Many times we discussed whether or not we would take another ally if one of us died. The answer was always no. It would be hard to trust someone new at this stage. Most alliances have been settled for a long time. Years, in most cases.
I agree with Romer, but I can’t help but feel bad for Aristo. He has never bothered me. He’s always been mild and quiet, though many seem to dislike him for this very reason, and was not chosen for an alliance. It didn’t help he doesn’t have a deadly Godskill, and there are already too many healers in the citadel.
I guess he’s meant to build, not destroy.
“They played us for fools.” Romer paces the length of his room. It’s not particularly large, so he goes back and forth three times for every breath I take, or so it seems. He walks between his cot and wash basin, cutting the light that streams from the small window in half as he passes.
I stand by the door, feeling trapped. I blame last night’s dreams for that. They took me far away from here to a place where Mother would never find me, to a city with no walls and the freedom to simply live. Useless dreams! I woke up with a knot in my throat that still hasn’t gone away.
“Lashing Odella!” Romer curses. “I want to take her as far up as I can just to let her drop on her head. I swear I’d follow her all the way down just to take pleasure in her terror.”
“Well,” I say, “considering she could compel you to fly at full speed into a wall, she would have to be unconscious for you to take her anywhere. In which case, there’d be no terror to speak of when you drop her.”
“Lash you, Bia! I can dream, can’t I?”
“True, but we’ll need something better than dreams if we don’t want to play the fools again.”
“What is the point of plans if the stewards are bound to lash them all up?”
“Regardless! We have to think of something. Not planning ahead would be like giving up.”
Romer stops in front of the wash basin, stares into the looking glass, and tries to flatten his curls. They spring back up.
“Fine. Fine,” he says tiredly.
We’re quiet for a moment, lost in our thoughts.
After a moment, he rubs the back of his neck and says, “I know we’d agreed we would never bring anyone else into our alliance if one of us . . .” He can’t finish. “Anyway, given the circumstances, maybe we should reconsider.” He looks at me through the reflection in the looking glass.
“No, we shouldn’t,” I say emphatically.
He turns and faces me. “I know we always said that—”
I walk away from the door, sit on his cot, and pat the spot next to me. “I think I can convince you we don’t need anyone else.”
“Um, I don’t think sex will change anything,” he says.
“Don’t be an idiot! I don’t want to have sex with you.”
“Why not?!” He sounds offended. “Is it because of Elina? She wouldn’t care, you know?”
“No, it has nothing to do with Elina. You’re just not my type, all right?”
“Not your type?!”
I sigh. “Stop sounding so surprised about everything I say.”
“If I’m not your type, who is then? Not Alvar?”
“Chaos no!”
“But you had sex with him,” Romer assures me.
I laugh. “Is that what he said?”
Romer nods.
I rub my temple, gather my patience, then pat the bed again. “I have something to tell you, and I don’t want anyone to overhear?”
He lets his gaze wander around the room as if saying, “who’s going to overhear us here?” But I’m taking no chances. There are those in Joya d’Diosa with enhanced hearing.
Romer rolls his eyes, but sits next to me anyway. I lean forward to speak into his ear. He turns his face in my direction, peering at my lips.
Grabbing his chin and turning him away, I say, “this is serious, Romer. Focus! Do you think you can do that?”
“Of course, I can.”
I rest my cheek on his and whisper everything softly, but clearly. When I’m done, I pull away and search his face for a reaction.
He seems frozen as if I spoke a spell and stole his soul, the way the peasant stole the Goddess’s soul in the The Bewitched Goddess story we were told as children.
“Now you see why we don’t need anyone else?” I ask this stupid, obvious question because I don’t like this silence or what it may mean.
Chaos, should I have kept this secret to myself?
When he finally speaks, he goes straight to the crux of the matter. “Does this mean I’ll have to fight you?”
“Really?!” I stand, emotions exploding in my chest. “Did that have to be the first thing you said? Do we have to worry about that right this moment?” I pull at my hair. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Oh, and then what?” he demands. “Just take my head off with your shield when I least expect it?”
I feel like taking his head off right now, but instead I leave, slamming the door behind me and begging to Chaos I haven’t made a mistake by trusting him.
Chapter 15
I descend to my secret spot on the side of the mountain, a blade and small bundle tucked into my belt. I stare at the horizon beyond Cima. One of the cuspid eagles flies over the forest below in search of prey—normally deer that don’t expect to be attacked from above.
Putting the eagle, Cima, and Romer out of my mind, I focus on what I must do now.
You will have to keep this hidden during the entirety of the trials, Mother said.
With a deep exhale, I push away from the cliff and further into my nook. I take out the knife and bundle from my belt and rest them in front of me. Unfolding the packet, I get out the thread, needle, and strips of fabric that I gathered earlier.
From the moment I realized what Elina had given me, I’ve been terrified of losing the jewel. I clung to it through the entirety of the first clash and while Godmaster Neo healed me. Afterward, when I had some time to myself and tried to open my hand, it remained clenched, fingers stiff and curled into a claw. It took some massaging and prying to finally get them open. Yet, when it was time to put the Godjewel away, I didn’t like sliding it into a pocket of my tunic. It didn’t feel entirely safe there. That’s when I knew I needed to do something else to conceal it.
