“I know this isn’t what you wanted,” she said.
He flinched but didn’t face her.
“I know you hate him,” she pressed. “I know you blame him for my mother and for every other horrible thing that has happened in Kula. And I know you probably hate me now too, for putting us in a position where we have to ally with him. But I’d do it all again, Tor. I’d relive you hating me over and over, if it meant bringing about what just happened—because talking with Ignitus, I felt all the horrible things I let happen start to heal—the war, Rook’s death.” Ash coughed, tears falling. “I felt hope.”
Ash didn’t have a chance to scrub her eyes clean before a blur of darkness and muscle grabbed her into a hug.
“None of this was your fault, Ash,” he whispered into her hair. “And I don’t hate you. Never. You’re so like your mother—butbetter, as she used to tell me. I’m prouder of you than I can say—and I know Char and Rook would be too.”
Ash sobbed, clinging to him, absorbing the feel of his lungs expanding and the pounding of his heart under her forehead.
Taro and Spark moved in from behind. And though she had noigneia, though more bloodshed no doubt stood between them and leaving Deimos, Ash relished this moment of calm.
In the comfort, she felt Char’s love.
She felt Rook’s strength.
She felt all of Kula swell with possibility.
Whatever Anathrasa truly wanted, whatever misguided invasion Geoxus had planned—none of it mattered.
Ash had peace in Kula within her grasp, and nothing would stop her from seeing it through.
Twenty-Three
Madoc
MADOC SPAT BLOOD onto the smooth sandstone floor. The taste of it was bitter copper in his mouth, and as his tongue prodded a gash on the inside of his cheek, the bright spark of pain centered him.
“Get up,” Geoxus snarled from his twisted onyx throne. The glossy black spikes that made up the back fanned behind him like the tail feathers of a deadly bird. “Get him up.”
Madoc was hoisted to stand by two centurions. The metal plates of their armor pinched his sides, cold against his sweat-slicked skin. He swayed, unsteady, when they left him.
“I’m losing patience,” Geoxus said between his teeth.
Madoc blinked at Petros, standing before him in the throne room. His father doubled in Madoc’s hazy vision, a pair of furious gazes circling in a slow dance. They’d been at this for the better part of an hour—Geoxus ordering Madoc to give Crixion’s tax collector igneia, to prove that Madoc had control of soul energy. Madoc refusing to even try.
A centurion or two punishing his insubordination with their metal-coated fists or the weight of a stone wall on his back.
Giving Petros igneia was only the first step of Madoc’s training, Geoxus had told him. Soon, Geoxus would summon Ignitus and the real work would begin.
Draining a god, infusing another with his power.
“Where’s Ash?” Madoc stumbled a little, then caught himself.
The end of a spear whipped through the air and struck him hard across the middle of his back. Pain seared through his flesh, the bruise instant and deep. With a grunt, he fell to one knee.
Madoc could make these guards do what he wanted—he was confident in at least that aspect of his anathreia now. But what would that accomplish? If Madoc turned the guards against Geoxus, Geoxus would kill them, and then the god of earth would call more guards, and when those ran out, he would stone Madoc himself.
Refusing Geoxus until he was sure of Ash’s safety was Madoc’s only play. He could take a hit—that’s what Elias had always said.
The reminder of his brother brought a new stab of pain. Elias would have been taken to the jail after his arrest. He would be safe there, at least for now.
Madoc hoped.
“Give Petros igneia,” Geoxus demanded. “You are Soul Divine, Madoc. Your anathreia is composed of the six energeias. Did you think Jann surrendered simply because you willed it? Or that the Kulan gladiator was healed by your good intentions? You manipulated their muscles, the air in their lungs and the iron and heat in their blood.You used aereia and hydreia and igneia, all at once. Now weed it out. Give Petros fire energy and show me you can control your powers. Do this, and I’ll call for Ignitus’s gladiator.” He sighed through his teeth. “I don’t expect my guards have been too lenient with her, now that she’s unable to defend herself.”
Disgust lodged in Madoc’s throat. Every prayer he’d ever uttered burned in his chest. Every stick of incense he’d lit shriveled in his memory. He’d needed something to believe in; he realized that now. He’d needed a father, and the Father God had become his answer. Without any proof, Madoc had sunk his belief into Geoxus, and in turn, Geoxus had been there. Guided him to take the money he’d won from Petros’s fights to the temple, where priests like Tyber could care for those in need. Let Madoc convince himself that he was worth something, even though he was pigstock.
