“Such constant despair must be strenuous for you.” Finnian frowned, and Cassian could detect the line of tension under his tone.
“War is ruthless and often over issues that can easily be resolved with words. I despise when the edges of it touch those who are innocent. To be quite honest, I am relieved when soulsenter my Land, because pain and suffering can no longer touch them. But when they first arrive, they are afraid and their emotions are often taxing. I cannot make another understand what I already know, and yet, at the same time, I feel sympathy for them.”
Cassian wasn’t sure when he’d stopped talking about his truths, his thoughts. He gave Mavros, Nathaira, and Shivani a portion of these things, but only what grazed at the surface level. He’d never had the desire to scrape up the muck that had collected deep beneath and hand it over to another, as most tended to avoid dirtying their hands with someone else’s turmoil.
Although, after he’d said everything, it didn’t occur to him that Finnian might grow agitated by his ideology of death. It was a topic they both saw with very different perspectives.
To Cassian’s surprise, though, Finnian grabbed his hand and gently unraveled his fingers from the wavy strand.
“I want to believe the things you say.” He brought Cassian’s knuckles to his lips. “But I simply cannot make sense of death in my head.”
Cassian could see the hardness in his eyes at the mention of death and separation. Swirling in the midst of that hardness was a primal fear, and it drowned in his gaze.
Cassian’s expression softened, and he said, “Ask me whatever you wish, and I will tell you anything.”
“Do you…” Finnian shifted and lay on his back. He positioned Cassian’s palm over his chest. The tip of his index finger ran in circles over the tendons on the back of Cassian’s hand as he stared up at the ceiling. “Naia, do you know if she is well?”
Shame gripped Cassian’s chest. The question was a blatant reminder of the deal he’d struck with Mira. “I hear she has taken a friendship with her servant, Gianna.”
“May I inquire how you know?” Finnian asked, his voice low, quiet.
Cassian flipped his hand over and idly played with Finnian’s fingers, stroking up and down each one. “Your father calls for me every once in a while.”
Finnian glanced over at him, eyes bright with interest. “Calls for you?”
Cassian smiled, his fingertips exploring up the contours of Finnian’s chest. “Usually through a vine snaking up my ankle, or sometimes, he ravishes in the dramatic and sends tremors through the terrain of my Land. He tells me of what goes on in Kaimana, as he still has a deep connection with its flora.”
Finnian chuckled, his dimples flickering on each cheek. “Of course he does.”
Gooseflesh dotted over the skin of his chest as Cassian’s fingers ran down his abdomen. “If you wish to visit your father, I will arrange it.”
Something flitted across Finnian’s face, signs of hesitation, reservation, sorrow. Cassian’s hand stopped moving, his fingers resting on Finnian’s navel. He studied him for a beat.
“I do not think I am the person I need to be in order to make him proud,” Finnian confessed, the burden of remorse pulling at his features.
“He talks of you all the time. And Naia. Relives years of memories he has with you both. When he runs out of those stories, he bores me with his grand adventures, turning insects into relics and such.”
A bittersweet gleam appeared in his eyes as he continued to stare up at the ceiling, his fingers lazily coasting back and forth down Cassian’s forearm. “He made me and Naia promise to take care of each other before he was escorted away. I have failed him.”
Cassian's heart squeezed, despising the visible shadows of pain warping over Finnian. He ran his palm over Finnian’s chest, up his neck, and cupped his jaw, guiding his eyes to look at him. “There is nothing you could do that would make Vale love you any less. You are a fool if you believe so.”
Finnian gave a frail smile. “And you are a fool if you trust me enough to take me to your Land and not attempt to free him.”
Cassian scoffed, giving his chin a playful squeeze before letting go. “It’s impossible, but you are welcome to try.” He shifted onto his back, stretching out his legs and curling his toes underneath Finnian’s feet.
“That is it? No threats of curses?” His eyebrows raised. “I know how much you relish in handing those out.”
Cassian laughed, running a hand through his hair. “I am not a monster whoenjoyscursing.”
“To most, you are.” Finnian flicked away the curly strand that relentlessly dangled in his face. “You are Cassian,theHigh God of Death and Curses.” He recited it in an evangelistic tone, overexaggerating the fear of his title.
“Cassius.” The truth escaped him before he could overthink on whether or not to share it.
Finnian sat up and looked down at him. “Hm?”
It had been several millennia since Cassian had experienced the adrenaline-laced thrill pumping through his veins—the way a mortal described standing over a ledge or a rooftop.
He swallowed and slightly rotated his head to face Finnian. “My real name is Cassius,” he said. “I was named after my father. When I became the High God of Death and Curses, I knew my title would supply me with a list of enemies. The less they knew about me, the better. So, I introduced myself among deities asCassian. Only my siblings know of my real name. And now you.”
