by Sara Raasch
Madoc placed a hand on Elias’s shoulder blade, and the small quake stopped.
“You see?” Biotus roared. “She can’t even get Geoxus’s architects to properly fix this palace!”
Madoc and Elias jumped aside, hiding behind a statue on the opposite side of the wall just before Biotus tore out of the room. He was fuming, a bull driven to fury, draped in the furs of the animals he mastered and smelling strangely of salt water. When he stormed down the corridor toward the party, Madoc gave a quick nod to Elias.
“Make sure he doesn’t come back this way,” he whispered.
“Right,” Elias said, then, “Watch yourself.”
He hurried down the hall, keeping quiet.
The inside of the library was now still, and before Madoc entered, he straightened the dark silk of his toga and lifted his chin. This would have to be quick. Subtle. Like tithing pain from a mortal and leaving the rest intact.
Aera had so much energeia that surely she wouldn’t notice if he took a little—that was all Ash needed.
He stepped into the library. For a moment, he thought he’d missed his chance. He didn’t see Aera, only a dusty pile of scrolls on the floor to his right that had fallen in Elias’s quake, and the rows of full shelves that remained. The room glowed with the pale-green light from a dozen phosphorescent stones embedded in the walls and scattered across the ceiling like stars, and he squinted through the dim light for any sign of the goddess or her guards.
It was the breeze that reached him first. It ruffled the ends of his toga and brushed softly over his skin, carrying the scent of old parchment and ink. It reminded him of the orders he used to carry from the foreman at the quarry to the masons who churned mortar. The feel of the thin paper in his hand. A simpler time when he was pigstock, and Elias had never been to prison, and his biggest concern was if Cassia would trade her chores for his.
“A goddess doesn’t need a mortal boy coming to her rescue.”
Aera’s voice seemed to come from all around him, tracing over his skin, ruffling his hair. Had she seen him and Elias outside? He hoped she didn’t suspect that he’d been trying to get her alone.
She appeared from one of the shelves to his left, the pale-blue cloth of her short gown glowing in the stones’ light. Her golden hair was tied up in a dozen knots, the ends brushing her bare shoulders, and a small pout tilted her lips.
“I’m sorry, Goddess,” he said. He bowed his head. “I heard raised voices. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
She moved closer, so silent he couldn’t hear her footsteps. As she neared, he could make out the translucence of her gown—the curve of her breasts beneath the lace, and lower, the small swell of her belly.
He looked to the ground. Then up. His gaze finally landed on her arm, which was marked by a bruise the size of a gripping hand.
Biotus had hurt her.
It brought a sudden surge of anger—and regret for what he was here to do.
“What else did you hear?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “I only felt the anger and worry.”
She passed him, the breeze rising, then falling around her. For a panicked moment, he thought she meant to leave, but her hand paused on the door handles, and she pulled them closed.
He was alone with Aera.
“My brother thinks he can push everyone around just because he’s strong enough to do it,” she said. “He learned that from Geoxus.”
Madoc’s teeth clenched at the mention of the god of earth, who had used him in the arena, and would have made him a weapon to take over the world.
Not for the first time, Madoc wondered why Aera, and even Biotus, had sided with Anathrasa when the Mother Goddess was just as power-hungry as Geoxus had been. Surely they knew the danger of getting close to her, so why did they risk it? Why wouldn’t they try to eliminate Anathrasa, like Hydra and Florus?
“Biotus was soft in the beginning. Geoxus always picked on him because of it. It didn’t take long for Biotus to realize that nobody bullies the bully.”
“You pity him.” Madoc could feel it, the soft weight of her sympathy. He tried to reach for it, the way he had the pain of those he’d tithed on this week, but she slipped out of his grasp.
“If I did, you wouldn’t tell him, would you?” She turned to face him, leaning against the door. There was amusement in the curl of her lips, but Madoc could feel the apprehension behind it.
