Defiance

by Sadie Moss

  Callum throws an arm over my chest, shoving me behind him. “Great god, please forgive our companion’s insol—”

  Sierian holds up two fingers, cutting his words off with nothing more than a withering glare. She then waves her fingers, moving no other part of her body, forcing Callum to step away from me so she can see me.

  I’m oddly calm when we come face-to-face again. Being on my feet now, I feel less like a prey animal bowing before the thing with teeth. I widen my stance and cross my arms, thankful that my fury has steadied my knees. We stare at one another for a long time, both of us silent but stone-faced.

  She remains draped over her throne like a large cat as we study one another. She’s so otherworldly, I wouldn’t even be surprised if she began grooming herself.

  Finally, she speaks again. “Humans are an intrepid race, girl. You have a tendency to blame the gods for your misfortunes, or to call every advancement a gift from us. When in actuality, it is the human spirit that does such wonderful—or terrible—things. You are the catalyst behind the mortal realm’s greatest successes.”

  “But the gods are still more powerful than humans,” I counter, confused by the turn in the conversation. I fully expected her to smite me after the way I spoke to her. “Our ability to perform tasks is hardly an ability that can topple divine empires.”

  “I will not get involved, as I’ve told you multiple times,” Sierian booms. The note of warning in her voice is powerful enough to call forth a hurricane, to bend the moon and stars to her will.

  I drop into a curtsy again, bowing my head to stare at the thick, red carpet in penance. My heart stutters in my chest, and I wonder if she’s done putting up with me—if I’ve worn through the last of her patience. Wouldn’t it be my luck that I escape doom at Kaius’s hand only for Sierian to extinguish my soul? I already sacrificed my mortal life for a god who did nothing. This would be simply one more way in which the gods fail me.

  “However,” Sierian goes on, her voice softening. “I will offer you advice that might prove helpful in your goals.”

  Surprised, I look back up at the beautiful goddess to find the hint of a smile curving her lips.

  Sierian taps her taloned fingertips on the arm of her throne. “All messengers are created in service of their god, and most”—her gaze cuts quickly to the three messengers that surround me, her expression assessing—“are bound to the god they serve for their entire existence. However, if you disable Kaius temporarily, you may be able to sever the connection between him and his messengers. Such a thing would weaken and isolate him.”

  My heart stutters as a new surge of hope clashes with the despair that still sits in my chest. This isn’t the same as Sierian agreeing to step up and fight for us, to go up against her fellow god, but still, it’s something. And it may be the only chance we have.

  “Disable him… how?”

  “Confront him at the seat of his power. Use magic to weaken him.”

  I nod, as if any of what she’s saying actually makes sense. “Where’s the seat of his power?”

  Sierian straightens, the fingers of both hands trailing lovingly over her golden throne. “Beneath him, in plain sight.” She levels her black gaze on me, fingers still tracing the planes of her massive chair.

  His throne. The seat of his power.

  There must be something powerful and important about each god’s throne. I’ve never visited Zelus’s court, but I imagine my old god rules from atop an ornate throne just like Kaius and Sierian do.

  “And if we did this?” Echo speaks up, his brows pulling together. “He would still possess godly powers that far outstrip ours.”

  “Indeed.” The goddess before us nods. “But it is perhaps the only way you might have a chance.”

  “We would have a better chance with a god on our side,” I blurt, unable to keep my mouth shut.

  Paris elbows me, a non-too-subtle warning. I know pushing her is dangerous—she’s like a wild cat that could shift from lounging to attacking at any moment. But I have to try.

  She just sat here and gave us a plan, admitted to us that the god’s seat of power is the literal throne beneath them. Why would she give us this crucial piece of information if she didn’t want to help us?

