Godmaker (Jeweled Goddess Book 1)

by Ingrid Seymour

  Our fingers touch.

  Her eyes dart toward Aristo, distrustfully. Her mouth tightens for an instant, then she seems to make a decision.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to say goodbye,” Elina says. “I wanted to, but . . .” She looks at her hand.

  Maybe I should follow her meaning, but I don’t. My head spins and nothing seems real.

  She stretches until she almost topples over the wall. She presses her fist to my flat palm, then deposits something hard into it. I wrap my fingers around it and bring it to my chest.

  “I love you, Bia. Go out there and win.”

  Win? How could I win?

  The pain in my side eases. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs to the brim. My vision clears. I blink, surprised.

  I almost open my hand to look at what Elina has given me but, somehow, I keep my wits about me and manage to refrain.

  My eyes flick to Aristo who’s still supporting my weight. Did he notice Elina giving me something? There’s no awareness in his eyes, only a sort of weariness.

  Warmth spreads from my hand to the rest of my body. I want to take a peek so badly, but I don’t really need to. I know what lies in my hand without looking at it.

  A Godjewel, one she must have honed to perfection just for me.

  I recall the beautiful, green pyramid she made two days ago, the one that spellbound me.

  Go out there and win, she said.

  I look back up. “Romer,” I say.

  She shakes her head, understanding my meaning right away. “You!” she says emphatically.

  The weakness that had taken over my body falls away, and I feel . . . strong. I peel away from Aristo, thanking him. I press my fist to my side, pretending to still hurt, and limp away from him.

  Elina is breaking the rules by giving me this jewel. She must have honed it without permission and didn’t report it to the Godleaders. This is why she’s been acting strange.

  She has unleashed my Godskill, the way she always said she would! My mind tries to label the fact “impossible,” but she’s actually done it. I can feel it in my bones. Though I don’t know exactly what it is. Self-healing? The wound doesn’t hurt anymore, so maybe that’s it.

  Chaos!

  Elina could lose everything for this offense. I have to tread carefully. I should kill Aristo now. I look back at him. His gaze seems lost in a past moment, perhaps the one when his sword slid past Rocas’s kidneys. He looks so scared, so full of regret.

  I shake my head. I can’t kill him—not when he just saved my life.

  No. There’s a better solution. I can pardon him, then he would be out of the trials, out of Joya d’Diosa. And if he saw something, he would be unable to tell anyone. But what if I need to pardon someone else?

  Romer is the first one that comes to mind. Though it’s ridiculous. I could never beat him, not with a skill as feeble as self-healing.

  Delfos might need me though. I could definitely pardon him.

  Something appears at the corner of my eye, moves swiftly.

  “Aristo, watch out!” I scream without thinking. He ducks instinctively. A dagger whistles a hand’s width from his head, crashes against the Albasino arena wall and falls to the ground.

  Aristo looks up at me, a mixture of gratitude and surprise in his gaze. He never expected me to repay the favor, which means what he did for me must have been done selflessly—even if we’ve never been friends.

  “I need to find my friends,” I say, before he gets the wrong idea. I already have an alliance, and I’m supposed to be helping them. Aristo and I are even, now. I don’t owe him anything.

  I walked away slowly and tentatively, while all I want to do is sprint in search of Romer and Delfos. I go right, staying away from the smoke and testing the wound at my side. I feel only a small twinge.

  Looking to the sky, I try to spot Romer. I don’t see him anywhere, so he must be fighting on the ground. Next I look for Delfos’s blond mane, but nothing. I wonder if they got to Meristo.

  Holy Chaos, let them be alright.

  I skip over one of the many mounds of dirt that mark the arena. Terra d’Citrina must be busy, tripping Potentials with her earth-element Godskill. Ahead of me, Fausto kneels over a prone body. He growls like a beast and stands, dislodging his sword from his fallen opponent.

  My heart hammers against my chest as I look at his victim, wishing to Chaos it isn’t Romer or Delfos, but it’s Terra, that sweet girl who enjoyed shaping horses and flowers from wet sand, using only her skill.

  Her face is a fleshy disaster, slowly seeping blood. Her limbs twitch at intervals.

