I glanced up as Kitty arrived with my glass; I thanked her and poured myself a double. “Apparently the only way I can destroy the Harpe is via my storm powers.”
“Did he enhance said powers?”
“If that’s what he was doing when he tried to draw out the darkness in me, yes. He claimed it was the only way we could win.”
“That darkness is a power that comes via anger through his line. I dare say embracing it will not be a choice in the end.”
“Where life remains, so does choice.” I had to believe that. Had to believe that my path and my death weren’t already set in stone. After all, did not the gods start these games because theyenjoyed humanity’s unpredictability? I took a large drink and felt it burn all the way down; it didn’t, unfortunately, do much for the pain battering my brain cells. “Why are you here, Beira? What’s happened?”
“I gained some interesting information that could help our quest.”
That quest being stopping the Ninkilim from raising their god, though this was, I thought, the first time she’d said “our” quest. It suggested she’d stepped things up a level. “I thought you were more an interested spectator rather than an active participant.”
She hesitated. “You could define me as a spectator with a deep interest in seeing particular players succeed.”
“And spectator participation isn’t banned?”
She cackled; the sound was as sharp as the energy that crackled around her. “Oh, it is. There is a reason I landed in this meat suit, child.”
I snorted, winced, and drained the whisky. It might not be helping the headache, but I suspected it would help me sleep. I poured another glass, topped up hers, and then said, “So, what have you found?”
“The means by which the Ninkilim might have taken control of the council. Or, at least, some of it.”
“We already know Carla Wilson?—”
“She hasn’t, in and of herself, the power to force her will on others, though I suspect she is indeed the wielder of the weapon.”
“She’s a shifter who uses her sexual wiles to very,verysuccessfully get what she wants,” I said. “She doesn’t need godly help in the form of a weapon.”
“Using sex is an approach that has worked for eons, and one that will no doubt continue to do so for at least as long as mencan be led by their dicks. However, sexual wiles can only do so much, especially when it comes to the Ljósálfar.”
“Why particularly light elves?”
“They are cold, unemotional creatures at their core, and while they might enjoy sex, it would not be enough in and of itself to convince them onto paths they would not have otherwise taken.” She pursed her lips. “That aside, I’ve nothing more than a suspicion that the rat god’s latest attempt at rising centers around the Ljósálfar more than the Myrkálfar.”
And I suspected her suspicions might be anyone else’s truths. “What sort of godly weapon is she using to control people, then?”
“It’s called Bia’s Blade?—”
“And Bia is?”
“The goddess of force and compulsion. Her blade allows the wielder to enforce his or her will onto others.”
“How? Do you press the blade against the skin or stab it in?”
“The latter, of course.”
I stared at her for a second, horrified and yet not entirely surprised. She grinned in response, revealing surprisingly straight, white teeth. “We goddesses do have a bloody bent.”
It wasn’t just the goddesses in my experience. “How could Carla or whoever else might be wielding this blade repeatedly stab someone and get away with it? Being knifed isn’t something you’d easily forget.”
“It is a goddess-gifted blade, remember, so the target’s memory is adjusted, and the wound heals as the blade is withdrawn from flesh.”
“That latter gift was mighty generous of her.”
It was sarcastically said but Beira nodded in agreement. “It was indeed. Most would not have provided the healing.”
I snorted softly. “You’re a charming lot at heart, aren’t you?”