  Callum reaches out to stop me, but I brush his hand away and keep speaking, my words coming faster and with more heat. “I’ve lived my entire existence beneath gods who did nothing for their people. Who cared nothing for our health and well-being. I struggled, and hurt, and watched my people die of neglect.” I throw my arms wide, and I feel the catch of the weave on the tips of my fingers as I say, “Could you not spare some mercy? You care so much for your own realm, yet you’d do nothing for other humans in need. You don’t strike me as the kind of god to pick and choose who you care about. And if you are, well then, your people would be so disappointed in you. They give you everything, yet you give only so much in return.”

  The last sentence feels like it was torn out of me, my emotions rising beyond my control. Every bit of pain and despair I ever felt during life pours out of me, and in the same instant, I feel the weave catch between my fingers.

  Without meaning to, I’ve tapped into its power.

  The carpet ripples under the magic, and an eerie wind blows around me, tossing my blonde hair and the hem of my dress. For a wild moment, I think it’s Sierian using magic to teach me a lesson, but then Paris leaps in front of me and grabs my hands between his.

  Over his shoulder, Sierian is gazing at me curiously.

  “Focus on me. Only on me, Sage,” Paris says softly, cupping my hands out of her line of sight.

  Oh, farse.

  I gaze up at him with wide eyes, horror-struck. I’ve tripped on the weave, just as I did during those early days of living in Ironholde with them. Sierian’s hot-and-cold attitude and her steadfast refusal to step up has turned me into an emotional mess, and as a result, I’m acting like a newborn with the weave. Again.

  “Great Sierian, thank you for your time today,” Callum intones in his most formal voice. He’s placed his broad body in between Paris’s back and Sierian, cutting off my line of sight to the god—and hers to me. “We appreciate you granting us an audience, and of course, we understand and respect your decision.”

  Paris’s eyes burn like twin stars as he presses his lips to my still sparking fingertips. “Breathe, little soul. There’s no one here but you and me. Just be right here with me.”

  I focus on his blue eyes and draw in a deep breath that tamps down the magic waving around my hands.

  “Again,” Paris whispers, and I obey, sucking in a long breath of incense-scented air.

  “We humbly ask that you do not mention our visit or our conversation to Kaius,” Echo says, sounding more serious than I’ve ever heard him.

  “I will not break sacred trust,” Sierian tells him haughtily. “You requested amnesty in my temple today, and that is no small thing. By bringing you here, I accepted your request. I do not want to get involved in any of this at all. Although I will not spark a war with him to defend you, I have no desire to help Kaius in any way. Your secret is safe in this palace.”

  “Breathe out,” Paris murmurs.

  I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath as I listened to their exchange. I let the air seep from my lungs, and the weave calms even more.

  “I do expect not to see you again,” Sierian adds sternly. “You are welcome to remain in my kingdom, but do not frequent my temple or harass my people.”

  “Yes, great god,” Callum replies in a solemn voice.

  Paris shifts to look down at my hands and check for magic, giving me one last view of the god. She catches my eye, a spark of interest there before she waves her hand, and the air begins to shimmer around us.

  Paris keeps hold of my hands as the world shifts and changes, his gaze never leaving my face. By the time we’ve transported back to Sierian’s temple altar, my connection to the weave has dissipated, and a calmness has fallen over me that
has everything to do with Paris’s warm, comfortable presence holding me so tightly.

  He opens his hands and smiles down at my fingers. “There. Good as new.”

  I take a shuddering breath. “Thank you.”

  When Paris steps away to allow me to move freely on my own, I realize everyone gathered around the altar has risen to their feet. The entire mass stares straight up at us, mouths agape, eyes wide with awe.

  “I suppose our trip to visit Sierian didn’t pass unnoticed.” I wrinkle my nose, grimacing.

  “Come on,” Callum grunts, turning on his heel and marching toward the hidden staircase.

  We make quick work of leaving the temple, despite the amount of worshippers who follow our steps through the pyramid and out onto the portico. They reach for us, fingering our clothes and hair as if we’re divine beings ourselves, or as if they know we’ve been to see their god, and maybe we carried some of her greatness back with us.

