He inched forward, testing the boundary of the sigil. The magic within it had died.
Lovely.
“I inherited far worse from her.” Finnian cocked his head, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “If you wish to curse me, Lord Cassian, then you must catch me first.”
Cassian snarled and lunged for him.
A clean slice of distortion ripped through the air. Tendrils of ruby smoke furled around Cassian’s fist.
Disturbing laughter bubbled up his throat.
His stomach knotted with a deranged mix of irritation and euphoria.
Smug, little?—
He lowered his arm and gripped his hip.
Grounding his jaws, he glared down at the shambles of the apothecary.
He would chase the young god, catch him, and be his reckoning.
2
THE KISS OF DELIRIUM
Finnian
The Present
“Who—loathe—most?”Shivani’s sultry-pitched voice was the goddess’s one and only pleasant attribute.
Finnian blinked a few times, piecing together the words he could not hear from the throbbing of blood in his left ear. His right ear was useless without his hearing aid.
Who do you loathe the most?
It was a taunting question she repeatedly asked him. A tactic to flare his anger. Stir emotions, hoping for a slip-up and desired revelation. Shivani was one of Cassian’s loyal servants—a middle goddess of slaughter.
“I haven’t—since—High God—Rain—Storm—sixteen-hundreds.” She spoke alongside the sound of her sharpening her blade.
I haven’t what?
In the mild break of his torture, Finnian assessed himself. Every inch of his skin felt wet. Sticky, warm, and wet.
High God of Rain and Storm?
The lacerations carved down his abdomen were slowly mending. Beneath the tension of stitching skin, he could feel the blossoming of his organs growing back into their rightful places.
Since the sixteen-hundreds?
He gave up attempting to piece together the sentence, assuming it was another snide comment.
The ominous being to Finnian’s side, an executioner, tightened the chain bound to his shackles, squeezing his wrists and ankles in a vise grip. Muscles burned from his limbs being stretched taut as he hung from the stone wall.
It had been months since he’d seen the slate interior walls of his cell, and while he’d rather cut off his own tongue than confess such a thing, he missed it. He assumed it had been months, at least. Time was lost within the dungeon he was currently confined in.
“Though, he—stouter—you,” Shivani continued. “Had—meat—bones to carve off.”
Finnian got a grip on his panting and ran her words through his mind, slower this time.
