“What nonsense is this, Treseano?” Alexandros begins, but the God of Death is looking around the circle.
“Someone is killing gods,” he says grimly, his gaze flicking to the side, and I can’t tell if it is Aurelius or Pagetto he has glanced at, but it seems to grow his courage. “Andit is not me, though death is my purview.” He pauses long enough that Alexandros opens his mouth to speak again and once more he is interrupted. His jaw shuts with an audible snap as Treseano raises his voice. “Now that we have received our blessings, it is time to speak freely.”
“Though perhaps not standing on the king’s altar,” Glorian murmurs, and is ignored.
“The King of Heaven,” Treseano says, glaring down at us, “has not prevented this murder, nor has he seen fit to establish an heir for El’Dorian’s worshippers. I am no malevolent force. No revolutionary. But I put to you this: Why do we worship a king at all whenweare gods?”
“Why, indeed,” Aurelius murmurs, flicking a hand out and flourishing a dagger as if he is bored by the proceedings.
“For the sake of vows made and powers granted,” Markanos says dismissively, but Aurelius tosses the dagger at him. Markanos catches it with a glare.
“I’d hear the rest of Treseano’s speech,” the God of the Air says. “He seems to have thought well on the matter.”
“I’d hear from him, too,” Heskatan murmurs, and there are nods from Alexandros and Pagetto. That’s half of them.
But why am I surprised? Betrayal is the spice of the day, it would seem. Okeanos betrays his people. I betray him. Why should these other gods not betray this mysterious King of Heaven?
Beside me, Okeanos stiffens, and his voice is very low. “I’ll have no part in treachery.”
“Who is speaking of treachery?” Treseano rumbles,spreading a hand across his chest in mock surprise. “Long have we been ruled by a distant specter. But we owe him no loyalty. What claim has he on us?”
“The claim of his blessing granted just now,” Okeanos returns.
Glorian makes a sound of assent, and I see a nod from Ordanus.
“Make up your mind tonight,” Treseano says brazenly from his perch on the altar. “Those who do not stand with me, stand against me.”
“This is madness,” Glorian says. “Why disrupt things when all goes so well? We’ve had bounty and plenty for a handful of centuries in a row and I’ve found I like the taste of it.”
“‘Well,’ you say?” Treseano scoffs. “For you, perhaps. Tell El’Dorian it has gone well.”
“But surely her murderer is among us,” Glorian says. “Or a mortal has slain her and taken her place and will soon make an appearance.”
“Reveal her murderer, then. I’m waiting,” Treseano taunts her, and then strikes a dramatic waiting pose. “No? Then let us seek justice of our own. Let us tear down the King of Heaven and take his place. Who is he to rule over us and do it so poorly?”
I swallow. His thoughts echo my own. I can hardly disdain Treseano for wanting what I want: Justice. Protection. Basic competence.
“This has all the seeming of a ruse,” Okeanos says. “Who speaks through you, Treseano?”
“I speak for myself, Sea God. I am not a pawn in the hands of a great lord as you are,” Treseano says with a sneer.
“And I stand with Death,” Aurelius says mildly, drawing out a second tiny dagger and trimming his nails with it. “The time has come, I think. Change breathes in the wind and wafts into the air.”
I watch Okeanos out of the corner of my eye and wish I’d been taken as a bride by someone else. Someone who truly did understand what matters in this world as the god beside me never will. Someone with the ambition to do something about it instead of entrenching themselves in useless loyalty.
“Enough,” Okeanos says in a low tone, startling me. He is lovely and terrible with the glory of the heavens still shining in a corona around his head. “This will not happen.”
“It is not for you to say.” Treseano adjusts his grip on his mace.
Like lightning, Alexandros draws his hammer, and Aurelius pockets his tiny dagger and slips his spatha from its sheath. I’m counting in my head, trying to keep track of them all.
“It’s for all of us to say,” Treseano says, staring down my husband for a long moment until Alexandros shifts his weight to his left foot and spins slightly to his right. Now his back is to Aurelius, his weapon up, and both of them stand with their backs to Treseano as if they have become his honor guard.
“Is this war, then?” Markanos says, and he sounds far too excited.
“What else would it be?” Treseano calls back in what is clearly a taunt.
I take a stumbling step backward, sensing violence in the air. I’m only just in time.