  I want to scream at them to get away, to tell them their god is a villain who doesn’t care about humanity. I want to tell them to stop worshipping a being who is so flippant about giving aid to humans who need it.

  But deep down, I know that’s not fair.

  My problems—our problems—are our own. Sierian’s people are her biggest priority, and on this side of my emotions, I’m able to see that a bit more clearly. Though my understanding of her responsibilities doesn’t ease all of my anger. Regardless of what she says, she’s still using her people as an excuse for inaction.

  We leave the temple bridge and begin walking down the road parallel to the narrow river. The sun glints off the smooth surface of the water, nearly blinding me, but it’s comforting to be in the open air again. I didn’t notice how cloyingly sweet that incense was until it was replaced with fresh air.

  Less than a block away from Sierian’s great pyramid, Callum turns on me, his expression unreadable, his shoulders tense. “You were explicitly told not to reveal your powers to anyone beyond the three of us.”

  “I lost control.” Guilt and shame make my stomach churn, and I cross my arms defensively over my chest.

  “Well, get control!” he snarls, shoving his hands through his hair as he whirls around and takes a few steps away, gazing out over the water. His loud voice has drawn the attention of nearby citizens, who watch us warily, as if we might break out into a fistfight at any moment.

  I just sink against the fence beside the river and sigh.

  “He’s simply worried that she may have seen your magic,” Echo explains, propping up beside me. “Well, that she did see your magic.”

  “I know.”

  He crosses his legs at the ankles, both hands gripping the sturdy wood beneath us. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “With the weave? I’m fine.” I hold out my hands and wiggle my fingers to indicate they’re clear of sparking magic. “I’m not touching it or knocking into it anymore. But I’m livid at Sierian.”

  “You have to admit she’s only looking out for the best interests of her realm. That’s her entire purpose in being here.”

  “No, she’s using that as an excuse to stay safely sat upon that ridiculous throne.” My fury is building slowly again, turning my body into a quivering mess. I clench my fists against the soft cotton of my dress, trying to contain some of that roiling energy before I really do latch back onto the weave accidentally.

  Callum comes back to join us, his face a little less hard than when he walked away. I wonder if he’s trying to work out his anger issues for my sake, and if he is… well, I adore him a little more for that.

  So I follow his lead. I remember Paris breathing me through my magical disaster back in Sierian’s throne room. I follow the pattern—breathe deeply in, let it out. Three times, until my fists unclench and I feel less like I might burst from my skin. None of my three companions speak as I get ahold of myself, for which I’m thankful.

  “I’m done running,” I finally say in a quiet voice, eyeing the city’s residents as they stroll past us, lost in their glittery, perfect world. “I do understand Sierian’s reasons for choosing to stay neutral… to a point. But I think she’s wrong to think that letting tyrants go unchecked is the best solution. And why are Zelus’s or Kaius’s people any less deserving of a good life than hers?”

  “They’re not.” A shadow of sorrow darkens Paris’s eyes. “They were unluckily born into the wrong kingdom. That’s all.”

  I nod. He spoke my exact thoughts aloud, and somehow hearing him say it helps calm me and center me. Because it reminds me that I’m not alone.

  “There’s no help to be found from the other gods,” I say. “No one will stand up to Kaius to try to stop him from hunting us or starting a war. He’ll keep coming for us until his hounds eventually win and drag us back to him for punishment. And regardless of whether he captures us, his war with Zelus will kill hundreds, even thousands. Unless we stop him.”

  “What do you suggest we do?” Echo asks. He looks as if he’s ready to do whatever I ask. Like he would follow me into a pit of fire if I led the way.

  Drawing a deep breath, I square my shoulders. “I’m going to stop him. Without the help of any gods.”

  “And with what army?” Paris quips, though the joke doesn’t match the seriousness in his usually relaxed expression.

  “With you,” I say, my heart thumping heavily as I meet his gaze. “My army will be myself and the three of you.”