My hand is steady when I pick up the knife and make a small, vertical incision down the side of my wrist. I hold my breath as the coppery smell of blood hits me. Quickly, I retrieve the Godjewel from my pocket and push it into the wound.
There is a sickening, wet sound as I stuff the gem under my skin. My stomach twists. Blood spurts out as I force the piece deeper into the cut.
When it’s tucked in safely, I begin to saw, amazed at how little it hurts. It’s part of my skill, I realize, a nice added benefit. I clean away the blood with the piece of cloth I used to make the bundle, then throw it off the side of the mountain. It flies into the air like some exotic, red bird.
Next, I wrap a long strip of cloth around the wound and tie it off. I look back and forth between my wrists and decide to wrap the other one as well, lest I call unnecessary attention to Godjewel’s crimson vault.
Satisfied, I climb back up the wall. However, after a short stroll down the cobblestone path, I notice blood has soaked the strip of cloth through and through.
Chaos!
I hide my wrist behind my back and hurry to my room. Once there, I remove the bandage and place my wrist under the flowing water of my wash basin. Red flows down the drain. Applying pressure to the wound, I sit on my bed and stare at the ceiling, thinking of Romer.
Before I had a chance to win, I always thought I would have no trouble killing him. But now that it’s actually a possibility, I realize there is no lashing way in Chaos I could. There are four people in this world—three, I correct myself—whom I love, and I’m certainly not killing one of them.
Except Romer has always said we would never Descend, that he would rather die than become a weak
human. Does that mean he’ll expect me to kill him, if it comes to it? Will he make me promise the way I made him promise?
I sit up, pushing the idea away, and examine my wrist. It’s still bleeding.
Lash it all to Chaos!
I can’t risk bleeding all over the place. And what if the wound opens and the Godjewel falls out? I can’t allow that to happen.
With a deep breath, I leave my room. I’d feared this would be necessary. Stealing is a punishable offense, twenty lashes and one week of confinement the first time. Descension, the second and last time.
I knock on Godmaster Neo’s door and wait.
No answer.
Carefully, I push the door open and check inside. He’s not in.
I hurry to his work area and look in the shelves for the healing poultice. At first, I can’t find it, but there’s a small jar with a cork top that bears its name. With fumbling fingers, I apply a generous amount on the cut and let it sit for a moment. I feel its effects almost immediately.
When the tingling stops, I go to the wash basin and let water pour over it. I watch the muddy substance disappear down the drain and close the lever to halt the water flow.
The sound of steps outside the door sends me on a mad dash to the worktable, where I cap the jar and put it back where I found it.
The door opens not a second after I strike a relaxed and bored pose against the worktable. Godmaster Neo steps in and blinks in surprise when he notices me examining my fingernails with more interest than they deserve.
“Bia, what are you doing here?” he asks. “I thought you would be with Romer or Elina all day.”
I need to see Elina but, for some reason, I’ve been avoiding it.
“Did you need something?” he asks, walking in my direction.
I take a quick glance at my wrist. It has healed, and it is perfectly clean. Casually, I look toward the shelves. They’re just the way I found them. Relief has almost settled in my chest when I notice a drop of blood on the floor.
Taking a step sideways, I step on the droplet with my sandal.
“Well, um . . .” I have no idea what to say.
He waits.
“It’s Romer, I guess. He . . . he has been very angry since . . . you know.”
Godmaster Neo seems to relax at this explanation. “Well, that is quite natural.”
“I guess. I’m angry too, but I’m still trying to work with him, still trying to keep my focus. He could at least try to do that much.”
Godmaster Neo goes around the large worktable and looks for something at the other end of the shelves.
I move my foot aside, making sure to keep it in front of the blood, then squat and pretend to tighten the straps in my sandal. Quickly, I run a finger over the blood, trying not to smear it. A stain remains behind. I curse inwardly. Well, at least it just looks like a dark circle now. It could be anything: a drop of oil, one of his many poultices and ingredients. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
“He will come around, I’m sure,” Godmaster Neo says.
I look up. He’s regarding me with a frown. I give my strap one last tug and stand, hiding my blood-smeared finger behind my back.
“I guess.”
“I wish I could stay and talk, but I’m busy at the moment. How about you come back tonight? We could share a cup of tea.”
“Sounds good,” I say, walking out with him.
After leaving Godmaster Neo, I go to Romer’s room, hoping to find him in a better mood, but he isn’t there. I sigh and decide it’s time to visit Elina. I can’t avoid it all day.
When she asked me to win, I know she wasn’t thinking straight. She couldn’t have been—not when my victory would mean Romer’s death. She probably forgot that he swore to never Descend. He only ever talks about winning, so I can’t blame her for that.
Now I can’t help but wonder, once she realizes her mistake, will she still think I should win?
I honestly have no idea, and the truth is, I don’t want to find out.
Chapter 16
When I get to Elina’s workshop, where I knew I would find her, I push past the curtains, walking on tiptoes as if that will make me invisible and will help me avoid the difficult conversation that awaits.
