.
My memories, tinged and blurry, flashed through the dark. Faces that hurt to look at, his most of all. How could he have done this? Betrayed me. Worse, how could I have trusted him?
Words are weapons, silence is armor.
—Verse 1, the Book of Hush
Eight years later
There are two things for certain on the streets of Helgate. First and foremost, for every kind stranger there are three who would see you broken.
Trust no one—not the little girl selling flowers in the market district, nor the grown man with a heavy coin purse and charming smile full of promises. The little girl will slip her quick fingers inside your pocket to rob you blind as you walk away with a fistful of wild daisies. She gives me a wink as I pass, and I give her a wide berth, though I have nothing worth stealing, and it was me who taught her half her tricks.
Trust no one.
The man is more dangerous. He will lure you to a dank inn room after stuffing you with assurances of money, food, shelter, the world. No sooner you’ll find yourself a slave to opium, working against your will in one of his brothels in the Underworld of East Slag. He tells me to smile as I pass him, in turn I offer a crude gesture of my finger and a baring of teeth. Though he thinks I’m a boy, it doesn’t stop his advances. Not really. I look too young, too vulnerable. Something he could take, mold, force to do his bidding.
Still, my odds are better this way so I dress the part: dirt stained trousers and a long sleeved button down despite the summer heat simmering the air. When my breasts became too noticeable, I had to start wrapping them tight. Already sweat gathers between them, the cloth itchy and uncomfortable. A ratty flat cap sits low over my ears with my wild curls knotted tight and tucked inside.
Which brings me to my second certainty—the more dangerous of the two—that if the people of the city ever find out what I really am, I'm as good as dead.
These are reminders, big fears disguised as little ones, tucked away in the pocket of my mind as I push through the morning rush. There are a mix of people roaming the market stalls. I dip my chin and make my way among them, headed for Brexley Square where Cinder Sallow and his fellows have their wagon set up, hiring boys and men for odd jobs. Not that there's many left to be had. Jobless boys as young as twelve get whisked up by the crusaders, shipped off to the front where the holy war ravages the border between Triel and Eclen. It makes every opening a fight for survival, and lingering without purpose the most dangerous of games.
It's a gamble, for certain, parading around male when I could be swept up any minute. But weighed against being a woman, alone, on the streets of Helgate…I'd take the war trenches any day.
When the sun peeks up over the buildings that block the distant sea coast, I curse to myself. I’m late. I should have been here long before dawn.
As though summoned by the thoughts of my panic, three figures cloaked in white move through the crowd, who part for them like the waters of the Dread Sea. Members of Centurism—the new faith— the Sisters of Silence. Shimmering veils shroud their hair, and their gowns flow well past their ankles to brush the dirty streets. Silver amulets hang from their neck; three circles, interlocked to represent the triple god and triple goddess who they worship so devoutly.
Ireus: warrior, king, sage. God of gods. The blade that defends, the hand that governs, the mind that discerns. Ireus is the protector, the sovereign, the advisor, his power a threefold cord of authority. And at his side, his queen, the triple goddess, Trine: bloom, thrive, wither. Three faces, one essence. The budding promise of Bloom, the vital strength of Thrive, the quiet wisdom of Wither—all are Trine, the breath of existence. A life cycle mortals use to make sense of their world.
In the hands of the leader rests thick, faded pages bound tight with a pale cover and ink black title —the Book of Hush. I shiver at the sight of it, recalling every recitation, every verse. Each one’s been burned and beaten into me.
Girls will be silent. The triple god and goddess demand it.
Men will be strong. Go to war. Spread the word of Ireus and Trine.
People bow them past, looks of sheer reverence lighting their eyes, but I dip as quickly as I can into one of the many shaded alcoves that rivet Merchant Street, the smell of piss and rotting crates an unholy perfume in the air. I’m not sure they would recognize me after years out of their talon-like clutches, but it’s a chance I’m not willing to take. They could try to drag me back to Blossom House Orphanage, tooth and nail. Iron and rose.
Trust no one. Not even your own luck—especially not that.
They disappear in the crowd, but I wait a moment longer before slipping back into the street. Where a Sister of Silence walks, a Son of Serenity is never far behind, and I've yet to decide which is worse.
Late. I’m so late.
Maybe there’s still room on the cart. Maybe Cinder will take pity on me like he’s done in the past; squeeze me in between two smelly brutes and ship us off to mine, or harvest, or build. I’d even take a spot as digger again if he wanted, though I’m no more a fan of dumping pox riddled bodies in mass graves than the next person, but it’s the job that pays the best. I need the money badly if I want to eat tonight or have a roof over my head that isn’t carved out of the sewers in East Slag. One would think that after four years on the streets I would've figured something else out, but Helgate is a bloody sinkhole. The harder you struggle to escape it, the more fiercely it sucks you down.
“Cinder!”
He’s standing along a street that opens to the sprawling plains beyond Helgate, to the gilded valleys and purplish mountains which should feel like home to someone like me but only succeed in making me homesick. My island, Aurorae, is far away, a blurred memory that hasn’t been clear in years. Not since I was taken from its shore, fourteen and terrified, only to wash up in Helgate.
He turns and looks at me, instant exasperation lightening his copper-brown gaze.
“Vale.”
He gives me a curt nod before turning away to an older man with a prominent mustache and droopy eyes that water incessantly. Beck Aldern, Cinder’s uncle and business partner. They briefly discuss the ledger in his hands. A glimpse past the gates, I see that the wagon has already started down the pocketed road that leads to Moon Forest and the old Silverpine Mines.
