She swallowed. In her periphery, the mask he wore, crafted from a large animal’s carcass, came into view. It was an ancient cervid, with two horns twisted out from the top of its skull, connected by sagging strands of gold. The bone had been preserved by his divine power, always staying an uncannily alabaster white. It was said he forged it from the first creature that slipped into his realm, a warning for those who dared trespass in Tavora.
“Lord Acacius,” she greeted without looking directly at him. Instead, she concentrated on keeping the muscles in her face relaxed, expression blank.
He was a stranger to her. Aside from the small talks they’d exchanged with one another over the past years during feasts and gatherings, she had never beenalonewith him before.
The High God was capable of disillusionment, a power that could force anyone to drown in their own sorrows, fears, and insecurities. While she’d never witnessed it firsthand, she fortified her guard nonetheless.
Acacius casually rested his forearms on the railing, peering down below. “You look at him with animosity.”
Pressure pushed against the inside of Marina’s chest. She wanted to ignore the High God, but it could come off as disrespectful and would bring shame to Mother. She had no choice but to respond, to make up some justifiable excuse for her resentment. Something to satisfy the High God’s curiosity but prevent him from asking further questions.
However, his observation meant something to her. Out of a room full of deities, he could somehow sense her pain, and thatalone made herwantto be truthful, without constraint. Confide her anguish in someone—anyone—willing to listen.
“He touched me without my permission,” she said, the words bitter on her tongue.
“Ah.” Acacius twisted to look over at her, the two large holes of his mask glowing like gold discs. “Well, I would say he deserves his punishment then.”
Marina continued to stare at the gory scene of Evander. “It makes no difference.” Her voice was monotone, barely there.
Another slash of Mira’s whip echoed like a clap of thunder.
Her mother stood on a platform, her stance strong, directing her weapon like it was an extension of her own arm.
“Why is that?” Acacius asked.
“If not him, then there will be others like him. Those who take—who do not look back as they walk away.” She didn’t approve of the lump forming in her throat or the temptation on her tongue to spew out venomous hatred toward gods and their degradation.
She pursed her lips to contain her hostile feelings.
Evander had stolen something from her, and it was difficult to ignore the emptiness in its place, to maintain her composure as the hours waned on.
Acacius straightened up from the rail, his body heat warming her side like a gust from a wildfire. The material of his black wool robe brushed against her arm.
The slight touch coaxed her to meet his gilded eyes, swirling as he studied her. He stood at least a foot above her, the antlers of his mask giving a greater illusion to his already tall height.
“If a god puts their hands on you without permission,” he said, low and grim, “then simply cut them off.”
A bitter sound scuffed out of her, partially baffled by his candor, the other part furious with his suggestion, because she had already done so. “I cut off his head, and it simply grew back.”
“Yes.” He hummed with a smile to his tone. “But his pride will not.”
Power is pride.Mother’s words returned to her.
Marina stared at Acacius, secretly admiring his darkness. Something in her own abyss seemed to stir awake in response to his words, a stroke of exhilaration, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.
The bizarre need to smileback pulled at her lips.
After a long second, her gaze jumped from his eyes to the ashen exterior of his mask. She was curious to know what lay beneath it. None of the gods had ever seen his face.
“Next time you speak to me, do so without the mask,” she said.
A low chuckle rumbled from him as he backed away and bowed his chin. “It has been a pleasure, Lady Rina.”
She glared at him. “That is not my name.”
He spun around, his divine power gathering in a viscous, midnight-blue fog at his feet. It swirled like ribbons around the backside of his frame.
There will be more. Her mother’s words appeared again.
