Never.
The love she had for Mother swelled. It had roots that burrowed and curled around the chambers of her heart. The thought of ever disappointing her in the same way Naia did, again and again, punctured her chest.
With resolve, Marina straightened her spine, sitting up. “I will do what I must.” The muscles in her shoulders tensed, andshe kept her hands wound into fists on her thighs, the tremors in her arms finally receding.
It was blood. Nothing more.
Nothing more.
She would rinse her skin clean, and all would be well.
“The next god will regret ever stepping foot inside my bedchamber.” Marina locked onto her mother’s eyes, jaw set.
It is only blood.
A proud smile lifted the corners of Mother’s mouth, exposing her brilliant teeth and darkening her pale gaze.
“Power is pride, Marina.” She stroked the back of her fingers over Marina’s cheek. “Never forget that.”
Marina stoodatop the second-story balcony, overlooking the vast space beneath her—one of the halls on the lower grounds of the palace.
Evander hung from chains suspending him from the ceiling. His arms were pulled taut from the shackles binding his wrists, and his legs dangled like frail branches caught in a breeze.
The harsh hiss of Mother’s whip traveled across the room and slashed against Evander’s backside, the sound slick and wet. A gush of raspberry liquid ran down the backs of his legs and stained the moonstone floor.
The gracefulswooshof deities teleporting into the room carried like whispers. Tendrils of smoke twirled in the wake of their arrival.
Marina ran her eyes over the collective of divine faces, listening closely to their murmurs of intrigue and confusion.
What did Lord Evander do to offend Lady Mira?
The mystery would eat them all alive.
A wave of dizziness spun in Marina’s head. She gripped the railing in front of her, an assurance of support to keep herself upright.
Evander’s punishment was what she’d wanted. Something she’d dreamed about during the long hours of the night as she scrubbed her skin raw in a bath while the servants erased all evidence from her bedchamber.
Witnessing him pay for his crimes would fix her. At least, this is what she told herself. It was the only reason she’d come to watch.
And yet, she still felt the hollow ache spreading like rot behind her sternum; traces of Evander’s violation marred her skin.
Marina kept her gaze fixed on the end of Mother’s whip as it made contact with the flesh of Evander’s back. Scraps of his tunic tore and swayed around his waist, the beige fabric blotted with currant.
The god let out a pathetic whine as his body swung from the impact.
Marina observed the river running down his broken skin and over his trousers. The sight of blood did not faze her, and yet her skin buzzed, as if it was still caked upon her, dissolving through her pores and mixing into her own veins.
Panic lit in her chest with an urgency to wash her hands even though nothing was on them.
She squeezed the gold iron railing tighter.
They are clean.
You are okay.
“I must say, I do enjoy the view better from up here.” A deep, masculine voice fabricated at her side, the scent of stripped tree bark and smoke rushing through her hair.
She could feel the High God’s presence, depthless and dark, like a churning void calling her to step inside its mouth. It invoked an acceleration in her pulse while dropping a pang of fear into her stomach.
