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The mages took their stance as they had with Naia. The one on the left raised his arm, and Naia winced, preparing herself for the worst. Marina’s child frame flying across the dome, the dreadful sight of blood splattering like scarlet egg yolk against its stone walls.
Except Marina remained upright. Ribbons of black mist poured out from her palms, and darkness slowly consumed the arena. It smothered each sliver of light like a flame.
Naia watched in chilling fascination, and her eyes strained to see past the black veil. One mage shouted out. A powerful gust slammed against the walls, followed by a deafening screech.
And then everything went still.
Naia’s heartbeat surged in her ears.
A horrendous gurgling noise echoed like a knife trapped in someone’s throat.
Less than one minute and it was done.
The ebony fog receded, permitting the light to enter.
Naia slapped her palm over her mouth.
No.
The mages lay limp like broken insects drowning in puddles of their own blood.
Naia tore her eyes from their corpses to Mira, rising from her chair. She held her chin high, scaling Naia up and down, lip curling. Naia could practically hear her unspoken words. You are as useless of a daughter as you are a goddess.
Naia’s chest caved in, restricting the breath in her lungs.
Mira said nothing else as she left the box.
Naia could feel her mother’s animosity everywhere in her body, webbing between skin and bones. The pressure to be better, to become more powerful, to be more than what she was. Expectations Naia knew she could never meet. Her knees trembled. She reached out to grab the back of her father’s chair.
He sat without movement, glaring down as the guards disposed of the corpses in the arena.
“Father?” Naia said in a barely audible voice. His silence was uncharacteristic of him.
He did not respond, and it was equally unlike him to ignore her.
She moved around his chair to get a look at his face. “Father, are you ok?—”
“Naia, darling.” His voice was unnervingly still, quivering with a restrained fury she’d never heard.
Naia swallowed. “Yes, Father?”
His head rotated towards her, his emerald gaze dark like clouds smothering a forest. “Your mother’s definition of strength is only because she, herself, is weak. Do you understand?”
Naia’s face went pale with shock. Not once had her father ever spoken of Mira in such an ill manner.
She did not fully comprehend what he meant. Mira was a High Goddess the same as he was a High God. They were both stronger than she ever could be.
His brow softened. “You make me proud, regardless of your title. Do you understand?”
The pressure constricting in Naia’s sternum snapped. Tears fled down her cheeks. “What am I if not yearning for her love, Father?”
Centuries of restlessness were all she had to look forward to. Only desolation awaited her.
Father’s fingers wrapped around her arms and sucked her into an embrace. He smelled of petrichor and tree bark, of cinnamon and cloves.
“Why doesn’t she love me?” Naia broke in his arms, sobbing into his velvet cloak.
“I love you for the both of us, my darling. Infinitely.” He tucked a loose tendril of her silver hair behind her ear, holding her snug with his other hand on the back of her head. “Every life has meaning. Yours is no different, and it does not yield to your mother.”
