“You should trust her because Grayson does,” Dionne said viciously.
All my arguments died in my throat at the mention of Grayson’s name. The last image I had of him was ingrained in my brain—furious, but stoic. Gray had stared after me as I’d left the room, and it’d taken everything in me not to scream out to him and ask him not to let them take me away.
“Gifts are powerful,” Dionne told me. “But they can be used against you. If a God asks another directly for the use of their gift, they can’t refuse. It’s taboo to ask, but some of us are more shameless than others.”
“You think Archer would use my gift?”
“I’ve known him longer than you. With a gift like yours—" Dionne stared down at me so hard, I wondered if she could see my soul. “I have no doubt he would.”
“There are a dozen other Gods that know the truth,” I pointed out. “How do you know they won’t use it?”
“I don’t. The elites operate by their own rules. I can’t make any promises, but I’m trying to minimise the damage.”
There was no reason to trust Dionne. I knew nothing about her other than she was dating Bexley. But if Gray was connected to her, if there was a single thread that wound back to him, then I would grasp it with both hands.
“What am I meant to do here?” I asked Dionne, deciding that I needed to arm myself with as much information as I could pry from her during this short meeting.
“Keep your head down, learn to control your aura, and do not draw any unnecessary attention to yourself.”
Asavage rush of voices filled my head, pressing against my skull and begging for it to be split open. So many desperate pleas that made my insides twist until nausea shoved away my organs so only it fit inside the cavity. Intimate prayers that deserved privacy and to be handled delicately were delivered directly to me with so much clarity and anguish that my eyes shed tears without hesitation.
Dissociation was an experience I was familiar with, thanks to years of being unable to manage my anxiety and panic, but this was another level. The moment the cuffs came off my wrists, I struggled to ground myself in reality. The true extent of what I was made me feel like I was no longer tethered to my body.
“Come on, angel,” Archer’s voice coaxed, sounding vague and distant. He was a whisper swimming upstream in a torrent of prayers.
People prayed with such intensity and faith that it made me quiver. Why would they put belief in a system that gave them no guarantees? In a person who was nothing more than a fraud when it came to her gift? I wanted to scream that they needed to get off their knees and find another solution. I couldn’t save them.
What hope did they have when I couldn’t save myself?
“You can do this,” Archer said. “You’ve done it before.”
Three days. I’d spent three days with Archer in a thick fog of voices. Regardless of whether I wanted to, he removed the cuffs periodically. The weightlessness around my wrists was a short-lived reprieve. The first few times, Archer merely cocked his head to the side and watched as I fell to my knees under the weight of devotion. He made no offer of empathy or comfort. Tear tracks carved their way down my cheeks and left salty residues at the corners of my mouth, reminding me that there was nothing sweet to be found in the heavens.
When it became apparent that I would not find the answers on my own, Archer coached me through it, trying to help me find my control.
Nothing worked. Deep breathing. Counting. My divinity rendered all the usual methods I employed to keep me balanced on the knife’s edge, useless. Two halves of me fought against each other until death looked like an attractive option. How was I meant to contemplate a lifetime of this when seconds of it made me weaker than I’d ever been?
“You’re above them,”Archer had whispered to me as he’d helped me up from the floor. “You’re divine, Quentin. Embrace it and ignore them. You have control over this.”
The words buried themselves under my skin, registering uncomfortably in the folds of my brain. I didn’t want to rely on them. Didn’t want to become what I raged against so vehemently.
Stubbornness will only sign your death warrant.Archer’s voice sliced through the countless others when I tried to ignore him.You’re giving Hunter what he wants and sentencing yourself.
That was what forced me to listen.
After spending almost three decades rejecting deities, I had submitted to them. Resigned myself to their will. The council would cast their votes, and if it swung in my favour, I’d be grateful. And if it didn’t, then I would meet my end.
I would not reduce myself for them. Would not fold at their mercy and implore them for my life or be painted as the disastrous soul they claimed I was. I needed to succeed because I refused to beg.
Swallowing back the nausea, Iembracedmy divinity. A swell of self-importance blossomed in my chest and reverberated along my spine as I reminded myself confidently that I was a demigoddess. I crushed the fear that the statement brought with it to dust. Any doubt diminished my hold over the situation.
Who were these people? Why should I care for what they requested? If they wanted me to answer, they needed to prove how badly they wanted it, and then I might grant them their desire. Allow them some ease from their burdens.
The voices died away and my chin rose until I met Archer’s gaze. Bright green eyes stared back at me with pride glinting in the irises.
“There she is,” he said, taking my face in his hands, thumbs gliding along my cheekbones.
Lips brushed against my forehead, and I pulled away from his hold, stumbling backwards. Exhaustion set in fast after training, like I’d been underwater for hours, and finally broke the surface to take a breath. Archer caught my arm and steadied me, clucking his tongue as the world finally stopped swimming before my eyes.
