Finnian crouched down, and the dog came up and sniffed his hand, giving it a few licks.
“He remembers you,” Cassian said.
Finnian bore into its eyes. Within them, there was a stillness epitomizing a deep peace. For that, he was glad.
He scratched its furry neck. “I suppose he does.”
“Souls do not forget their mortal lives, unless they wish to.” Cassian snapped back his arm and sent the ball flying.
Rising at a leisurely pace, the dog trotted after the rest of the group.
“By ingesting one of the pomegranates grown in the Land.” Finnian straightened up and looked at the High God.
Cassian’s brow quirked, shooting him a bemused glance. “Does my Land interest you?”
Finnian gave a small shrug. “Know thy enemy, they say.”
“What else do you know?”
“I know that you have a place called the Paradise of Rest where the souls can choose to go if they seek… Well,rest.”
Amusement curved at the corners of Cassian’s mouth as he peered into the distance of the pack. “I prefer to keep things self-explanatory, to avoid confusion.”
Finnian followed his gaze onto the dogs. He held it there to avoid the light-hearted smile on Cassian’s face, noting how it softened all the angles of his sculpted features. “Or you simply lack creativity.”
A feisty, black Dachshund jumped up and snatched the ball from a Great Dane’s mouth. The short-legged furry companion took off through the sea of dogs, its long ears catching in the air like the wings of an airplane as it ran.
“I have a feeling you resented mycreativityduring your time in the Serpentine Forest.”
Finnian shot him a deathly look. “The Achlys are despicable creatures.”
Cassian laughed and Finnian could feel the sound strumming in his chest, clear and leveled out through his hearing aid. It appeared his brain was finally adjusting to the device.
He rubbed at the curse mark on his pec, the conversation with Isla and Eleanor resurfacing in his mind.
If you do not know what is real or not, try asking Cassian.
He expected such an insane suggestion from Eleanor, but certainly not from Isla, who had been the one to say it.
While she’d always had a way of granting perspective and simplifying matters, Finnian would be an idiot to trust anything that came out of Cassian’s mouth. But what other option did he have? Without the ability to create a draught, his memories would gradually disappear without his consent.
It took him a long second to work the confession from his throat. “Your curse is messing with my memories.”
The High God rotated, studying his face intently, as if searching for something.
Finnian inclined his head, locking eyes with him. “Can you tell me who Everett is?”
A flicker of affliction crossed his face, and he turned away. “I believe he was your lover.”
An emotion that Finnian could not translate saturated in the space between them; a heaviness soaked his skin.
“So I’ve been told,” he said with perfect indifference. “Is his soul here in the Land?” According to Isla and Eleanor, Everett had swooped in and saved them from the triplets and Cassian. Which meant Everett had to have been a deity or a witch.
“Yes.”
A witch then. Adeadone.
“He must’ve meant a great deal to me for the curse to target my memories of him.” As he said it, a thought chilled his blood.
