“‘Nineteen years is an eyeblink,’” Sowelan said, grinning, as He reached to touch Menon’s cheek.“‘And yet, look what nineteen years without the sun has done to you.’”
Menon scoffed.“‘You fared better.’”
“‘A gilded cage is still a cage.’”Sowelan cast an appraising look down at Himself, at Lina’s body.“‘Man may listen to me yet if I scream at them from their own plane.A God of War!Can you imagine?’”
Menon dipped into a gallant bow.“‘If it pleases my goddess, may you make my death swift.Release me from this hideous shell.’”
A pealing laugh.“‘I would, were there not so much work to do.’”
“Cynthia,” River broke in, massaging his temples.“Give it a break.Please.I need a minute.”
Cynthia looked to Ione, who nodded.She felt dizzy, herself, every fear, every bloody, horrifying prediction fading away until she was left feeling adrift, cast out to sea.
Sowelan, a goddess.A Sun Goddess, twisted and bastardised into what Her devotees wanted Her to be.
Nearby, Saros was still on his knees, still drenched and trembling, muttering to himself.Shaking his head.Further on, Malia reeled, her face pale and tear-streaked as she leaned against Etan for support.Hilo stood at her other side, hands on his head like he was holding himself still.Malia’s last son, Nalu, milled about on his own, away from the rest, as though he wasn’t sure whose side he was on anymore.
Malia’s gaze sharpened.“Saros,” she cautioned in a dangerous tone, and Ione swung her monocular towards him, catching him stumbling to his feet.
Ione tore away from the seleneschals, her eyes on Saros, his long strides, the ice flurrying around his fists.She heard her name, Saros’s; she tuned it all out and broke into a run.
With an arc of her arm, water whipped at him, knocking into the backs of his legs and sending him to his knees.River darted past her, catching Saros’s wrists before he swung at her and pinning them behind his back.He struggled feebly, his breath hitching when Ione summoned an ice blade, a warning.He stilled in River’s hold, his head craning back as Ione held the blade beneath his jaw.
No one moved, their breaths coming out in icy puffs.
Menon and Sowelan watched, the glow of their eyes solemn and otherworldly, their hands grasped between them.
“Menon,” Ione recited, the ice biting into her sweat-slicked palm.The air pulsed with energy, but she held their gaze.“Saros hurt you as much as me.Worse than me.”She set her jaw.“But please, let me have this honour.”
Menon tilted Her head.The words She uttered didn’t seem to be a disagreement.But it was Sowelan who knelt before Ione, Her smile gentle.She laid Her fingertips on Ione’s forehead, and when She spoke, Ione could understand Her:
“The honour is yours if it pleases you,” Sowelan said.“But will it?”
“I don’t know,” Ione answered.“But I want it anyway.”
Sowelan released her and stood, retreating.Her focus on Ione was palpable, a piercing weight, and Ione sucked in a breath and looked to River, just on Saros’s other side.
His eyes were solemn, sure.“Whatever you want,” he murmured.“I’m with you.”
Between them, Saros stared straight ahead, past the goddesses, out to the field of frost-tipped grasses, of broken bodies and dripping ice.There was no fear in his eyes.No hate.
Just exhaustion, and understanding.
“Saros Artem,” Ione whispered.“You are as heinous a sinner as your father, just as foolish and obsessive.You tore Menon’s spirit onto the mortal plane and imprisoned Her in two human bodies.”
Saros’s mouth opened, closed.He did not respond.
Like Lina, Ione didn’t know what all to say.What was right.Every word felt clunky, ill-fitting for how she felt, for what Saros had done.“You tried to flood the earth,” she went on, her voice quivering, every bit of fear and rage and hatred towards this man condensing into the thin, biting contact of ice against his throat.“You would have been the death of billions.”
Saros swallowed.Smiled.“Of those things,” he rasped, “I am guilty.But all I do and have done has been for our people.”His white-blue eyes swivelled, meeting hers.“But you,” he said, “have been, from day one, a disappointment.”
Ione matched his smile, her fear dissipating.“Disappointing you has been one of my greatest sources of joy.”
It took only the lightest of pressure.A swift pull, a last breath.Crepe-paper skin tore, so much blood raining and steaming out onto the wet grass.His body sagged, falling with a dull thud as River released his arms.Ione tasted bile, struck by how easy it was, how quick; how little she felt, a droning numbness, a low, simmering pride.
She threw the ice blade down, wiped her hands on her cloak, a futile attempt to rid herself of all traces of him.She stood and faced them, Sowelan and Menon, Sun and Moon, wearing the shells of two people she loved.
And the gods smiled, taking her bloodied hands and bringing them to their lips.
