Mavros’s footfalls shuffled behind Cassian, nipping unusually frail nerves within him. A sign of burnout, greatly in need of thedowntimeNathaira had recommended.
He casually slipped a hand inside his trouser pocket, and amid his next step, he vanished in a black chiffon puff.
The sole of his boot touched down on the bridge overlooking the River of Souls. The hazy lilac current carried the souls forth to the landing bank. From the distance, Cassian could see Nathaira, draped in sparkling green lace, adorned with wildflowers along her sleeves and neckline and sprinkled all over her sandy locks as she offered a hand to the next emerging soul.
She was a middle goddess of nature who greeted those arriving from the River.
“My lord.” Mavros appeared at Cassian’s side, insistent.
Cassian sighed. “Is there an issue, Mavros?”
He slid his other hand in his pocket, the position forcing his shoulders to relax, and glanced down, surveying the spirits in the stream below the bridge. Their forms were amorphous, like apparitions trapped below glass. Some clung and writhed against the current, their sorrows wailing like tail-end whispers.
Mavros cleared his throat. “I have news regarding the matter of missing souls.”
“Do tell.” It came out as a mutter of unenthused petulance as Cassian continued to stare at the souls, admiring the way their mystic glow resembled the luster of spilled paint swirling together.
The second that the High Goddess of Fate cut a soul’s thread, it belonged to him. He could feel it floating, waiting for guidance, tethered to him. A feeling all deities of Death were familiar with. The Errai used the sense to find those freshly departed and lead them to the Land.
Daily, they reported corpses with missing souls when they arrived to collect. The river gods occupying the waters in theLand of the Dead protected the souls, and none had disappeared on their watches. Which meant the missing souls weren’t making it to the River in the first place.
Then, there were the souls in his Land that disappeared without a trace.
When the issue first arose, it was only a few souls sporadically. Now, it was hundreds, consistently.
“Well, my lord, it is…” Mavros’s hesitation only meant it was more severe than he led on, for it was the only occasion when the attendant spoke like a broken instrument. “There is a young godstealingthese souls.”
Cassian turned his head to look at him, eyebrows raised. “You have my attention.”
Mavros’s waist-length dreadlocks were tied up today. He concealed his joined hands in front of him in the long sleeves of his robe, and his eyes kept blankly fixed ahead, respectfully avoiding Cassian.
It was normal protocol for deities to never look directly at a High God, though Cassian never minded. In fact, he found it more troublesome when they looked away, as if he were conversing with statues.
Cassian rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his flexing jaw muscles, annoyed by the information. “Does this young god have a name?”
“He does.” Mavros’s stoicism did not alter.
Cassian dragged his hand up over his face and through the longer strands of his hair, swallowing the urge to bite his attendant’s head off. “Mavros, spit it out. I may be immortal, but my patience is not.”
Mavros’s gaze snapped to him then. “I believe it will only spoil your rather delightful mood.”
Cassian dropped his arm back down to his side, pinning Mavros with an unenthused look. “I do not appreciate yoursarcasm. Now tell me before I act on my urge to curse you to Moros.”
A beat passed before Mavros said through a stifled breath, “The young god’s name is Finnian.” His brow pinched, bordering on a look of pain and exasperation. “The High Goddess of the Sea’s youngest child.”
A breathy, unamused laugh shook out of Cassian.
Of course, her son is the one stealing souls.
He gripped the railing of the bridge and glared down at the River.
It was foolish not to assume Mira was behind the action. Perhaps she goaded her son’s power as a threat. Cassian wouldn’t put it past her to act out in such a vindictive manner. He was the one who entrapped her beneath the Kaimana Sea in the first place.
Or it could be a spiteful attempt to diverge Cassian’s wrath from her onto her offspring. A rather cold action, but there were no limitations to Mira’s virulence. She was the type to toss her child to a shark if it brought her gain.
Regardless, the young god was dabbling in death, a realm that did not concern him, stripping souls of their peace in the afterlife. Something Cassian could not let stand.
“What relic is he using? I confiscated theRune of Nekromanteíayears ago.”
