“You smell like my wife.”
No. No, no, no, no, no. I stumble back, reeling under the weight of his words.
Moving impossibly fast, a pale hand reaches out to grab my shoulder, hauling me upright effortlessly. My head smacks against his stone chest, causing fresh blood to leak from the wound on my skull. Ghostly hair covers my face as Death leans down and swipes his tongue through the blood running from the newly reopened gash on my temple.
As quickly as he grabbed me, he’s gone again, reappearing behind the desk across the room in less than a half a second. Muscles strain throughout his arms as if he’s physically holding himself back. He snaps his fingers and the heaviness of my tongue disappears in an instant.
“I … I … I …”
Full languages flood my brain at once as Death’s magic rushes through me, syntaxes and phonologies forming new synapses. My tongue rolls in my mouth trying to imitate sounds and inflections. Another snap of his long fingers and the lightning speed of linguistic knowledge stills.
“Speak,” Death commands in the language of the gods.
“I can’t be here.”
Wetness threatens to spill from my eyes as the words in this new language leave my lips. Shadows writhe beneath my skin, eager to spring forth from my form if only I dare to whisper acknowledgement of my true parentage.
“Yet here you are, my child.”
My child. The words slam into me with the full force of destiny as the origin of my taintedness is finally said aloud. The darkness that has always hovered right below my surface, the power of destruction within my veins. Growth and decay—balance of my true parents. Light and dark, life and death.
“Sit,” Death commands.
The Dark God’s voice booms through the room, bouncing off the stone floors, the glass ceiling, and the bone walls. The distinct scent of sulfur fills the room, emanating from the pores of his pallid skin. Summoned by his magic, the leather chair swings forward as he sits in a single, fluid motion, the flare of his coattails rippling in an icy, magical breeze.
My feet magically move at his command, my movements not my own. A velvet, backless stool appears in front of the desk. I sit without remark, curiosity and dread commingling with the god’s power that stirs within me.
In a blink, he reaches across the desk and swipes another boney finger through the gash on my head. Death lifts the blood-coated digit to his mouth, his all-seeing eyes weighing the truths and lies within my darkened soul.
“You taste of power. Some of it yours, some you took by force. You killed a god.”
A wicked smile tugs up the corners of my lips at the memory of Mikais on his knees, the smell of his burnt flesh mixing with mine as I roasted him alive. Murder shouldn’t make me happy. I want to believe that it’s not the killing, but the man I saved that makes me smile. But that’s not entirely true, and Death can sense it.
“The bastard had it coming,” I mumble.
“Do you intend to absorb his power or relinquish it?”
“I can do that?”
The god tilts his head to the side, his knowing eyes snagging on mine. It’s painfully obvious how very little I truly know about the gods. I barely grasp that I am a goddess, and I have no concept of what that entails.
“He may be a traitor, but the Wolf God has—orhad,rather—great power. Power that I’m sure Nobus would be glad to have, if you don’t want to keep it. Will you offer it to him? Or do you plan to make an enemy out of your king?”
My king.I don’t hide my scoff at the title. A lifetime of religious indoctrination didn’t make me respect him, and it damn sure didn’t make me love him like the blind masses.
Regardless of the fact that she struck a deal with him, my mother played a role in betraying Nobus. She participated in Mikais’ rebellion and smuggled Cal from the god realm. I am already Nobus’ enemy—and if he plans to punish Cal for something he had no control over, I will be a ferocious one. Whether I choose to keep the Wolf God’s power or not is of no consequence.
“I don’t plan to tell him what I’ve done.”
“The death of a god is felt in every realm,” Death says. “The question is notifNobus knows that his brother is dead, but rather if he plans to do anything about it. All power must have balance,Godsbane.”
“My name is Ivy Fellows, Governor of the Emerald Region of Corinth.” I square my shoulders, rattling off the inherited title of a life I will likely never return to.
“You choose to lead with your mortal title?” Death scoffs. “You aren’t just the governor of an inconsequential territory in an inconsequential realm. You are the Daughter of Light and Death. You are Ivy, Princess of the Under Realm and Goddess of the Umbra.”
The dark power in my veins roars to life at the spoken acknowledgement of its true source. Shadows dance through the room in a frenzied jolt, no longer relegated to the walls and floorboards where they once thrived. Wispy black bands of magic skate across my skin, swirling into ever-changing shapes that mimic the magical ink on Death’s skin. The daughter’s mirroring the father’s.
“You are the shadows, child. The eclipse. The product of the light of the full moon and the dark night of death.”
