He scoffs. “Don’t tell me you honestly believe that.”
My eyes narrow in irritation. He is quick to pass judgment, this deity. He knows nothing of my life.
“How did you come to work here?” he asks. “Where are your parents?”
“My mother doesn’t w-wish to know me, and I have mostly accepted that. As for m-my father, he died shortly after I was b-born. This estate w-was my grandmother’s. It is wh-where I grew up.” I cross my arms over my stomach. “Now you understand why I s-stay.”
“I don’t. Your grandmother is dead. You’ve no family to keep you here. Why chain yourself to this fate? You cannot live for what is already gone.”
I do not agree. The past is always present. Always.
“There are plenty of opportunities for employment in St. Laurent,” he argues, “or elsewhere in Marles.”
I have considered it. I have thought of how different my life might be, were I to find other employment. But Lady Clarisse would never allow it. The only reason I am permitted to continue living at the estate is because I am her apprentice. No, if I am to one day follow in Nan’s footsteps, I must remain.
“My skills apply to only a v-very narrow industry,” I explain to him. “There are not m-m-many opportunities.”
“What about something completely different. Fishing is robust in this town, is it not? I am sure someone would be willing to take you on as a deckhand.”
It is eerie, to feel the weight of another’s gaze and not see it yourself. “My f-father was a fisherman, but I unfortunately did n-not grow up with an affinity for w-w-water.”
“And? That can be learned, as can any skill.”
“My m-mother tried to drown me as a child. I was six. I’m… afraid of the s-sea. Well, deep water, rather.”
To this, he does not deign to respond. If only his face were not cloaked behind the thickening opaqueness. Perhaps then I could distinguish the quality of this stillness, whether pity or judgment, shock or disgust.
A drawn-out scuffling catches my attention, and I stare across the veiling black, willing something to take shape. Yes, I see it now. The figure of a man, crouched, heavy chains pooling at his feet.
“I imagine that’s n-n-not something that bothers y-you,” I tell him. “Death?”
“No,” he says. “I can’t say that it does. You mortals are afraid of such little things.”
Why does his disdain bother me so? After all, I am well used to it. “The w-world is a scary place, especially when one does not have d-doting parents to guide them.”
“I am well aware of that,” he spits out, the words soaked in resentment. What was it Lady Clarisse had referred to him as? One of the Anemoi. I wonder what that means. I wonder what powers he holds. “There’s something you should know about the divine. Historically, we are amongst the worst in terms of rearing children. Consider yourself lucky you are no longer in contact with your mother.”
Luckyis not exactly the word I would use. “Then wh-why the disdain?”
His scoff resounds against the stone walls. It falls into the darkness and is buried. “Do you expect me to extend compassion toward someone complicit in my torment?”
My face grows hot with a shame I am unable to hide. Most days, I shut my ears to the screams. I draw the cloth across my eyes. “Y-you can help y-y-yourself, you know. M-my lady wants information. If you tell m-me what it is she wants to know, p-p-perhaps I can convince her to let y-you go?”
He barks a laugh, shifts in his distant corner. “That witch will never let me go. No, I have endured far worse. I am a god. When all the earth is dust, I will still be here, meting out my vengeance.” There is a bitterness to his response, and if I am not mistaken, a subtle urgency. In what ways has he attempted to escape? In what ways has he failed? “She can continue her torment. I will not break.”
I huff in frustration. “Why can’t y-y-you see that I’m trying to help y-you?”
I do not realize I’ve stepped closer until a quietpopsounds in my ears, followed by an abrupt change in air pressure.
Low laughter coaxes the hair along my nape to stand on end. “Foolish mortal,” he says. “You should watch where you step.”
I look down. A faint line of soot sketches the stone underfoot. My gut cramps with understanding, and dread like I have never known. It is a symbol of protection, established to bind the god’s power—most, but not all. He goaded me enough to step forward, causing my shoe to disrupt the line. Now that it is broken, so too are those bonds.
The deity unfurls to his feet with a clink of chains. I gasp and stumble backward, for there is no other word to describe his size except this: overwhelming.
Heavy, broad shoulders stretch the black fabric of his worn cloak, which snaps around his braced legs, clawed by a wind heavy with damp. He is at least a head taller than me, maybe two. The dark inside his hood fully conceals his face.
A massive hand reaches toward me, and I recoil, turning away in anticipation of the blow. It never comes.
