“Fine, Bondsmith, why do you hate red so much?” Her tone was bored but carried an undercurrent of violence. I knew she had questions—questions she deemed far more important than my little aside—but I was a goddess.
What was the point in my immortality if I couldn’t have a bit of fun with it?
“Because it reminds me of blood. Not the kind dried on your hands or encrusted into your tunic.” I gestured with my chin to her clothes. Ellowyn followed my gaze only to wrinkle her nose at the sight, gagging slightly at the smell.
“You couldn’t have bathed me or changed my clothes before putting me in this bed?” she asked, plucking delicately at her clothing.
“You’ll have to ask the other godling that question. He brought you here, after all,” I said airily and watched with deep satisfaction as a cloud came over her face, her blue-grey eyes flashing with a fire that promised retribution.
“Torin,” she seethed, not bothering to conceal her emotions. “That . . .bastard.”
There she is. I smiled, a feral thing, at her emotional display.
“Technically, he’s not a bastard. Though many in Iluul would argue differently. It’s another thing you should ask him about.”
Ellowyn scoffed, all pretenses dropped. “He’s the Lord of Iluul.”
“Is he?” I prodded softly, dangerously. “Do you know that for certain?”
The godling’s head tilted in thought, bright blonde eyebrows pinching in consternation. “I feel like we’ve trailed incredibly far off topic.”
It was clear she wanted to avoid speaking about Torin, but I’d planted the seed and had little doubt she wouldn’t see that conversation to fruition.
“Indeed we have. I hate the color red because it reminds me of blood. Fresh blood as it pours from wounds, on my finger when I have to draw runes. Spend enough time around one color, and you’d begin to hate it as well, godling.”
“I don’t understand how this has anything to do with . . . well, anything,” she said, exasperated.
I shrugged, resting my head against a propped fist as I regarded Ellowyn.
“It doesn’t.”
The corners of her mouth tightened as her lips flattened, and that fire flashed in her eyes again.
“Then, why?—”
“Because I neededthis”—I gestured lazily to her clenched fists and displays of emotion—“that mask of cold indifference may have worked in polite society, but it won’t save you here, godling.” I leaned forward on the bed until we were inches apart. “Here? Now? You are in greater danger than you could ever begin to fathom. The Second Sundering is here, godling. The gods will make Lord d’Refan look like a saint in comparison to the acts they are capable of and willing to commit.”
I pushed to a stand, taking a step back from her bedside. “The prophecies speak of you, of Torin, of my daughter. They speak of now. Cold aloofness will get you killed faster than you can blink,” I hissed, Ellowyn flinching at the snap of my fingers. “Fire and blood are all that cansave you now.”
Ellowyn’s deep swallow echoed in the silence.
“I thought you hated blood,” she rasped.
“Then you weren’t paying close enough attention, Ellowyn. It’s not blood that I hate. It’s what creates it. And you, godling, have the ability to create much.”
Ellowyn twined her muddied fingers together.
“Tell me what I need to know,” she said, fierceness winding through every word.
“That’s much better,” I stated and slunk back into the chair nearest her bed, curling my bare feet beneath me.
Something twitched in Ellowyn’s expression at my movement—a wry wistfulness, perhaps—but it was gone as quickly as it came.
“Tell me what Kaos told you,” I demanded once I was comfortable.
Without hesitation, Ellowyn gave me the quick version of Kaos’ visit. I was unsurprised that he discovered her magical identity, though I had hoped that would occur much later. Whatdidsurprise me was that he withheld the information from Solace. Even before the First Sundering, the two of them were closer than any of our other siblings. If there was a rift forming between the two remaining deities, the mortals needed to exploit it.
“He explained you have another two powers flowing through your veins?”
