Page 36 of Lies Among Gods

The smile wavered, a cold knot forming in her stomach as the memory of the argument with Asmodeus flashed through her mind—the raw anger, the public display, the sickening realization that she was probably just another conquest to him, a novelty to be discarded. She knew his fury wasn’t truly about her, but about the hollow victory he craved, the phantom thrill of adding another notch to his bedpost.

"Darling, are you awake?” Diane Nymphaea asked, her voice hushed with the breathless urgency of a mother who had successfully executed a major social coup. She was already dressed, looking immaculate.

Lyra pushed herself up on her elbows. “I am now, Mom,” she grumbled, sitting up against the headboard. “Why couldn’t you just let me sleep in?”

Diane's eyes sparkled as she looked down at Lyra. “It was a triumph, Lyra! A social triumph! Tell me everything! Who did you dance with? Were there many gods? Was the food divine?"

"It was… fine,” Lyra began, choosing her words carefully, avoiding any mention of temples or passionate desks. “I danced a bit. I didn’t try any of the food, but the champagne was liquid temptation.” She let the detail hang there, a small offering to her mother’s desire for knowledge. “I also met a High Priest, Aurelius Venn, I think? He was from Elio’s temple and is adding to ‘The Book of Natural History.’ He wants to know all about my past to properly record it in the book."

Diane’s eyes widened like saucers, a spark igniting within them. She clapped her hands over her mouth before bringing them down to her chest. “A historian wants to recordourhistory! Oh, Lyra, this is wonderful! We can schedule a time—the whole family can sit down! Your father, your brothers, Anya, Elara, and I! We can provide a comprehensive, guided narrative of your journey! Imagine, Lyra, our name preserved in the pantheon’s history!"

Lyra suppressed a groan, the sarcasm bubbling up before she could stop it. “Oh, if I wanted to be publicly humiliated by recounting all my failures for posterity, I could do it myself easy enough, thanks but no thanks."

"Shush, Lyra! Be happy! This is major validation,” Diane scolded, though her joy was too bright to be truly sharp. She perched on the edge of the bed, leaning forward conspiratorially. “We will only present the polished version of our lives. Now, tell me, was Petro there? Did Mira say anything? What was everyone wearing? Did you make any new connections?"

Lyra answered vaguely, keeping the chaos safely locked away. “They were all there, Mom. Everyone was beautiful. The dresses were magnificent. I didn’t talk to anyone for very long. It was mostly introductions. Can I get coffee before we talk more?"

Diane’s expression suddenly clouded with anxiety. “And God Petro? Did you manage to have a quiet moment with him? Did you put in a good word for your father’s birthday audience? You know how much he would love that."

Lyra sighed as she slid out of the warm bed. “Unfortunately, I didn’t. He was incredibly busy."

"Of course, God Petro was busy on such a night,” Diane muttered as she soothed her slacks down. “Well, we will simply have to draft a formal letter for you to present to him."

Lyra ignored her, walking toward her closet. She pulled out a fresh pair of jeans and a clean tank top. Her heart felt impossibly lighter as she thought of Alaios, her lips still tingling with the memory of their last, deep kiss. Alaios was waiting.Was he mad at the scene afterwards? Or was he just as excited to see me as Iwas him?The anxious thought of Asmodeus returned, a sudden chill against the warmth Alaios had created.Was Asmodeus hurt by me walking away, or just angry he didn’t get the conquest?She hoped desperately it was the latter, even as a small, foolish part of her feared the former.

Diane’s voice snapped her back to the present. “Lyra, are you really going to wearthat?” She gestured dismissively toward the gray hoodie Lyra was pulling over her head to prepare for her quick escape to the tram.

Lyra sighed, pulling the soft fabric down. “I have to go meet with God Alaios about goddess prep, Mom."

Diane’s eyes narrowed slightly, a calculating look in them. “You’re seeing the God of Strife? Lyra, you need to be careful not to make God Asmodeus jealous. He is a very passionate god, and you don’t want him to get the wrong impression."

Lyra paused, her hand gripping the drawstrings of the hoodie. The words, once spoken, felt like a shield. “He is the epitome of a playboy, Mom. I am nothing more than a fling to someone like that.” Even as she said it, she desperately hoped the words were true. She wasn’t sure what drama would come of it if it wasn’t true.

Chapter twenty-nine

Part 2

Chapter thirty

CHAPTER 24

As peace flourished, the favor of the gods became the currency of society. Those whose devotion was acknowledged by the right god prospered openly, their homes and lands bright with abundance, while the unchosen lingered in shadow, reminded daily of the price of neglect.

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

Alaios stood before his desk, which was currently empty save for a single, thick scroll of parchment. Someone, he didn’t know who, had cleaned the floor up before he got up. He was dressed, as always, in simple, dark garments—a tailored black button-up and trousers—a stark contrast to the flamboyant silks of Asmodeus.

Would she still choose me if she knew Asmodeus would find out?

He ran a calloused thumb over the title of the scroll: Pending Strife Requisitions & Grievances. It was a list of necessary work: diplomatic friction to manage, a border dispute to escalate slightly, a rising tide of civic discontent to guide into productivepolitical action. He tried to focus, to let the cool logic of his domain settle his mind, but the words blurred on the page.

He pushed away from the desk, walking toward the arched window that looked out over the courtyard, his hands coming up to cross over his chest. The stillness of it all was a mockery of the chaos churning beneath his skin.

His mind, sharp and disciplined in all matters, was useless when it came to Lyra. It was the memory of their first meeting that clawed its way back, a vision so vivid it felt like a fresh wound.

Before she even entered his temple, he knew who she was, all the gods did since Seren had told them of the vision of her fate. When she first walked into his temple, not as a defiant supplicant, but as a beaten mortal seeking shelter from a world that was already trying to tear her apart. He hadn’t been waiting for her; he had simply been there, standing on the upper balcony, nestled in the shadows where he could observe without being seen. He knew she would come to his temple eventually since she had been denied by all the others.

He'd watched the nervous woman approach the front desk; her shoulders hunched against invisible pressure. Her hand had run through her soft, auburn hair. And then the tears. They had shimmered, thick and heartbreaking, in the corners of her mossy green eyes, diamonds of despair that she desperately tried to blink away. He had followed her out, stepping onto the grand steps of the temple, watching her walk away, consumed by her rejection. He had remembered that same rejection from when he was a mortal.