Forty-Two
It’s only when a person runs past us, shrieking, that I realize the plaza is still in chaos.
Of course it is. I’m standing over a dead man. The goddess is currently being swarmed by a human blockade, her worshippers desperate to protect her, and others are vomiting and coughing as if they’re about to die.
I pull back from Kalos, worried. “Can we stop the plague?”
He arches a brow at me. “If you like.”
“I do.” I’m conflicted about his response. This has been his personality all along, which means absorbing the other Kalos hasn’t changed him completely. No matter what, Kalos isn’t going to give a shit about random people. On the other hand…he was sent down to learn to give a shit, and he’s failed on that particular front. “Please. For me.”
“I do everything for you,” Kalos says. He presses a kiss to my forehead and angles my face to his shoulder one moment before I’m hit by a violent series of sneezes. I bury my nose in his shirt until the spell passes, and when it does, I’m dizzy and weak in the knees.
When I pull back from him, there’s a red stain on his sleeve. My heart drops. “Oh no.”
“I pulled on my power too much.” Kalos tugs his shirt off and offers it to me. “Wipe your nose, Elsie. You’ll be all right.”
I nod and hold the tunic to my face as Kalos heads for his dais once more. He climbs up it easily—less fatigued than before if I don’t miss my guess—and straightens the chair atop it. He indicates that I should join him, and I move to his side, hauling myself up the hay bales. He turns me and sits me in the throne, then stands directly in front of me, his back to me. “People of Narshire,” he yells, spacing his words out strangely. “Be…calm! I have…rid you of…plague! No one means…harm!”
I peek from around Kalos.A few people slow down, but everyone seems afraid. A woman is sobbing loudly off to the side, and a baby is crying, muffled by its mother’s frantic attempts to cover it with a blanket. Off to the side, Belara holds a girl against her, and her expression is one of pure irritation. The goddess looks as if she’d rather be anywhere else. Behind her, the land hippo acts as a blockade, and the rest of her entourage continue to surround her with spread arms.
Kalos looks over at her and cups his hands to his mouth again. “Belara means you no harm. I mean you no harm. Be at ease.”
“Darling,” Belara purrs. She tosses her long hair and pushes out of her clinging worshippers, leaving the teen girl firmly in their grasp. Stepping forward, all eyes turn to her as she speaks. “Quit causing a fuss. You’re alarming the crowd. Why would I harmanyone?”
He eyes her. “It’s not a slight against you, Belara. I’m just trying to calm them before they burn their own city down out of stress.”
She shrugs and tilts her head, regarding Kalos. “Why do you care? Shouldn’t you be ascending right now?”
“I’m waiting.” He moves towards me.
The goddess eyes me, and her gaze is hard as steel. “That so.”
He moves between us, blocking me from Belara’s gaze. “Plenty of time yet. I won’t leave things in such chaos.”
He moves through the plaza, and I grab my short sword and trail after him. My hands are stained with blood. I wipe them on my red over-tunic, then discard it entirely. I don’t want Belara to think I’m part of her group. There’s something about her that’s so distasteful, so mercenary. She might be the goddess of beauty, but the cliché of it being skin deep runs through my head repeatedly.
Kalos kneels next to an old woman who has collapsed on the cobblestones. She coughs violently, her lungs wet. He takes her trembling hand in his. “Come now, stand up.”
She gazes up at him with shining eyes full of awe, and slowly gets to her feet while I sneeze wildly.
“Better?” he asks her, and when she drops to kiss the tops of his shoes, he grimaces and glances over at me apologetically. He helps the woman back to her feet again. “Not necessary, truly. Tell me, do you know of the mayor of this city? Where can I find him? My Anchor and I need a place to relax.”
“You…you healed me, Lord Kalos. Praise to the Vulture!” She clings to him, weeping. “Praise!”
He gives her an awkward pat.
Another woman approaches, holding out a crying baby. “Can you heal my daughter?”
Others are stopping, watching with interest. When Kalos sighs and brushes his fingers over the baby’s forehead, it immediately stops crying. More people drop to their knees in front of him, genuflecting.
I blow my nose into his shirt again as he glances back at me. I’m still sneezy every time he reaches for his powers, butit’s not as overpowering as it was before. There’s a muted feeling to everything now, as if he’s not pulling from just me, but from somewhere else, too.
“The mayor?” Kalos asks again. “Or some other official? Someone with a decent house?”
“Can you heal my hand?” asks an elderly man who crawls to the front of the group. He holds out a withered claw of a right hand, his skin dark and shiny with scar tissue.
Kalos looks back at me again. It’s clear he wants to leave, and it’s just as clear that as the crowd calms down, they want his attention. More people are approaching with babies and ancient parents, and there’s a small boy on crutches hobbling towards the kneeling crowd.