“I wouldn’t tell him,” he said.
“Then we have a secret,” she said. “Should we trade another?”
Her smile widened, and when she walked toward him, her hips swaying softly, he got a very bad feeling. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“What do you have in mind?” he asked.
“I want to know why you’re here, Madoc.”
He swallowed. Forced a smile. “And if I tell you, what will I get in return?” He was stalling, but she seemed to like the game. “Maybe I’ll give you another one of my secrets.”
“Why you’re here?” he asked.
She laughed at this. Her fingers curled around one lock of her hair. “So what really brought you back to Crixion after taking my brothers’ energeias?”
He went still, feeling the weight of her threat.
Whatever she tried, he needed to be ready. Ash could not beat Anathrasa without aereia.
“Maybe I wanted to see the gladiator games.”
Aera’s grin was deadly. “Just because I’m beautiful doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I saw your face during the fight. You find the games crude.” She came closer, reaching for his wrist and tugging it gently toward her, until his fingers were spread over her hip. A sense of wrongness shot through him as the soft fabric of her dress bunched under his damp palm. He knew gods took mortal lovers, but he had no intention of being one.
He belonged to someone else.
“No,” she whispered. “The Soul Divine champion, a mortal so untouchable he can steal the power from a god, does not surrender to anyone without a reason.” Her fingers trailed over the back of his hand, making his stomach clench.
He inhaled. Exhaled. He had to give Aera enough truth to keep her from sensing his lies, but not so much that she’d kill him now, or run to the Mother Goddess with stories of treason.
“I am loyal to Anathrasa,” he said. “I had information about Hydra for her.”
His mouth went dry as Aera’s gaze narrowed.
“And what did you learn about my dear sister?”
“That’s two secrets,” he said. “And I still haven’t heard yours.”
They both knew she could have ended him right then for his insolence—there was no such thing as a bargain between a mortal and a god. But Madoc could feel her intrigue, and he needed that if she was going to remain unsuspecting of what he planned to do.
“Very well,” she said with an amused smile. “You want to know why I’m here? It’s because only a fool challenges the Mother Goddess. I played this game before. I sided against her with my brothers and sister, and look where that got us.” She huffed. “There will be those who stand beside Anathrasa, and those who die, and I don’t plan on ending a long life the way Geoxus and Ignitus did. I want much more, and I’ll have it, even if it means pledging my allegiance to that hornet in a white dress and pretending to like my big brother.”
He shifted and slowly withdrew his hand from her hip. He was certain now that Aera didn’t know Anathrasa’s plan to drain her power—she was siding with the Mother Goddess because she thought they’d win. What the “much more” was that Aera had mentioned, Madoc didn’t know, but it was enough to keep her holding Biotus back when he would have rushed into an attack on the Apuit Islands.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, her voice amused and high. “Going to run to your mother and tell her I called her a name?”
He shook his head.
“You look frightened.” She smoothed a hand over her hip, right where his had just been. “Does a woman’s form not please you?”
/> He swallowed thickly, training his gaze on her bare feet as she stopped before him.
“That’s more questions,” he said.
She laughed. “What’s wrong, Madoc?” At the use of his name, his eyes lifted to hers, finding them round and painfully curious. “Deiman women don’t honor their bodies the way my Lak women do. We’re proud of our shapes. Our lines.” Her hand slid down her waist to her hip, and then across her stomach. “Our valleys.” She gave a quiet laugh. “We invite others to honor them. We enjoy being worshipped.”
He cleared his throat.
Focus, he told himself. Take her energeia. Give it to Ash.
He reached toward her with his consciousness, but she moved quickly to his other side, as evasive as the current of air that carried her floral scent.
“Have you ever been with a woman, Madoc?”
An undeniable flush crept up his chest, up his throat, heating his jaw. The question was so direct he felt pinned to the spot. The fact that she was asking at all felt like a betrayal to Ash—this conversation was something he certainly did not want Ash to hear.
