“Yes, goddess,” I said, swallowing past my dry mouth. “When I left, we expected a famine soon. The rains did not come. The sailors’ nets were coming up empty. The herds had yet to recover from our sacrifices to Death.”
A few other immortals had begun to creep closer, shamelessly eavesdropping on my conversation with Genna. The goddess nodded again, hands still folded primly together.
“But if the mortals long for our blessings, why do they not sacrifice to us and beg our mercy?” she asked, softly concerned. “I hear only whispered prayers on the wind that brings the dust from their barren fields.”
“I—I think that many believe the gods have abandoned them,” I said slowly. “They prayed for peace and prosperity, but Death gave them only fire and destruction. Then your priests left and never returned. If they could see some sign of your care—”
I wasn’t certain when it was supposed to be my opportunity to plead my case, but I didn’t sense that Genna’s attention span was very long.
“My care is evident in the very existence of mortals on their soil,” Genna said, voice a little sharper.
Taran’s hand was stiff on my lower back. He was poised to excuse us if I said anything more, but if this was my only chance, I had to make it count.
“Why not try telling them?” I asked, attempting to sound meek. “Send your priests, send the mortal queen’s daughter home, and let them spread the message that the gods will still answer mortal prayers. That you still have the power to heal their world with your blessings.”
“I sent Taran to tell them,” Genna said, eyes narrowing at him.
“Sent me with a slightly different message,” he replied in a somewhat less deferential voice.
Genna frowned and rubbed her dainty fingers along the stem of a bloodred anemone, looking between the two of us.
“It has been a long, long time since the mortals have seen any god but Death,” Taran added. “They only knew you through your priests, who are now gone. Even their memories of your blessings diminish with every year.”
I didn’t dare give him a look of gratitude.
“I did my best to calm Diopater’s anger,” Genna said after a thoughtful pause. “I did not believe the mortals had turned away from us out of spite, but out of a lack of understanding—I believed that they did not know how much they depend upon us for their lives. But I hear you say that time alone will not be enough to mend this divide. If they have forgotten us, we must remind them.”
My breath caught with the hope that she would agree to send back her priests. The mortal queen would not be pleased to see achallenge to her power land on her shores, but if she got her child back because of it—
If it wasn’t too late to prevent a famine—
If I could get the mortal priests out of the Summerlands before Death turned his sights on the City—
I was so absorbed with the prospect that for once, someone had seen reason, that I nearly missed Genna’s next words.
“We will go to the house of the Moon and discuss what is to be done about Wesha’s blockade,” Genna announced, standing up. “This division has benefitted neither group. Both the Stoneborn and the mortals have forgotten the Allmother’s laws, and I will tolerate it no longer. I will instruct both Wesha and the mortals, as needed, until I have restored peace across the entirety of the world. Wesha must open the Gates, and I must cross the Sea of Dreams again. The world must be as it once was.”
“I’m not sure that you need to go that far,” I tried to say, but my words were lost in the applause of the other immortals standing nearby.
“Don’t argue, she’s made up her mind,” Taran muttered into my ear while the noise covered his words.
Flower vines slithered up Genna’s body to obscure her bare skin, then trailed behind her like a cloak as she stepped down into the water and delicately approached Taran to cup his cheek.
He pasted a worshipful smile on his face, one he had to have practiced in a mirror.
“Perhaps I expected too much of you, asking you to fix what Wesha had done all on your own. But only because we both had such high hopes for you,” Genna told him fondly. “And it brings me joy to see you prosper. Mortal devotion has grown so rare, when it is all that makes the long years tolerable. I am glad you have a priest now, even if it leaves Wesha without a single one to her name.”
I frowned at Genna as Taran wrapped his arm more closely around me, no doubt feeling a little possessive in light of Genna’s description of my devotion as a thing that could be acquired like a horse or a cloak.
“Would you like to speak with Wesha before I do?” Genna offered.
“No, Peace-Queen.” His tone was icy, and a hint of honest sadness crossed Genna’s face in response.
“I suppose I can’t blame you. Wesha was a sweet little girl—I don’t know how she could have turned so cruel. After all the favor I gave her too.”
Taran stiffened as Genna continued her musings.
“Do you think, after the Allmother has reminded Napeth of the strength of her laws, that you ought to try speaking with him before he does something dramatic again? I sometimes wonder if I wronged him, all those years ago.”
