Page 18 of Lies Among Gods

“You don’t get to decide what I want,” Lyra whispered, slipping her hand between them and pushing against his chest harder. “You’re saying things I know better than to believe.”

“Little goddess,” he whispered, his lips a breath away from hers. “Your eyes tell me those words are a lie.”

“Or you’re just so used to believing you’ll get what you want you only see what you want to see.”

He chuckled, a low, rich sound. “I am offering you a taste of the divine. Why deny yourself a sip?” His soft palm, warm against her skin, cradled her cheekbone. The gentle rasp of his stubble tickled her as his nose brushed softly against hers.

"You already proved with a word you can control a mortal,” Lyra retorted, holding his gaze. “You made the media vanish with a word. I know what you can do. Meaning, what if I don’t want to be charmed with a spell or whatever that was?"

His perfect smile didn’t waver, but a flicker of something unreadable—perhaps disappointment, perhaps amusement, perhaps anger—crossed his eyes. “Meaning? Meaning is for mortals to show devotion and peace, little goddess. I offer raw experience. And believe me, what we could have would leave a deeper mark than any mere mortal ever has or ever will."

“Maybe I don’t want to be the one marked,” she whispered. “But the one who leaves the mark.”

Before he could respond, she fumbled with the cold brass knob, the sharp click echoing in the quiet. Rushing inside, the door slammed shut behind her with a solid thud. The heavy silk of the borrowed gown rustled softly, tangling around her ankles and almost causing her to stumble.

A fresh wave of dread immediately replaced the rush of adrenaline. Her mother was standing in the archway of the living room, her face a terrifying mask of anxious, barely contained excitement.

"Well?" Diane whispered, practically vibrating. “What did they say? What happened? Tell me everything, Lyra, now!"

Lyra leaned her back against the cool wood of the door, letting out a long, shaky breath. The weight of the evening—the Council, the trials, the kiss—crashed down on her.

"I'm exhausted, Mom,” Lyra sighed, pushing off the door. She managed a small, tired smile. “It was... a lot. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, promise."

Without waiting for a reply, she gathered the skirt of the heavy gold gown and ran as fast as the confining fabric would allow down the hall, seeking the familiar refuge of her closed bedroom door. She collapsed onto the bed, the golden silk pooling around her, her heart still hammering from the adrenaline, a trapped bird desperate for escape.

Chapter seventeen

CHAPTER 12

Soon we watched as conflicts overtook our lands, and a new God arose. He was Raios, the God of War. With him he brought death, Thaniel. Many fell at their feet as they triumphantly smiled down at us. War was not a failure of the gods, but a necessary correction for mortal excess.

Snippet from “The Book of Natural History” By Priestess Antonella Killoran

Lyra tossed and turned, the rough cotton sheets scratching against her skin. The morning sun, a blinding sliver of gold, pierced through a crack in her window, casting a sharp line across the dusty floorboards. Her mind, a tempest of gnawing self-doubt and cold fear, echoed with the unanswered questions, a cacophony that drowned out any hope of sleep. The sharp scent of stale air did little to soothe her. No matter how hard she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to muffle the insistent thoughts, they kept her awake. Staring at that unforgiving crack of light, she knew, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that rest would not come.

With a sudden burst of energy, she sprang from her bed. She yanked open the closet door; her fingers brushed past soft cottons and silks, finally closing around a pair of worn, dark jeans, a faded t-shirt, and a hoodie. She pulled them on, a second skin against her body. Her feet slipped easily into a pair of old tennis shoes.

Sunlight glinted off the multitude of camera lenses as she peeked out the window. Through the pane, she saw them—a sea of faces, a relentless, and unwavering stare. They were back, their collective gaze like a hawk’s, fixed on the house with unnerving intensity.Are there any in the back?She wandered.

Walking into the hallway, she strained to hear any telltale sound from her parents’ room. Silence. The hallway felt vast and dim as she crept down its length. The morning air, carrying the faint scent of damp earth from the garden, kissed her face as she slipped through the back door. It groaned softly, a tiny protest swallowed by the quiet.

Her eyes scanned the backyard, taking in the riot of color from her mom and dad’s meticulously tended gardens. Crimson roses, sunny marigolds, and vibrant purple petunias burst with life, their sweet, intoxicating perfume heavy in the still morning air. No camera flashes popped, no angry shouted questions disturbed the peace, only the soft chirping of birds accompanied her quiet ascent towards the wooden fence. With a determined grasp, she climbed over the edge, landing with a soft thud on the dewy grass in the alley. Her breath hitched in her chest as she cautiously surveyed her new surroundings; the silence and solitude stretched out unbroken.

She ran down the alley, the morning air cool and crisp against her skin. She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew she couldn’t stay. Her feet pounded the ground, a rhythmic echo of the anxiety thrumming in her chest.Goddess?The title felt heavy, a beautiful crown made of lead.I need to talk to someone.To just see how they navigate all this mess. She paused when she realized where she was going. I am going to talk to him. He’s the only one who doesn’t treat me like a delicate artifact or a failure.

She took a sharp left, heading toward the main street where she could catch a tram to the temple district. She got on the tram, pulling her hoodie down to hide her face, attempting to look like any other early morning commuter. The feeling of being watched was a persistent itch now, a consequence of her newfound notoriety. She kept her head down, avoiding the eyes of the few people who were already out.

Disembarking at the temple plaza, the sound of sweeping brushes broke the early morning silence. She headed straight for the black basalt temple. It was unadorned, imposing, and felt like utterly the right place to go.

The main hall was dim, filled with the sharp, metallic scent of leather and parchment. A lone priestess was polishing a black marble slab near the entrance. The woman, whose face was lined with a perpetual expression of focused strain, looked up, and her eyes widened in an instant of pure recognition.

"I need to speak to Alaios. Please,” Lyra stated, her voice tight but firm.

The priestess hesitated for only a second, then seemed to weigh the inevitable conflict of denying the rumored new goddess against the wrath of the God of Strife. She inclined her head stiffly. “Follow me."

Lyra was guided through corridors that echoed with their footsteps, the air biting with a chilling cold that seeped into her bones. The stone walls, stark and unadorned, stretched into the dimness. They arrived at the God’s office, a heavy, imposing door. The priestess rapped once, a sharp, dry sound that cut through the stillness, and then she was gone, melting back intothe shadows before Alaios could even utter a word, leaving Lyra alone in the hush.

"Enter," his voice commanded, a low, grinding sound that matched the stone of the hallway.