After a couple of steps into the room, I realize she’s not alone. It’s no surprise. I thought I may find Romer here, anyway. Two birds with one stone. Maybe.
As soon as they notice me, they stiffen and clamp their lips together, swallowing whatever words they’d meant to utter. Elina’s eyes are red, and Romer looks as mad as when I left him. I’m about to go off on him and tell him that this matter is between he and I when he throws his hands up in the air and plainly speaks his mind.
“Turns out she likes you better than she likes me,” he says, shaking his head in disgust.
I almost shoot back something mean, but the tone of his voice makes me hold my tongue.
“She wants you to win, wants you by her side for all eternity. Not me. Can you believe that?!”
Elina and I exchange confused glances. He sounds somewhere between irate and resigned.
“I mean . . . all that lashing good sex got me nothing.”
Elina opens her mouth to protest, but I shake my head slightly. I know Romer. He’s working toward something here.
“You have to realize there is no way in Chaos I will ever Descend.” He’s looking straight at me as he says this.
Just what I feared. He will ask me to kill him, and there’s no way I can agree to that.
He must see the refusal in my expression because he adds, “It’s no more, no less than what you asked me to do for you. I don’t want to kill you anymore than you want to kill me, but when you made me promise to do it, I put you first and forgot about my sensibilities.”
“It’s different,” I say.
“It is not!”
“You could be happy. But for me, that’s not a possibility.”
“How do you figure that?” he asks.
“Because my mother would never let me.”
Romer throws a confused glance in Elina’s direction. He doesn’t know about my trip to Cima. I only ever told Elina because, when she learned of my death wish—she pestered me to Chaos and back for an explanation. For their part, Romer and Delfos always respected my wishes without question. They’re warriors like me. There is a tacit agreement between us.
Elina steps forward. “It’s true, Romer. Godleader Helena promised Bia to find her and torture her, if she chooses to Descend. A while back, she took Bia to Cima and showed her, first hand, what happens to a weak human when a Goddess decides to touch them.”
Romer’s eyes dart from side to side as he processes this information.
“So you see,” I say. “There would be no point in Descending, just to die a more gruesome death at my mother’s hands.”
“She would never do that,” he says, but there is no conviction behind his words.
“There you have it,” Elina says. “Now, unless your father has promised to turn you into an orchard if you Descend, I think your chances at happiness as a human are much better than Bia’s.”
Romer’s father provides Joya d’Diosa with delicious fruit, ensuring, with his Godskill, that trees and bushes remain healthy year after year. He’s even responsible for the creation of our most revered Godfruit, a blend between apple, orange, and grape.
Looking frustrated, Romer drives stiff fingers into his hair, stomps to the archway, and looks down at Joya d’Diosa. He stands there for a moment, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. We wait, saying nothing, while the curtains billow all around him.
Finally, he takes a deep, calming breath and turns around. “It’s no more, no less than what you asked me to do for you,” he tells me again. “The Godmaker would undo me, Bia. He would press his staff to my forehead, and I would never be able to soar again, never be able to feel weightless and free. I don’t want to be a lesser version of myself. I couldn’t stand that, could never be happy.�
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There is so much sentiment in his voice, so much sincerity in his words, that I immediately know he speaks the truth. Living like something other than himself would never be enough for someone like Romer. He has been able to fly since before he could walk. His father used to keep him tethered lest he disappeared into the clouds to never be seen again. When he was seven, he got into the biggest trouble of his life when he decided to visit one of Godmaster Jocobo’s eagles and almost got eaten alive and fed to the young chicks. He was terrified and exhilarated at the same time, and didn’t mind the lashes he received for his rash behavior.
With a knot in my throat, I walk to Romer and look him straight in the eye. “I will do what you need me to do, if it comes to it. I promise.”
He nods and swallows thickly.
“But if you change your mind at any moment, you let me know, all right?”
“I won’t change my mind.” He takes a step back, emotion raw in his eyes. I think he’s about to cry, and maybe he does, but he turns away and bounds down the steps, so I can’t be sure.
Elina wraps an arm around my shoulders, and we watch him leave.
“Do you believe him?” I ask.
She doesn’t respond.
“I hope I don’t have to fight him,” I say like a coward.
“He said the same to me just before you got here.”
I swallow the knot in my throat. “I wish we could both live.”
“Me too, but it isn’t an option.”
Turning to face her, I ask, “Why did you do it? It would have been easier if . . .”
“I wanted it to be fair,” she says without hesitation. “You don’t know how many times I daydreamed I’d be the one to create your Godjewel, the one to give you a just chance during the trials. It’s all I ever wanted. You were always so resigned to have it all end, so willing to let your friends take the glory . . . take the chance to live, while you got nothing. It was wrong, and I always wanted to fix it. Well, now I have.”
How could I ever expect less from Elina?
“But if you want to know the real reason,” she says, a crooked smile on her face, “I just want you to teach Odella a lesson. Do you think you could do that for me?”
Godmaker (Jeweled Goddess Book 1) Page 9