His childhood and the handful of moments involving her were like a caustic echo. He had been free of them, of her, for two centuries, and yet, as he approached the palace entrance, that same resentment coated his tongue.
Deities began to appear like pinpricks, dotting the courtyard in a kaleidoscope of colors.
“Tell me, Little Nightmare,” Cassian started, casually stepping around him to stride along his left side instead of his right. “Are you eager for someone to one day challengeyouto a duel?”
Finnian eyed him, warily, trying to make sense of his gesture that could easily be mistaken asconsiderate. They were about to enter a large room full of chattering deities. It was hardly the rowdy atmosphere of a pub, but the vast hall provided an echo, and his hearing would strain. However, Finnian refused to allow himself to believe the High God was expressing any generosity, because while they’d known each other for years, not once had Finnian ever shared the struggles of his impairment to him.
“I am the only one of my lineage,” he replied flatly. Such trivial conversation topics were pointless to discuss.
“As of now, but that may change in the future.”
Two guards held open the carved amethyst doors. Their attire was still the same—flowing white trousers, slick muscled chests embellished by foil-golden chains dangling from their biceps.
Time had apparently stood still beneath the sea.
“When that day comes, I suppose I will turn them into statues and use them as pillars around my city,” Finnian said snidely as they crossed the threshold.
The High God gave a small shrug, unfazed. “When you’ve dueled as much as I, the task becomes a chore. Since I put those who opposed me on display, no one has challenged me in nearly two millennia.”
Finnian ignored him and observed their surroundings instead.
The corridor was the same. Moonstone floors, sparkling walls, their edges and corners engraved with turquoise and gold.
The crowds in their path moved aside as they passed, recognition pulling their eyes round, enamored by Cassian, before quickly flitting them away.
Their awestruck looks faded as they noticed Finnian beside him. Noses wrinkled. Brows furrowed. Confusion muddled their eyes. Thin-lipped glares fixed on him, narrow and wary. Disgust. Contempt. Aversion.
Finnian had done well to avoid his own kind by isolating himself within the walls of his city, oblivious to the reputation he’d gained amongst them.
He was the first god born a witch. A stroke of luck. Perhaps a divine Fate by the High Goddess herself. Regardless, deities feared what they could not control, what they couldn’t understand, and since the dawning of time, witches had been the one thing truly capable of evoking panic among the divine.
Such a hostile range of emotions did not affect him. If anything, it prided him to steal away the limelight from Mira. She lived for duels. For deities to stock her palace, enthusiastic to witness the High Goddess of the Sea win another battle for her title.
Cassian gave him a sidelong glance as they entered the vaulted great hall, as if he could hear the unrelenting pounding of Finnian’s heart—uncontrollable, pumping in a frenetic, rushing rhythm.
He looked straight ahead, over the empty circle at the center of the hall, to the platform. Mira stood at the top, surrounded by her two attendants, the triplets, and Marina.
Cassian halted at the edge of the circle and stepped in front of Finnian, blocking off his line of sight to them.
He spun around, his face close to Finnian’s. Too close. Mint and citrus and spice wafted from him as he leaned in. The fragrance, the vicinity of where he stood, it all felt oddly familiar, rousing a need in Finnian to reach out for him—pull him snug, or maybe tuck back that godsforsaken curl that consistently fell over his forehead.
Cassian’s mouth stopped near the shell of his left ear. “Stay here.”
He swallowed and focused on maintaining his withdrawn expression, despite the flipping in his stomach. “Like I have a choice,” he drawled.
Cassian glided back, his golden eyes bright and surreal and flashing with amusement before vanishing, leaving smoky, molten tresses to twist in the air where he once stood.
He reappeared next to the High God of Chaos and Ruin, at the end of the line of the Council members joined in the middle of the circle. The pointed ends of two horns spiraled up from the skull of whatever unfortunate animal carcass Acacius wore on his face.
The sensation of moths clawing down Finnian’s esophagus haunted him.
A shudder ran down his spine.
He peered over the Council to his mother.
Her eyes wrapped around him and the blank expression she wore so well fractured, pinching her mouth into a scowl.
Finnian returned the visible trace of acrimony with a smirk, out of pure spite.