“I . . .”
He swallowed. Laughed awkwardly.
Aera smirked.
He couldn’t chance pushing her away. He needed to steal her power for Ash, and to do that, he needed Aera to think she had his full attention.
It was just an act. A role, like the one he’d played in the street fights when he and Elias had tricked crowds of people into believing he was Earth Divine. Even if this was a goddess and not some brute with geoeia, he could still pretend.
He had to, or she’d see him for the traitor he was.
A slow smile turned his lips.
“What will you tell me if I answer?”
Aera’s hand flattened on his chest, and he hated the heat that rose to his skin, and the way his heart pounded in response—half in panic, half in awe. She was a goddess, after all, and . . .
He shoved the thought from his mind. Ash touched him there—only Ash. But she was across the ocean, training, preparing to destroy the Mother Goddess.
Counting on him to do this one small thing.
Once again he reached for Aera’s energeia, but it slipped out of his grasp. She was cunning, as Anathrasa had said, though he doubted Aera guessed his intent. She was like the wind, ever moving, impossible to pin down.
He needed her to be still. To relax.
To trust him.
“Did you love her?” Aera asked. Her fingers climbed up to his shoulder, sliding beneath the silk. Her hand was warm, and when he inhaled, he felt dizzy, as if there wasn’t enough air in the room.
“Yes,” he whispered, hating that the first time he confessed his true feelings, it was to another woman. For a moment, he closed his eyes and let Aera’s touch be Ash’s. Her hand on his shoulder. Her body, pressing against his side. It was weak, and wrong. He hated himself for it.
He missed Ash so much he could barely breathe.
He could barely breathe. But it wasn’t because of Ash.
“Do you love her still?” Aera asked, as his breaths became shallower.
Always.
He wanted to push Aera’s hands away. Leave this room. Find Ash and forget all of it. But he couldn’t. His hands were starting to tingle with numbness. His head was growing fuzzy. He breathed in the perfume of her skin and was intoxicated.
“What happened to the energeias you stole from my brothers?” she whispered, the change in topic catching Madoc off guard. “What did you learn from Hydra that sent you running home to Mother?”
Panic dripped through his blood. He reached out again, but Aera’s energeia was too difficult to hold. She was using her power on him, he was sure of that now. He needed to do something to change the tides. Now, before she overwhelmed him.
There was no way to win without playing her game, however much he detested the idea.
“Those are things you should talk to Anathrasa about,” he said, and Aera quirked an eyebrow.
Before she could speak again, steal any more of the air in the room, he kissed her.
He wasn’t gentle—he could feel her desire, full of selfish expectations, and gave in to what she wanted. Her lips were cold against his, and when he took her cheeks between his hands, she gasped in delight, snatching his breath. Black rims formed around his vision, and his knees buckled. Her laughter rang in his ears as they fell to the marble floor, and soon she was on top of him, straddling his hips, her hands spread over his chest. She bit his lower lip, her teeth like ice, and his anathreia surged in panic.
He fought for control of his body and mind, focusing on the pulse of her whipping energeia. He reached for it with the last threads of his focus, sealing his lips to hers in a kiss so wrong it turned his stomach. She laughed into his mouth, clouding his brain, and he flipped them over, pressing her to the floor with his body, sickened by the high purr of her moan in his ear.
But he had her. And as he kissed her again, he could feel the edges of her control soften and give way just enough to sip on the cool rush of her aereia.
Fourteen
ASH
ASH FADED INTO flames, leaving the bay outside of Florus’s palace behind.
Madoc. Go to Madoc.
But at the last moment, she redirected her thoughts. She couldn’t very well appear in an inferno randomly in Geoxus’s palace. She didn’t know where Madoc was—and what if he was with Anathrasa? She had to be discreet.
She let her intention pull her toward the palace. There were a number of small rooms off each hall, storage and servants’ closets. She picked one she remembered from her last time there and appeared in a wash of blue and orange fire.
