Davyn didn’t speak. He merely gestured at the crowd lined up outside the door of Urian’s home.
Ah, bloody hell …
He’d never seen the like. It was as if they were giving out alms on a feast day.
Davyn leaned his head back to grin at him over his shoulder. “One well-placed god-bolt could take out about half of them.” He flashed his fangs in an evil grin. “What say you?”
Urian grimaced in absolute agony of the thought of what waited there for him. “Don’t tempt me.” And itwastempting. These were the same people who’d had no use for him just a few days ago.
Until he had a power they thought they could make use of.
Funny how that worked.
And it left Urian extremely disenchanted with the lot of them. For he’d seen their true colors at a much earlier age than most saw it. Because he’d been born with the abnormality of blue eyes and not their brown Apollite ones, they hadn’t hidden their disdain for him. That made it all the harder for him to hide his resentment of them now.
Especially when they turned to rush him, begging for favors, these Apollites who’d refused to share the most basic sustenance with him when he’d been in need. They’d have seen him dead and in the street without losing a bit of sleep over it.
They were deplorable in their hypocrisy.
“Urian! Remember how close we were when we were boys? We were always together. Inseparable!”
He stared at Theo’s friend Iolus, who’d never spoken to him before. This was the same friend who used to tell Theo to make sure he left Urian at home, because he couldn’t stand Urian.“Your brother creeps me out with those freakish eyes of his.”
Aye, Urian remembered him well.
“Enough!” his father roared as he joined them. “Let the boy alone! If you want a miracle, write them down and hand them to Trates. Urian can review them later to see if he wishes to indulge you.”
They protested, but luckily his father wouldn’t be swayed.
Urian jerked his head as he felt something strange in the air.
His father scowled at him. “You all right?”
“Nay. Did you feel that?”
“Feel what?”
“Something …” Urian scanned the dark street around them. But the sensation crawling along his skin only grew worse, not better. “There’s a god here.”
His father gave him a droll, bored stare. “That would be Apollymi. You can’t miss her. Tall, blond, angry goddess. Lives in the big, dark hall on your right.”
He snorted at his father’s sarcasm. “Nay. This is different. Can’t you sense it?”
His father shook his head. “I can only feel Apollymi and her Charonte.”
Yet Urian sensed it. Fiercely. There was no denying the powerful sensation of another god in their midst. The sensation crept along his skin. Undeniable.
Unmistakable.
Worse, it was malevolent.
“This is something else, Solren.”
His father glanced around the crowd that didn’t want to disperse before he lowered his voice to speak to them. “There’s something I need to speak to all of you about. I was going to wait until later, but …”
“What?”
“War’s coming. Unlike anything you’ve seen. The devastation in Xanthia’s village wasn’t just an isolated attack. We’ve been blessed that the goddess took us in when she did. Because life on the surface …” His father visibly winced. “After Apollymi’s attack on Atlantis that devastated most of the world, and the loss of the Atlantean pantheon, it’s thrown the power balance of the gods into turmoil. And with it, the Chthonians.”
