“The parchment. I’ll go ahead and sign. Sevryn said you were going to get the High Chancellor to bring it to me after your meetings anyway.”
I cut my eyes at Sevryn. Damn big mouth.
The parchment and pen appear, and I pass it over to him wordlessly.
I hate to admit it, but a touch of relief flutters through me. I was stressing his big ass would also refuse Ellian, then if any of the gods we’re about to meet said no as well, I would’ve been royally screwed.
“We’ll be here when you get back,” he swears, and I gesture for him to hand Yemi the parchment.
My attention moves to Mara, and I return her promising nod.
“Sevryn, get them caught up on the plan and we’ll be back soon.”
He smirks, giving me his middle finger just as our starshoots take us to the Sanctum.
He’s a little shit.
I can’t believe he asked him to come with us.
Him, Yemi, Iric, Doren, Nero, me, and Creed’s death swords would have been fine…
Maybe.
I scowl at the obsidian statues outside the Sanctum with a little more hatred in my heart than I’ve always had. Except for maybe Derivius’s. I detest his for the simple fact they’ve smoothed out his face when it should’ve been that vile bitch’s.
“Thayla, you coming?” Yemi asks, pulling me out of my glaring.
“Yeah, sorry.”
I don’t spare the obsidian stones another look as we march through the doors. We follow the familiar halls, and when we pass where we’d turn to go to Kyzen’s old office, my stomach cramps painfully. I breathe through it and carry on to the Chancellor’s hall.
As we approach Ellian’s office—which is Harriseen’s old one—laughter seeps through the wood and some of my tension fades.
At Yemi’s encouraging nod, I knock on the door.
“Come in,” Ellian calls out.
I give Lambrit a quick smile before focusing on the unfamiliar god. Warmth fills my chest with his sweet, tender gaze. I’m honestly a little shocked to see some age about him.
I mean, it takes millennia after millennia for us to look a day over thirty. The Beginning Gods never really age. So the fact he has wrinkles around his eyes and smile lines says something about how long and how much he’s lived through.
“Ah, you must be the infamous Ms. Thayla Godrun. I’m Quillin, God of Scripture. Your brother has been babbling about you since the moment we were introduced. No matter how much I ask about him, he diverts the conversation back to you.”
My lips twitch as I peek over at Lambrit. He’s beaming from ear to ear with a satisfied smirk on his mouth.
“I’m happy to hear it was all good things.” I arch a teasing brow. “Right?”
“Yes, yes. Come sit. He tells me you have a very interesting story to tell.”
“Oh,” I mutter, casting my eyes from him to Ellian, to Lambrit. “Well, truth be told, it’s really not my story to tell.”
“Nonsense. We all have a perspective. Let me hear yours.”
What he’s asking for is pretty big. It’s seriously not my place to tell the guys’ story. At least not every detail.
Once again, I seek Lambrit out.
He gives me a minuscule dip of his head, and I take a deep breath.
