I choke on a surprised laugh. “I am simply very bad at being a god.”
The frown on his face disappears and he nods to himself. I feel a sense of shame as if I’ve disappointed him.
“How are you alive?” I ask again. My arms snake around me as if I can protect myself from the evidence of what I’ve done.
This time he smiles—a rueful, cynical smile. It’s only there for an instant and then the mask is back.
“I wed you in the old way. While you live, I cannot die—not entirely. Your life binds my soul to this place.”
“This place exactly?” I press, squatting down now so thathe need not look up anymore. The blood of his wrists drips on the rock. A fine sweat coats his face.
“No, wife. That is the work of an old friend. Can you guess which one? He has anchored my soul to this rock. In the sea, but not the sea. Feasted on by sea creatures all day, only to be restored by god-power at night. An endless cycle of pain and torment fit only for a dethroned god.”
I reel back in horror and his face ripples with some emotion he tries to hide from me.
“This… I did not intend this,” I say in a small voice.
“You wanted me dead. You did not stop to think what that might mean. For both of us.”
“I did not,” I admit a little shakily.
His lips are pressed firmly together, his face hard. Surely he is furious with me. Surely he would take his vengeance if he could. I brace myself for whatever words he’ll fling at me, but he remains silent.
“Why would someone do this to you?” I ask, standing to look at how firmly he is secured. If he was placed here by a god, may he not be freed by one?
I examine his bonds without touching him. His hands are purple and grey as if they are nothing but one great bruise. I want to rip them from their restraints, but even hovering close I can feel a great power emanating from the rivets that repels my touch.
He pauses as if weighing his words and one eyebrow quirks. “I have not agreed to support Treseano’s rebellion or to twist my wife’s intentions to gain support for it.”
“Me?” I say, aghast, and again I see that tiny quirk of a smile.
“Are you not a god now, in my place? You are new and inexperienced, but the sea is powerful and you will be also, given time. Those ranked against us hope to stymie the sea before that comes about.”
“But they haven’t approached me.”
“They will.”
I search his eyes, looking for condemnation, for bitterness, for fury. Were I him, I would want revenge. I see none of those things. There’s tight pain there. But I do not feel the sharp flickers of fury I expect.
“Coralys. Your tears honor me. But do not cry.”
“Do not cry?” I exclaim as my arms snake around me again and I hold myself together with them. I had not meant to weep, but I also do not mean to shake and I am shaking uncontrollably. “Look what I have done to you.”
He watches me silently, his breath catching a little, his only concession to the agony of being slowly eaten alive.
“I killed you. Or I thought I did.”
“Oh, I am certainly dead,” he agrees, and now there is a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. “But dead gods don’t just go away. They linger. And their souls are trapped, or contained, or set to endure torture forever. I would not recommend godhood. It is not for the craven or the weak.”
I choke on a sob. And still he’s watching me, weighing me, skin tightening around his eyes.
“I don’t understand why you aren’t furious with me.” My voice feels like it comes from someone else.
“When you take a wounded thing to your breast, there’s always the risk that they’ll bite. I had thought… hoped… I could convince you to help me. Together, I think we could have turned the tides of history.” He looks away now, musing. It’s like he’s speaking to himself. “It felt like such an excellent opportunity. A queen of the sea. Who better to help me to succeed at the great task? She’d want it, too, I thought. A Lighthouse to guard her people. She kept saying she wanted them safe. What could make them safer? And it was part of the list of great acts to marry you. Wed the drowned queen. It was such a tidy solution. Would you really have preferred to marry whoever else might have turned up on the docks?” He looks at me now with soulful eyes. “It might have been Aurelius. Or Treseano and whatever he keeps in that horrible sack. It might have beenyouchained like this when he was done with you. I thought I could do better for you than that. Was I so wrong?”
“No,” I say miserably. “If you’d justtold me.”
He looks away and I can’t read what is behind his careful mask.