Flames still on her arms, she waited should anyone be there, ready to attack. But the closet was empty, a storeroom with barrels of dried goods, crates of linens, and unmarked boxes.
Ash exhaled in relief and crept to the door.
The hall beyond was quiet, but somewhere nearby swelled with music and the conversation of a party. Her frustration grew—a party meant lots of people, which meant Ash would have a harder time finding Madoc.
She cracked the door to the hall open and called on igneia again.
With Ignitus dead, more flames were alive in Crixion now. A few burned in the party—a fire crackled with fresh-roasted pork; a flame warmed a few different bowls of food.
Ash gasped as wonder filled her, warm and effervescent. She could see the terrace as if she were standing there, the flames as good as eyes, just as she’d looked in on Igna.
People danced in bright, jewel-toned gowns, laughter pealing. The laughter was forced, though, and the smiles rigid. This party was for show only.
And at the head of the room sat Anathrasa, a goblet in one hand, a chiseled smile on her face.
Rage churned in Ash’s gut, as hot as the fire she watched through, but she forced herself to stay back. Madoc wasn’t at the party, and she couldn’t very well confront Anathrasa now.
Ash broadened her awareness. A few lanterns burned in the stable yard; a fire smoldered in the kitchens; a candle was lit in the library—
There.
Ash felt Madoc’s presence more than saw him. She gasped, sucking back into herself, and scrambled through the closet until she found a box of new servants’ uniforms, simple gray tunics with leather belts. She pulled one on and eased out into the hall, using a towel to rub at the soot and blood on her face. She didn’t want anyone to see her and shout about an attack.
Self-consciously, she didn’t want Madoc to see her like this, either.
The thought twisted her stomach sharply. He had seen her look far worse than this, but something about this reunion felt important. Ash missed him in ways she hadn’t let herself realize, and she wanted to run into the library and throw her arms around him and forget everything that had happened for one precious minute.
She reached the library doors and tamped down her enthusiasm. Hand on the knob, she slowly opened one door.
There
were voices speaking. Madoc wasn’t alone. What had she seen through the candle flame? Just the shape of him, the feel of him—
The voices changed. They weren’t voices at all, but a laugh here, a rustle there. The smack of something falling to the stone floor.
Ash rushed inside, igneia waiting in her chest, ready. But she restrained herself; she had to be cautious, patient like the stones around her, steady like geoeia.
The small library was circular, bookshelves looping around it in spiraling rows. Ash crept up an aisle, keeping to the shadows, following the noises to the middle of the library.
The aisle between the bookshelves ended, the shelves creating a perfect circle around the marble floor.
On that floor, just beneath a massive unlit chandelier, was Madoc—on top of a woman.
Ash’s first thought was that he was fighting her, and she lurched forward.
The movement yanked Madoc’s attention up to her, pulling his lips off the woman’s mouth.
Ash’s mind seized.
Had . . . had he been kissing her?
Ash shrank back into the shadows as the woman followed Madoc’s gaze.
“Madoc?” The woman’s voice was drunk. “Madoc—you—”
She shrieked and shoved her hands against his chest, and a funnel of air kicked up and launched Madoc off her, blowing him against the far bookcase. He almost didn’t seem to care; he was still watching the spot where Ash had been, his eyes wide, horror written in the planes of his face.
The woman regained her composure with a laugh. “Were you trying to use your powers on me?” Her voice was thin, trying to force lightness, but she was clearly shaken.
“Is . . . is that another question, goddess?” His voice wavered, but he held his ground, jaw clenched.
Goddess . . . so that was Aera?
Ash stumbled back again, her spine hitting the bookshelf behind her, and she lifted a hand to her mouth, pushing her lips together, fighting a scream.
Madoc and the goddess of air?
Aera glared at Madoc. Her lips spread in a slow smile. “Don’t toy with me, mortal.”