  Suddenly, Fausto’s head swivels in my direction. He squares his shoulders and forgets all about Terra.

  “If it isn’t Skillbarren d’Esmeralda,” he says in his usual condescending tone.

  He’s not a rightful God either, but he found his Godskill jewel when he was eight, which allows him to incinerate anything he touches, even life itself.

  “I hear Godleader Helena has placed bets against her own daughter,” Fausto says, then with a shrug, “But who hasn’t? I would, if I could.”

  He takes a few sideways steps, sizing me up. We have fought our share of battles through the years. He was always the decisive winner, so he doesn’t seem the least bit worried.

  I want to lunge forward to erase that satisfied smile off his face, but I need to appear weak. I’m supposed to be injured. Tightening my fist, relishing the feel of the jewel in my hand, I wait. There’s a grimace of disgust on my face, but I hope it passes for the pain I should be feeling after Rocas almost sliced me in half.

  My acting makes Fausto’s nasty smile deepen. He comes at me with an underhand blow, slashing upward. I tighten the grip on my sword and block him. I yelp as my sword flies upward, broken at the hilt. I jump back, but not fast enough, and Fausto manages to brush my arm with his free hand.

  My skin sizzles. The pain is excruciating. I clench my teeth, tears pooling in my eyes. I will the pain to pass, but it only seems to deepen. I’ve heard his touch is as hot as Godfire and would give you a death just as horrifying. His fingers are imprinted on my biceps, and I feel his phantom grip down to my bones.

  When the pain finally dies down, my eyes snap to his, anger roiling inside my chest.

  Fausto laughs as another drumbeat resonates. “Don’t be so mad. There’s no use. In a moment, it won’t matter.” He demonstrates toward my broken sword. “You’ll be dead sooner than expected.”

  I blink and look at what rests in my hand. A useless, mangled hilt. I drop it, head reeling. What happened to it? The jewel that I turned to dust in Elina’s workshop shines brightly in my memory.

  Chaos, what is my Godskill?!

  I snap back to the moment as Fausto attacks. I moved out of his way and scramble for a sword near where Terra lies. I find only a shield. I pick it up and slip my left arm through its leather bands.

  My Godjewel remains tightly clasped inside my fist. I must hold on to it at all costs. It’s my lifeline. The only thing that might be able to keep me in the trials to the end, the chance to live the way I’m meant to, and not to mention, the thing that might help me prove to Mother how wrong she is about me.

  Fausto lands a blow on my shield. Its force is considerable, but my arm doesn’t move even a bit. With a delayed reaction, I pretend to stagger backward.

  Strength! The Godjewel gives me strength!

  Fausto attacks again and again. I block him every time and put my acting skills to the test.

  Another drumbeat sounds and, this time, I have a chance to look up. Godfire orbs form the number XXV against the night sky.

  I feel as if I could stand here all night, blocking Fausto’s blows, but I have no time for that. Though I have no idea how to take him out without revealing my strength. Instead, I try to run, but he takes chase.

  Letting my fighting instincts take over, I pivot abruptly and run back in his direction. He tries to stop, but I slide and swipe his feet from under him. A
s he falls, I jump on top of him and strike him across the face with my shield, trying to hold back to some degree.

  But I realize, too late, that pulling my punches is not enough. His skull cracks with a sickening wet sound that makes my mouth go bitter. I pretend to hit him a few more times, my stomach tumbling in disgust. Anyone paying attention will think I’m a mad warrior willing to bludgeon someone into a pulp to get what I want, but a normal blow for me would never cause this kind of damage, so I have to pretend.

  When I stand, panting, Godline Esmeralda bursts into cheers. They chant my name, something I never imagined possible. I chance a glance toward the Godleaders as if I’ll be able to see Mother’s expression, but all I see is thirteen figures, sitting very still.

  Another drumbeat. Thirty left.

  As I look down from the Godfire orbs, Romer flies into the sky. A vine lashes up like a whip and twines around his ankle. It stretches taut, and Romer stops midair. He hacks at it, but another has his other ankle before he manages to cut the first.

  I’m coming, Romer.

