Eva’s hands still. “Then it festers.” Her voice lowers. “The thread won’t break, but magic that isn’t used has nowhere to go. It lingers, twisting, until something gives.”
Silence stretches between us as her words sink into me like iron dropped into deep water. How long can I hold my magic inside? The thought coils tightly around my mind. I’d do anything to never let it out.
I keep my tone even. “What if it’s held back indefinitely?” I ask, hoping it sounds like idle curiosity rather than something that could determine my fate.
Eva exhales. “That only happened once before, centuries ago. A Champion hoarded his magic instead of using it, letting it build inside him, planning to unleash its full might in the final Challenge. No one knows exactly what happened when it finally turned, but the records say there was nothing left of the Champion. Not a body. Not blood. Not even the audience. The entire Tourey Arena was empty.”
A cold shiver trails down my spine. I dare not ask any more questions. Instead, I pull off my gloves and lay them neatly on the armrest,as if giving my skin a chance to breathe might steady me.
After a moment of awkward silence—during which my friends exchange a ‘we should change the subject’ look I pointedly ignore—Eva finally speaks, mercifully steering us toward something lighter. “I see you’ve acquired a new piece of jewelry,” she says, eyeing the golden band around my finger. “It’s… uh… interesting.”
Peonica snorts. “What she means is, it’s too plain,” she says. “Not your usual gems and glitter.”
I smile at her jab, thinking of all the ornate trinkets Ryker’s given me over the years. “This?” I lift my hand and wiggle my fingers. “My Godbeast gave it to me. Apparently, it’s some kind of artifact, lets me reach him if I’m in danger.”
Eva’s expression sharpens. She gestures for me to hold out my hand.
“Gods used to use artifacts for all kinds of things,” she says. “Communication. Possession. Control. It’s said that’s how they enslaved the first dragons, through artifacts like this.”
She studies the ring, eyes narrowed, as if trying to decide whether it might do one of those things to me. After a moment of silent scrutiny, she exhales and leans back, satisfied.
“No engravings,” she says at last. “The dangerous ones were always marked. Safe to assume your Godbeast isn’t planning to turn you from his master to his thrall.”
Peonica’s amber gaze lingers on the ring, hesitation flickering in her eyes, as though she isn’t ready to accept Eva’s verdict just yet.
I move my hand back, a bit unsettled by Eva’s momentary suspicion of Kaelzar’s motives when Peonica suddenly slides her chair closer to the table. “Is that how Azrakel was able to possess a human body when he left Calista? By using one of those artifacts?”
Eva nods. I bite down on a sigh—Peonica’s favorite deity again, the god who gave up his original body to live as a human with the woman he loved. The fatal mistake that cost him his life… and this kingdom its sanity.
“But why didn’t he have his magic to protect him from his deranged wife?” Peonica asks. “Ray is a human, but she’s allowed to havemagic. Why couldn’t he?”
Eva glances at me, knowing very well how much I dislike Peonica’s reverence for the dead god whose lack of restraint started this all, but she answers anyway.
“The bodies of Godbounds are altered by the divine tether to contain the magic,” she explains. “But mortal bodies can’t hold even a fraction of divine power for long, it would destroy them. So when the gods possessed mortal hosts, at least according to the records that survived the Skyburn War, they allowed their true bodies, and their magic, to remain in slumber.”
My lips press into a thin line. The gods played at being human when it suited them, but they never truly let go of their power. I, on the other hand, have no way out. My fingers curl around a loose strand of hair, twisting it as I fight back a surge of emotion.
“Just wearing mortality like a costume when they got bored,” I mutter bitterly. “So they could be as mortal as they pleased, but only for as long as it was convenient.”
“The God of Night and Stars didn’t!” Peonica exclaims.
I tsk. “Azrakel is hardly a good example. He chose to abandon his magic, his wife, and his responsibilities.”
“He did it for love,” Peonica interjects, her eyes shining with the romanticism of a long-ago tragedy.
“He was married,” I snap, my annoyance flaring. “It wasn’t right to betray Calista like that.”
In the past I might have let it pass, hoping Peonica would someday see this relationship between the married god and a human woman for the horrible mistake that doomed our kingdom rather than a tragic love story.
But today, it feels personal. It’s not the gods who paid for Azrakel’s betrayal, it’s the women of our kingdom. And today, I’m the one who bears the cost of that cursed kiss, while Mael gallivants on without taking any responsibility.
Peonica folds her arms, her gaze sharp. “You’ve been Calista’s Champion for half a day, and you’re already making excuses for her curse?”
“I’m not excusing it!” My voice spikes. “But she wasn’t the only one at fault. Azrakel broke her heart?—”
“And you broke Ryker’s.”
The words hit like a blow, leaving no room to breathe.
