There was a god in Edessa.
Ahead, Sarai stared blankly at the growing spread of darkness, eyes glazed. Smoke coiled around her and licked at her skin, the nape of her neck, invisible to all but him. Thin wisps prodded at her chest to seek entry. He paused at their familiarity, recalling seeing the same during the Academiae’s graduation and within the whitesleep den.
The voice who’d kept trying to crush his skull had a name then.
Sarai’s lips parted as she stepped forward. He reached her even before she could whisper his name and caught her elbow. Her face crumpled, irises nearly swallowing her eyes.
“I’m here.” He clenched her blindly questing fingers around his arms.
She sucked in a hoarse breath. Her pulse throbbed wildly in her neck. “We need to leave—” Hyperventilating, she struck her sternum when she couldn’t draw another breath and simply dragged him toward the portal.
Méherre stared at the sky, awe mingling with terror in her gaze. “Suchpower.”
Verentia’s shrieks suddenly cut through the air. He glanced over his shoulder to find her clawing at her eyes. Vicious glee bared her mouth in a rictus grin as she reached out, brandishing a knife toward Cassandane.
“You’ve had it for years,” she whispered, stabbing almost blindly as Cassandane darted out of her reach. “Let me sit there too.” Her jaw unhinged in another scream, reason seemingly fighting with madness. He knew she fought Death.
Tar oozed from her mouth as she fell to her knees, sanity dwindling to pinpricks in her eyes, which were swallowed by black.
The fragile hold that the god had over Edessa fractured at the sight. People splintered and fled in packs, stampeding all in their path. He drew a web of lightning over their group, parting it as Cassandane and Harion successively entered with numb eyes and slackened faces.
A shudder ran through Sarai. “There’s nothing we can do.”
“For now,” he agreed softly.
One by one, they walked through Méherre’s portal and left the Aequitas’s carcass to the eyes surveying it. And the god still laughed.
Eleven years ago
Noceo’s obsession with the Poxtan girl was going to get them both killed.
Drenevan paced outside the baker’s shop, watching Noceo lean over the counter to say something to the fourteen-year-old girl working there. Parvine curled an errant strand of hair behind her ears and giggled. He didn’t have to hear them to know that his brother was making the same ridiculous sound.
On the other side of the room, Dalvia watched them both with a frown.
“Parvine! Have you seen the flour?” came an annoyed female voice, audible though the windows.
Finaze Poxtan, Parvine’s older sister and Noceo’s nemesis, emerged from the shop’s rear. The corners of her lips tightened. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Clan scion?” she sneered Noceo’s title. “I thought I told you to keep away from her.”
Drenevan could see red inching up his brother’s ears through the window. Drawing a deep breath, he dared enter the shop. The full weight of Finaze’s glare rounded on him. He couldn’t deny that it was impressive.
“My brother meant no harm to the young lady,” he said gravely. “If we have offended—”
“You bloody well have offended,” she hissed. “No onecomes in to buy anything when you’re here. Maybe they do at the bigger shops in thebowels of Komis, but we’re upstanding folk here. You’re dragging our name into your dirt. Fuck off!!”
“I see.” He inclined his head, exchanging a meaningful glance with Noceo.
His brother’s eyes widened faintly. “Yes, of course! Please accept my apologies and this.” He withdrew a silver denarius and pressed it on the counter. “For the trouble.”
Drenevan hid his satisfaction when Finaze suddenly looked torn. He made for the door, shooting a questioning glance at Dalvia when she didn’t follow. The Poxtan girls were more inclined to look kindly on her on account of her sex, so they would never ask her to leave. He didn’t begrudge her those friendships. She knew the dangers of Clevsin finding out. Stepping outside, he paused when Noceo turned back to Finaze.
“I would never hurt her.”
It was Drenevan’s turn to go still at that quiet desperation. He had never seen such seriousness in his brother’s eyes.
“Never,” Noceo emphasized, before leaving.
A stunned Drenevan accompanied his brother down the darkening street. Twilight claimed the sky as they wound their way into the heart of Komis where their reputations and Clan were hungered over as much as they were feared. Pleasure-workers winked at them from alleys, gazes fixated on their gray-green uniforms. Cardsharps shot them warning glances to stay away after Noceo had nearly bankrupted a gambling house on his first set of games. This was the world they belonged in. And yet…