  I run in his direction at a full pelt, until I remember I’m supposed to be injured. If I live to answer any questions about today, I’ll blame a burst of adrenaline. Right now, I need to get to my friend.

  Chapter 12

  To my relief, no one stands in my way as I run toward Romer.

  He’s holding on, hacking at Meristo’s vines, though he has lost altitude. I’m still some distance away when, out of the corner of my eye, the air ripples to my right.

  A swinging sword suddenly appears in midair, leveled with my neck.

  I duck and fall to my knees. My momentum carries me forward. Grass jumps in the air as I slide. I dig a hand into the ground and, when I finally come to a stop, jump back on my feet, my back to Romer. Two bodies lie to my right. I relieve a fallen Potential of her sword and tap it against my shield.

  Odella and Ynes position themselves to my right and left. Ynes creates an illusion to cloak Odella. I can see her through rippling air, but it’s still difficult to fight a blur.

  Delfos, where are you?!

  I hope he’s fine, but right now it’s up to Romer and me.

  “I’ll keep Odella away from you, Romer,” I scream, unsure of whether he can hear me or not. If he does, he can at least focus on fighting Meristo, though I’m not sure how easy that will be when he’s busy hacking vines.

  Staying away from the blur that is Odella, I go for Ynes. We exchange a few blows. With difficulty, I moderate my new strength, trying to match hers. It takes a few tries before I manage to make my movements feel natural. I keep twirling, forcing Ynes into Odella’s path.

  Letting out grunts of frustration, Odella pushes Ynes aside and jumps forward, thrusting her sword toward my stomach. I block her with ease and, slashing downward, graze her thigh. Blood spurts out. She pulls back, surprise and fear in her eyes.

  “You cut me, you beast,” she says. “You’ll pay for that.”

  Ignoring her, I throw a quick glance over my shoulder in Romer’s direction and find him on the ground, hacking away at a tangle of vines shaped like a bird cage. Meristo stands protected in the middle, looking bored.

  “Romer, stop!” He will tire before Meristo ever runs out of vines.

  Frustration getting the better of me, I block one of Ynes blows with my shield, push without measuring my strength, and send her flying into Odella.

  They both fall to the ground like hollow dolls, legs tangling.

  Odella pushes Ynes off. “Get off me, you lashing fool!”

  I’m about to go to Romer when I notice the mass of blond hair I was looking for earlier. Delfos is down, pinned between the ground and Bario’s sword.

  “Delfos!” I run toward him instead.

  Bario is saying something. I read it on his lips.

  “Descend or die?”

  I stop.

  Bario has always been honorable. Delfos will choose to Descend, and he will be fine. I’m barely done with this thought when Bario staggers sideways, a dagger stuck to his neck. Blood spills out of him in an arching stream. He falls, twitching out of control.

  The dagger’s owner comes running from the left and jumps on Delfos without hesitation. It’s Vera, wielding a second dagger. I begin running again.

  “Stop!” I yell, hoping to distract her, but she never looks my way. It’s obvious from the crazed look in her eyes that she has one simple thought in mind: Death.

  She’s fast, too fast for my friend to react in time. In the blink of an eye, she raises her dagger over Delfos’s heart. My friend splays a hand over Vera’s naked leg, forgetting her Godskill makes her immune to everyone else’s abilities—not that making her blind at this point would make any difference. Her target is chosen.

  Chaos, I’m too far to help!

  Or maybe not . . .

  Faster than naturally possible, I slide my shield off and throw it at Vera. The metal disk flies, spinning at a tremendous speed. It zings through the air and hits its mark. Vera’s head snaps back. She titters for a moment, then falls, her neck bent at an disturbing angle.

  Delfos shakes and rears his head, looking for his savior. He spots me, but his eyes keep searching.

  “Snap out of it and get over here,” I yell.

  He stands, holding both arms out for balance. He looks as disoriented as a drunkard. After a quick shake of his head, he seems to regain some focus, picks up his sword, and joins me.

  “Did you just . . . ?” he begins, then seems to decide it’s a stupid question.

  I ignore him and urge him forward. “Romer is this way. Stay behind me. Odella and Ynes are near.”