  My declaration is followed by total silence.

  I find myself holding my breath as I wait to see how they react. Though I know they’ve severed ties with their god to defend me, what I’m asking of them now is huge. If we go back to Ironholde and somehow get into the throne room to try to weaken Kaius, we’re no longer going to be just fugitives. We’ll have declared our own war on Kaius.

  We’ll be treasonists.

  Callum is the first to move. The anger and tension have drained from his body as he nods solemnly.

  “I always considered myself a man of honor. I have believed in the wars I fought, believed in the causes I championed. But to find that the god I served is as dishonorable as Kaius…” His lips press together. “Well, I am only as honorable as the man I serve.”

  I lay a hand on his arm. “You are honorable, Callum. Much more so than the god you once served.”

  The burly messenger’s big hand closes over mine on his arm, his calloused fingers warm against my skin. “We will help you reach Kaius’s seat of power, little soul. We will stand by you in this attempt. To the very end. Brothers?”

  Echo and Paris both nod, stepping closer to me.

  I swear I can feel the connection between us buzzing, vibrating with the sheer power of the bond that exists between us.

  We were once connected solely by the pieces of my soul they each carry. But now, new threads have joined that one, weaving around it to create something even stronger.

  We’re connected by respect.

  By fierce desire.

  By something that could almost be called love.

  And now these men I’m falling in love with are about to follow me into almost certain doom. If they die because of me, I will spend the last few seconds of my own existence despising myself for letting them risk theirs.

  But I know they won’t let me face Kaius alone.

  And I have to do this.

  “At the very least,” I say, trying to inject more optimism into my voice than I feel, “if we can sever his connection to his messengers, Kaius’s hounds won’t be able to hunt us any longer. We may kill two birds with one stone.”

  20

  We leave Aeheamel behind, and I’d be lying if I said I was sad to see it disappear behind us.

  Every moment of my time within Sierian’s gilded city was emotionally wrought, and I carry that with me as we travel the weave back to our mountaintop cabin. The painful mixture of fear and anger inside me has exhausted my reserves, and all I want to do is go to sleep.

  We alight from the weave on
the side of the mountain. A light snow has fallen—not anywhere near the depth of the snow closer to the peak, but enough to give the mountain an ethereal glow. A half-moon glows down from the cloudless sky, and the sun is sinking on the horizon in a riot of purples and reds, all of which turn the pure white snow molten.

  Inside the makeshift cabin, Paris goes straight for the fireplace, working quickly to build us a fire to chase away the chill. Callum guides me to the table and plants me firmly in a chair, while Echo passes out dried goods from our reserves.

  More dried meat and bread for dinner. I can hardly contain my excitement.

  Once we’re all seated, Callum remarks, “I think it’s best we stay here until we have a solid plan of attack.”

  Echo nods his agreement. “When Kaius’s hounds come for us—and they will, eventually—Sierian will be no help in that fight. But if we remain in her realm, we’ll have that small amount of safety from Kaius’s grasp.”

  “We’re safer here than we would be anywhere else,” Paris concurs tiredly. “Though I wholeheartedly miss our lovely house.”

  “I miss real food,” I remark, eyeing my hardtack biscuit before crunching into it.

  “I’ll go to a market in Aeheamel and get some real food tomorrow,” Paris promises. He shakes his head with a heavy sigh. “Nish, I miss cooking. And I miss eating delicious food too.”

  “So why are we remaining here?” I ask after several minutes pass of us glumly eating our meal. “Shouldn’t we prepare to head back to Ironholde?”

  “Right now, we’re sitting at the cusp between Sierian and Kaius’s kingdoms,” Echo says. “It’s as good a place as any to do what needs to be done.”

  “What needs to be done?” I ask, my gaze sweeping over all three men.

  Callum tosses his half-eaten biscuit on the table, then catches my eye. “It’s time for you to train as a warrior.”