Page 58 of Lies Among Gods

Her gaze fell back on the clipboard, a document that represented commitments she wasn’t even aware of being pushed on her. “Amelisse,” Lyra began, her voice smooth, forcing a casual tone. “The meeting with the Chief Registrar—the registration can’t possibly bethaturgent, can it? I mean, what’s one day in the grand scheme of the pantheon? Perhaps we could push that to the afternoon, or even tomorrow?"

Amelisse’s cool composure remained intact, but her lips betrayed a slight tightening at the corners. “Goddess, the Registrar’s time is scheduled in advance. He has been setting aside time every day for you for months to be prepared for your arrival. Delaying the registration setup immediately puts you behind the required schedule for establishing a congregation.Besides, the Registrar is located in the adjacent building. It is only a one-hour appointment. May I ask why you would wish to reschedule?"

Lyra knew the lie would have to be flawless, a perfectly constructed facade. But the self-command she needed felt like brittle glass, ready to shatter at any moment. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, a faint, cool breeze ruffling her hair as she brought a hand to her forehead. “I just feel… a lingering fatigue from the ascension process. Seren’s law briefing, while vital, sounds like quite the energy drain. I feel I should have a moment of solitude between the more taxing duties. Could we perhaps replace that slot with a necessary ‘contemplative pause’?"

Amelisse studied her, her expression unreadable as her eyes went up and down Lyra. She gave a curt nod. “I will adjust the schedule, Goddess. A thirty-minute private recess will be inserted at noon, followed by a revised briefing with Seren. I will inform her of the unavoidable delay. I trust this contemplative time will be of help?"

"Of course, Amelisse,” Lyra replied, her internal relief a frantic flutter.Will it be enough time to sneak off to see Alaios? I hope so otherwise I’ll be late.A small smile curved her lips.“Pure contemplation."

Amelisse, oblivious to the conniving going on, glanced at a discreet watch on her wrist. “Your family is already waiting in the small dining hall for an audience with you, Goddess."

Lyra nodded and said, “Show me the way."

Lyra followed Amelisse into the small dining hall. The room was elegant but understated, with tall, arched windows overlooking a quiet garden. The air was rich with the scent of baked goods, fresh fruit, and strong coffee—a comforting, grounded aroma that was immediately displaced by a rush of emotion.

Before Lyra could even survey the room, her mother, Diane, swept forward. A sharp cry escaped Diane’s lips as she slammed into Lyra, wrapping her in a fierce, bone-crushing embrace that stole the air from Lyra’s lungs. Raw, uncontrolled sobs wracked Diane’s body.

"My baby! My pebble! You’re back! Oh, I thought I’d lost you forever!” Diane gasped, clinging to Lyra with a desperate strength that bordered on painful. “Six months! Do you know what six months of silence does to a mother, Lyra?” The warmth of Diane’s hug ebbed, a gentle pulling away. Diane’s fingertips grazed her skin as she pulled back, her hands brushing softly against Lyra’s cheeks. “We went to the God of Lust, who told us nothing. Then we went to the God of Strife so many times, begging for news, and he just gave us those cold, empty answers. No one could tell us what was going on.” Diane cupped Lyra’s face. “You broke your poor father’s heart."

Pollo, his face pale and drawn but his eyes shining with relief, moved in to embrace Lyra, pushing Diane aside. “Lyra, thank the gods you’re safe,” he murmured, holding her tightly. “We prayed every day. Every single day for your safe return, and here you are."

Orin and Cadence’s hugs were tight, yet gentle, a silent embrace that spoke volumes.

"We heard the announcement, sis,” Orin said, pulling back to look at her with unconcealed pride. “Goddess of Rain! It’s incredible. Really setting the bar high for the rest of the family, huh?"

Lyra shook her head as she looked at Orin. “Look who’s talking, Mr. City Council.”

"Welcome back, Lyra,” Cadence added, his voice thick with emotion. “Next time you decide to die and come back as a goddess, maybe give us a little warning first. We were so scared. I’m just so relieved to see you standing here."

As they settled around the mahogany table, Diane refused to release her. She sat next to Lyra, one hand constantly stroking Lyra’s hair, pressing it against her cheek, as if she needed constant, physical confirmation of Lyra’s return.

"Tell us, pebble,” Pollo urged gently, leaning forward. “What did you go through? What are the trials like? They wouldn’t tell us much other than to be patient while you fought. Was it just terrible? Did you miss your mother’s pot roast?"

Lyra looked at their faces—the raw, naked worry in her mother’s eyes, the quiet exhaustion in her father’s, the sincere concern from her brothers. She couldn’t bring herself to describe the blood, the seductive lies, and the crushing guilt of killing. The messy, violent truth of her ascent would only terrify them, or worse, shatter their image of the glorious destiny they craved for her.

"It was… challenging,” Lyra said, offering a carefully constructed half-truth. She reached for the most clinical, least emotional aspect of her experience. “But I learned to command. I learned how to harness the elements. All the chaos I held inside, I had to figure out how to direct it.” She gave a tired, small smile. “I had to learn how to choose where the rain falls, and where it doesn’t. It was a lot more work than I could begin to describe."

Diane immediately latched onto the performance aspect. Her fingers, which had been stroking Lyra’s hair, now began to gently adjust the strap of the dress. “You look lovely, darling, but you need to sit up straight. You are a goddess now. Straighten your shoulders, Lyra. Hold yourself like the divinity you are. You must look the part so people will treat you properly."

The gentle command was so quintessentially her mother that Lyra couldn’t help but look at her, a profound rush of missing her washing over the frustration of being told who to be again. Despite the endless, suffocating pressure for perfection, this washer family, the messy, complicated people she had fought for. She reached out, covering her mother’s fretful hand with her own. “I missed you, Mom,” she whispered, the honesty in her voice raw and emotional.

“I missed you too,” Diane whispered. “Every day, every hour, every minute, every second.”

“You must be hungry,” Pollo said as he dug into the food.

Diane looked at Lyra and brushed hair off her cheek. “Now you can start paying me back the money you owe me. I have kept a ledger so I wouldn’t forget.”

Lyra looked at her mother’s knowing smirk and a flash of amusement in Diane’s eyes, and a full-bodied laugh, rich and rumbling, erupted from her chest.

Diane’s spoon clinked against the porcelain as she scooped steaming food onto Lyra’s plate, the symphony of overlapping voices a chaotic buzz around her. A genuine smile, the first since she returned, touched her lips. The warm, savory aroma of the meal mingled with the faint scent of her mother’s perfume. She listened, the familiar cadence of her family’s chatter washing over her as they recounted the past six months, a comforting wave of sound.

Chapter forty-eight

CHAPTER 42

The sky did not open in war—it opened in surrender. Clouds coiled and parted, releasing not lightning, not flame, but a girl rewritten by the heavens. Lyra Nymphaea descended as rain does—softly, inevitably, carrying the weight of becoming in every breath.

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