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A smirk crossed Finnian’s face, like scissors cutting across a sheet of paper. “I know the look of affection when I see it. You have it for my sister. I simply took advantage of the opportunity. Our siblings are vile, and I had a hunch you would expose your power at the expense of Naia’s well-being. My wishful thinking was that the triplets would die.”
Naia climbed up and stood beside Ronin, sensing the fleeting touch of his gaze on her cheek.
“You are tenacious, I’ll give you that.” Finnian sauntered closer to them. “Moving into my city at eighteen, killing those I sent to steal vials of your blood, and creating your precious following to stand against me.” He came to a stop a few feet in front of Ronin, head cocking. “Never mind that, but then you have the audacity to sell your crates of beer, spiked with your blood, in my black market and with a Charm of Resistance refusing me or my organizations from using it for my gain.”
Naia knew extremely little about spells, but a Charm of Resistance was a lock set by the mage who cast it. If someone attempted to open it with intentions Ronin did not approve of, it would be impossible.
A bitter sound huffed from Naia’s mouth. Of course, the brewery was a ruse. Ronin was using it to create poisonous beer for deities.
And why was Finnian after Ronin’s blood?
She wanted to laugh at how naïve she’d been.
Perhaps foolishness was her greatest talent, after all.
A goddess of foolishness.
Such a deity did not exist, but perhaps she was the first.
“I cannot kill a deity,” Ronin said. “Your siblings still live, just temporarily paralyzed. Does that answer the great question you’ve spent your entire life trying to figure out?”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier for you to come out and confess this to me early on?”
“Because we do so much fucking chatting when we’re face-to-face,” Ronin drawled.
“Are you serious?” Naia said, her voice thick from the lump swelling in her throat. “You threw me to Malik when you know how twisted he is. Astrid and Vex and the snakes they are! All to force Ronin into a situation where you could test to see if he’d use his blood to kill them?”
“That wasn’t the only reason.” Finnian’s tone softened towards her, and she resented him for it. For regarding her in that familiar way only he, as her brother, ever could; for speaking in a damn riddle. What did it mean?
“You wanted a way to kill a god out of petty vendettas!” She scowled. “The triplets wronged you centuries ago, and yet, you are still out to make them suffer!”
“They slaughtered Arran!” he snarled at her, as if she’d forgotten.
“You are powerful enough to take on those who have wronged you without tormenting a mortal for your twisted revenge scheme!”
“I may be capable of raising the dead, Sister, but I cannot kill what is immortal.”
“All you care about is yourself! You are just as cruel as Mother.”
A heavy weight settled between them as she watched the sting of her words travel across his expression.
A humorless sound huffed out of him. “You forget, I am the one who stood by your side and witnessed her cruelty firsthand—forcing Solaris onto you, making you scrub the kitchens. The first time you escaped, everyone heard the news as it made its way through the lands how Mira, High Goddess of the Sea, beat her daughter with a Thousand Strikes?—”
“Stop,” Naia demanded.
“After Marina slaughtered the mortal you were so fond of.”
“Stop talking,” she repeated, though it came out barely above a whisper.
She’d provoked him, and now she regretted it. Ronin was right beside her, listening.
“And then how Marina dragged you back down and Mother strapped you in Cassian’s chains.” Finnian’s lip curled in disgust, enunciating the animosity he felt towards the High God. “A curse she proposed to bind you to Kaimana, at the expense of collecting and feeding souls to Cassian as a repayment for all the souls I harbored from him with my necromancy.”
Over time, she had always wondered what had convinced Cassian to curse her, and now she finally knew.
“Ever curious what happened to your precious Gianna or all our other childhood servants in the palace? Or what Malik did in his spare time to achieve the title of High God of Slaughter?”
“Finnian, I don’t want to hear this.” Naia lost control of her breath. The weight of her traumatic past threatened to crash into her once again, and she brought her hands up to her ears, desperate to block out the haunting memories.
