Page 63

“What happened, Vidar?”

I set down my fork.

Beyond the balcony, Saint Street glows beneath the evening sky. Music drifts from a nearby restaurant, mingling with the sounds of passing carriages and distant laughter.

Three thousand years ago, I would have heard prayers.

Now I hear Wren breathing across the table.

And somehow, that matters more.

“Nemesis ruled through punishment,” I begin. “She believed mortals existed to serve the gods, and those who refused deserved whatever suffering followed.”

Wren’s smile disappears.

“Sounds charming.”

“She demanded tribute from a village near the mountains. Grain. Livestock. Gold. When the people had nothing left to give, her priests demanded their daughters.”

Wren goes still.

“How old?”

“Some had not yet seen five summers.”

“Oh, God.”

“The villagers refused. They barricaded their homes and hid their children. Nemesis considered their defiance an insult.”

“What did she do?”

“She sent soldiers to burn the village.”

Wren’s fingers tighten around her glass.

“And you stopped them.”

“I tried.”

I look toward the street, but I no longer see New Orleans.

I see flames climbing the walls of a temple.

I hear children screaming.

I smell blood upon the stones.

“Her soldiers surrounded the village before dawn. I destroyed the first company at the northern gate. The second fell before they reached the homes.”

Wren watches me carefully.

“How many men?”

“Enough that Nemesis came herself.”

“And you fought her?”

“I challenged her authority. Told her that any god who demanded the suffering of children had forfeited the right to be worshipped.”