  We get to Meristo who’s still inside his vine cage. The others aren’t there, not even Romer. Our plan is useless with Meristo inside that thing. I wonder how long he can stay there before he gets disqualified for not fighting.

  I put an arm out and stop Delfos from going further. “Try to spot Romer! I’ll watch for Odella.”

  Another drumbeat.

  “Fifteen drumbeats left,” Delfos says.

  The crowd on one side of the arena cheers, and I do my best to tune it out. Crouching low, I search for disturbances in the air and listen for sounds that shouldn’t be there.

  “There! I see him!” Delfos says, then calls in his booming voice, “Romer. Rom—”

  I spin to look at Delfos. There is a startled look in his pale eyes. Slowly, he turns his sword and presses the tip to his stomach. His large hands slide up along the sharp blade, as he prepares to stab himself. I reach out and manage to bat the sword down just in time. The weapon flips through the air and impales itself into the ground. Delfos pushes me aside and goes after it. I grab his arm and yank him back so hard that he falls on his backside.

  Circling around my friend to keep him safe, I search for Odella. I’ll kill the beast. No one compels my friend to kill himself and gets off without facing the consequences.

  Delfos tries to stand. I put a hand on his forehead and force him back down. “Stay down, Delfos!” I growl.

  I don’t know how long the effects of Odella’s Godskill will last, but he’s not going anywhere until he gets his reason back. At this point, I don’t care how suspicious it seems that I can hold this giant to the ground with little effort. I’m sure I’m already in trouble as it is. Nearly taking Vera’s head off with my shield won’t be easy to explain.

  I swivel and search, but Odella and Ynes aren’t anywhere to be found. Romer lands a few paces away from Delfos, graceful as a falling leaf.

  “What is wrong with him?” he asks.

  “Odella touched him. He tried to kill himself.”

  “That beast!” Romer exclaims. “How long will it last?”

  “No idea.”

  “Delfos, snap out it!” Romer says as he scans the arena for Odella and her allies.

  “I doubt it’s that easy,” I say.

  “Where in lashing chaos are they?” Romer asks. “I was trying to spot them from above.”
r />   “I don’t know. Even Meristo is gone.” I point out that his vine cage is empty. Or is it? What if all three of them are huddled inside the vines behind one of Ynes’s illusions?

  Delfos tries to get up one more time. I put a finger on his forehead and keep him down.

  “Hey, why did you do that?” he demands.

  I kneel by his side. “Are you alright?”

  “Of course, I’m all right.”

  “Odella touched you. You almost impaled yourself with your own sword.”

  A drumbeat sounds. There are only eight left.

  Delfos growls in frustration. “I don’t even remember.”

  He gets to his feet and looks at his hands. They are cut up and bloody. Shaking his head, he wipes them on his chest plate, leaving huge red streaks behind. He picks up his sword—from the proper end this time.

  We stand with our backs to each other, forming a triangle.

  “What now?” Romer asks. “Wait and live to fight another day?”

  “Yes, maybe we should—”

  There is a wet sound, followed by a grunt and an exhale. I look over my shoulder, a chill going down my spine. A part of me knows what this means, though my brain seems unable to grasp and accept the idea.

  Behind me, Delfos sways on his feet, his own sword stuck to the hilt in the middle of his stomach.

  “No!” I catch him before he collapses and ease him down to the ground.

  Romer falls to his knees on our friend’s other side. “Delfos, Delfos . . . what have you done? No no no.” He puts his hands around the blade and presses down on the wound to stop the blood flow. “You’ll be alright. I pardon you. I pardon you.”

  A streak of red slides down the corner of Delfos’s mouth. His pupils are huge and fixed on a spot high above. I push blond hair off his forehead, my chest growing tight with impotence and grief.

  “I pardon you,” Romer repeats, “and you will go into the southern mountains and find your mother.”

  But Romer can’t pardon him. Only Odella can.

  Delfos’s usually ruddy cheeks are pale. His smiling mouth is twisted into a grimace of pain. Wet coughs rattle his entire body. Romer lowers his head into Delfos’s chest and cries.