Cassian held his glare nonchalantly. “Then I shall curse you. Precisely how I cursed your mother and father.”
At the mention of Vale, a fissure of emotion struck the young god’s face. It flitted away as quickly as it appeared, like a crack sealing up within seconds. If Cassian hadn't been watching closely, he’d have missed it.
“I must say, I’ve been eager to meet you.” Finnian turned and began cleaning his workbench, moving the mortar and pestle aside and sweeping up the pile of crushed leaves and broken stems with his hands.
He tossed the remains in a trash bin beside his foot. “I first heard of you when my sister told me of our uncle Xerxes, and how he was put into confinement due to the insanity you forced upon him. Then I learned how you cursed my mother beneath the sea.”
Cassian watched the shifting of muscles in the backs of his shoulders as he reached for a jar from the third shelf.
“From what my sister told me,” Finnian continued, “Uncle Xerxes was a moron who never knew how to keep his nose out of places it did not belong, and our mother was most deserving of her imprisonment. I really could not decide if you enjoyed flaunting your superiority, or if they merely had it coming.”
Finnian’s arms went still.
The silence was loud with the traffic of carriages and trotting horses on the street, muffled chatter from those passing by on the sidewalk. Cassian could feel the air gather with a tension that nipped at his skin. A charge of swelling energy sparking against his pores.
Magic.
“Then you sent your executioners to take my father away, and I had my answer.” The contempt in the young god’s tone was subtle. He aligned his chin with his shoulder, and his eyes sharply cut to Cassian.
It’d been a few centuries since Cassian had faced a mage. He was never particularly fond of their unpredictable qualities. The explosion of the countertop in front of him was a swift reminder of this.
Shards of wood speared through his arms, cut across his cheeks.
Cassian’s divine energy seeped into the air like a puddle of oil, and his form warped into a curling mass of black and gold tendrils as he materialized across the room and out of the line of fire.
The spot where Cassian landed shimmered. Runic symbols glowed around his feet. He stepped to move, but he was bound to the spot, an unnatural gravity keeping his boots glued to the sigil.
Gods, I despise witchcraft.
Finnian stepped around from behind the counter, his hand lifting. “Colligo.”
The splinters of wood from around the room gathered in front of him, levitating and aiming their sharpest ends at Cassian.
With a single snap of Finnian’s fingers, he sent the barrage of shrapnel forward.
Cassian glowered at the flying objects, not bothering to dodge them.
Speared fragments lodged deeply into his arms and torso.
He reared his arm up and caught a splintered chunk of the wood. Slivers mangled in the palm of his hands and the underside of his fingers.
He sent the sharp piece in his grip flying across the room.
It impaled straight through Finnian’s shoulder, and he stumbled backwards into the workbench from the impact.
The commotion settled, but dust still swirled in the air.
“What a little nightmare you are.” Cassian plucked the wood from his flesh and then smoothed his palm over the lapels of his tailcoat.
His wounds closed within seconds, but cherry-red stains bled through the material of his tunic beneath his waistcoat.
He clenched his teeth at the uncleanliness, the disorder of his outfit, it being anything but pristine.
Through the rubble of the counter and broken glass and clay stood Finnian, assertive and fearless. Stupidly so. The chunk of debris still jutted out from his shoulder.
“You stole my father, so I steal your souls,” he sneered.
“It seems you have inherited your mother’s vindictiveness.” Cassian glanced down at the markings on the floor, noting how their glow faded.
