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Naia blinked away the moisture gathered in her eyes. All the hardships she’d endured were worth it to be standing here.
She disagreed with her father’s words long ago. Those she loved were not fleeting. They were in the dahlias decorating the center of the tables throughout the lounge; in how she could imagine her little brother, if he were here, pretending to be aloof to the joyous, mortal atmosphere.
Naia carried Finnian and their father everywhere. They were a part of her, always.
With Finnian’s absence, Ronin and the Blood Heretics took on the role of running the city, and the responsibility for resolving black market affairs and keeping peace among other organizations.
Contrary to expectations, no war broke out between the Blood Heretics and the organizations loyal to Finnian.
Runa, a leader of a Finnian-supporting organization, summoned a meeting with Naia.
With an eyepatch over her right eye, tattooed arms over muscled biceps, and a cheeky personality that provoked Ronin, she made an impression.
“We were told to shift our allegiance,” she announced from across the table.
Seated in a circle, they occupied a secluded room in the lounge. Ronin was to one side of Naia, Theon to her other.
Naia had left Ash with Avi in his potion room. Her son sat on the workbench, chewing on a lavender blossom while Avi rambled on about the various ingredients for the potion he was creating. Not caring how Ash was only four months old, incapable of understanding such words.
“To the Blood Heretics?” Ronin wore his boss tone, as Naia nicknamed it—a strong assertiveness when engaging in business discussions with other city leaders.
A patronizing laugh came from Runa. “We are to transfer our loyalty to Naia, per Lord Finnian’s orders.”
Naia blinked.
It was several days after that encounter when Naia was led into Finnian’s home by Runa herself.
It smelled of herbs and licorice. Filled with centuries of art adorning the interior brick walls. Mostly surrealist, peculiar paintings—a portrait of a fox dressed in a tuxedo, or a hand reaching out of a bouquet.
He had dedicated one floor to books, another to a cauldron, potions, and grimoires, and another to overgrown plants that Runa explained were rare and hard to cultivate.
Every surface was covered in oddities—various animal skulls, more candles than Naia could count, and a collection of jewels and crystals needed for certain spells, she presumed.
She sat on his satin bedspread and stared at the fireplace across the room, allowing herself a moment to mourn and miss Finnian.
It was the home of a sorcerer; of a magician; of her baby brother.
Every day of Ash’s childhood, she would recount the tale of his Uncle Finnian, and how he bravely rescued her. She also told Ash stories of his grandfather, the legends of Vale, the High God of Nature.
One day, she hoped to see them again.
“I have a question, if you don’t mind.” Runa pretended to peruse a book on the shelf of Finnian’s massive library.
Naia had Ash strapped around her chest, aware of his rhythmic breathing as he slept. She was crouched down on the floor, reading through one of Finnian’s journals. All the notes he took when experimenting with his necromancy. It was the same as trying to decipher the foreign language in the Himura clan grimoires.
She closed the journal and looked up at Runa, who had become something of a friend to her. “Not at all, ask away.”
Runa propped her elbow up on the shelf, looking down at Naia with her only eye. “What is your title, Goddess?”
Naia slipped the journal back to its rightful place on the shelf and smiled up at the witch. “I am the Goddess of the Blood Heretics.”
Nobody needed to know her official title. And until Naia learned more about it, she had no desire to reveal it to people.
Though, becoming a High Goddess with a new lineage had frightened her sister. Marina had not made an appearance to fulfill her vow since the day of Ash’s birth.
While Naia did not regret granting Ronin eternal life, she regretted doing so against his will.
“I have no hard feelings towards you.” Ronin would tell her, late at night in their bed, when she voiced the worries crowding her mind. “I get to live forever with you.”
