“Then maybe this is where our allegiance should end,” Leonie said, tilting her chin up. “Perhaps we have outgrown the need for such archaic worshipping of a deity who does not care for us. Perhaps it’s time we in the Order took matters of magic in our own hands.”
Both the New Moon and Full Moon Council members produced damper cuffs. Atheia laughed. “I see. I give you access to all lunar magics, and this is how you repay me?”
“What power you did give us was only ever temporary,” Leonie said. “And with the Tidecaller gone, you won’t be able to give us anything at all.”
“What will you do, chain me up in the ruins of your Institute?”
“Maybe we’ll call on other gods to come and claim you, since they want you so badly.”
At this, Atheia snapped. She called on a maelstrom of magic to put an end to these thankless people, but Romie broke through the surface, taking advantage of her lapse in control to yell out a warning.
“Run! She’s going to kill—”
Atheia wrested back control and unleashed the magic that had been growing at her fingertips with a scream that sounded like a song pouring out of her. The Tidal Council standing before her tried to cover their ears, to run, to pull on their own magic. But she was divinity, had the power of creation at her fingertips, and they were nothing against her wrath.
She was so tired of feeling like she was losing everything. Her bodily autonomy, her plans for revenge on Sidraeus, the love of her gods, if they’d ever loved her at all, and now the trust of her lunar mages, too. If she couldn’t have this, then she wanted none of it.
The Tidal Council doubled over in pain, their screams bloodcurdling, as blood-soaked lunar flowers blossomed in their throats and their lungs and their hearts, growing faster and faster as they erupted from their mouths and ears and eyes and wrapped around their bodies like vines around a tree trunk, rooting them to the floor where they stood.
Silence settled. Not a breath remained.
From the recesses of her mind, Romie’s shock and horror reached her. Each Council member killed by vines of flowers from their respective lunar house. Even death was a creation of sorts, and this was nothing short of a masterpiece. Their corpses like statues, made beautiful by the bloodied blooms. Atheia reached for one, her hand coming away slick with blood.
No wonder the gods never loved you,Romie breathed, digging into Atheia’s psyche and pulling up all the darkest bits.No wonder the moon goddess suggested you splinter yourself when I’m sureshe knew it would do nothing at all, that there was a better alternative. No wonder Sidraeus chose his magic over you.
You’re no better, Rosemarie Brysden. So easily swayed by my words and my will that you would turn against your own flesh and blood, against everyone you love. They will never forgive you for siding with me.
I’m fighting back now, aren’t I?
But they will never know, dear Romie, because you’re too late. The damage is done. When Emory sees your face, she will see only the person who tortured her. When your father sees you, he will be haunted by the ruin you sowed. When your brother looks at you, he will see only the girl who fought to eradicate everything that he is. You are as alone as I am.
Quiet followed. Atheia couldn’t feel her vessel’s presence anymore, and it made her own words burrow into her, like a dagger digging into her gut.
She was alone.
The gods who claimed to care for her wanted her dead. She had lost both Sidraeus and Emory. And she had just killed the only allies she had left.
There was a sound behind her. A pair of Regulators appeared, their faces full of terror as they beheld the scene. Before they could piece together what she’d done, Atheia disappeared, becoming one with the elements as she ran from this place of destruction. She needed to feel alive, to feel rooted, to feel in control for one damn second.
She found herself at the water’s edge, where the rising Aldersea swept through the tree trunks of the Wychwood. Her feet squelched in the wet sand. She fell to her knees and let the frothing waves lap around her, washing away the blood on her hands. She tasted the salt of tears on her lips, mixing with the raindrops.
She didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want to break. Didn’t want to admit defeat.
And yet.
She felt his presence before she saw him. Cornelius Clover crouched in front of her, close enough to snap her neck and end her right here if he wanted to. But there was something raw and open on his face. Not pity, but understanding. A loneliness that mirrored Atheia’s own.
“You want revenge on the gods,” he said.
It wasn’t posed as a question, but Atheia answered all the same. “Yes.”
“Then help me defeat them. And once I become ruler of the living realms, I’ll make you an undeniable queen at my side, a goddess in full.”
Atheia had been tricked too often to fall for such promises. Yet there was no trace of trickery in his voice, no hint of malice on his face. Here was someone who had been searching for a specific brand of companionship all throughout his long life; waiting for someone to be on his level, to rise as his true equal.
It seemed outlandish for them to put aside their previous differences. A Tidecaller turned monstrous god. A creator who kept destroying things instead of saving them.
But that was the thing about loneliness: there came a point when what it reflected back at you was too ugly to sit with. Until someone just as flawed sat beside you, and suddenly it wasn’t such a burden.
