Caius dipped his head—not quite a bow, just enough to keep his pride intact. “Apologies.”
Laran’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve been in touch.” He flicked invisible dust from his crimson tebenna. “Through that old coot.”
Sagar.
“Yes,” Caius said smoothly. “Your guidance has been… a blessed help.”
A pause.
“Have you found her?” Laran asked. “My Chosen One?”
“Yes. We’re testing her loyalty.”
Laran tilted his head, a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. “I want to see her.” It wasn’t a request. It never was.
Caius swallowed. “Soon. She’s stationed with the Sixth on the northern front.”
A flicker of satisfaction crossed the god’s face; the thought of his Chosen bloodied and armed clearly pleased him.
Caius seized the moment. “If I may, I have a small request?—”
“Last year’s festivities in my name were a triumph,” Laran interrupted, eyes drifting to the painted ceiling as though recalling a fond memory. “The arena. The screams. The blood. It was… indulgent. Just as I like it.”
Caius allowed himself a smile. “I made certain of it.”
“However,” Laran continued, his tone cooling, “I noticed there was no celebration held for my sister?—”
The smile died on Caius’ lips.
“—Turan.”
Laran stepped forward, and the shadows stretched with him, claws curling along the walls. The air twisted with something heavy and unnatural. Magic rent the space between them, unseen but brutal, coiling tight around Caius’ chest.
“You honour me with blood and steel,” Laran said, his voice darkening, “but forget the love and beauty that make menwantto fight in the first place.” He stopped inches away, eyes burning. “Tell me, Tarquinius. Was it neglect?” The words slithered with mockery. “Or disrespect?”
Caius couldn’t breathe.
His lungs faltered, his skin prickled, and for a moment his knees threatened to buckle beneath the crushing weight of Laran’s magic. “She hasn’t shown herself,” he choked out, each syllable strained. “Not since the attack on Velch. She hasn’t… Gifted anyone. I decided?—”
“You do not decide. You worship. You celebrate, you feast in her name, and when she returns,thenshe decides what you are owed.”
Caius clenched his fists, the rings on his fingers biting into his skin. “We will honour her,” he forced out, “as befits the goddess of love, beauty, and fertility.”
The declaration hung in the air, swallowed by the chamber’s oppressive silence.
Laran studied him like a predator deciding whether to strike. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the magic vanished.
Caius collapsed to his knees, gasping. A ragged cough tore from his throat.
Laran loomed above him, and his smile returned, slow and cruel. “I know who and what you are, Caius Tarquinius.” Each word was precise, like a sword sliding between ribs. “Don’t forget that.”
He turned, his crimson tebenna unfurling behind him, a banner of blood trailing every step.
Shadows slithered around him once more, and a final warning lingered in the air like smoke.
“Know your place, mortal.”
CHAPTER SIX
