I’d sent one of the less intense leftovers to Alivar to deliver my message of alliance and prophetic vision for the future of Elyria withmeat the helm. All that was returned was the Vessel’s decapitated head, warm blood still oozing from thefibers of the grain sack, the exposed sinew rough and stringy as if it’d taken a good few hacks to get through his neck.
Why even go through the effort of cutting off his head? Why not use magic?
I was, of course, then informed of the collapse of the Northern Crystal Mines. Even though it was located in the northernmost part of Elyria, it was apparently considered ‘neutral’ territory as it was theonlyplace in Elyria to find crystals to hold magic for Mages to draw upon.
Apparently, with the collapse of the mines, Kaos’ final Truthsayer was hoarding the crystals that were recovered, only gifting them to his Mages while simultaneously Bonding others at an alarming rate.
Ergo, the southern cities were no longer able to obtain crystals for their Mages. Which meant, not only were they using their abilities sparingly, but neither city had citizens with the desire to sacrifice themselves to, what they considered, a lost cause.
Pity.
As a powerful, eternal being, I’d thought my conquest of Elyria would be simpler. Quicker. Without all of this incessant planning and maneuvering.
Usually, brute force and hostile takeovers were my brother’s thing, and I was more partial to underhanded schemes. Theoretically, this situation I found myself in really should play to my strengths.
But I’d felt a distinct shift in my own immortality with the death of the Last Matriarch—my body was colder, my mind more sluggish. As if the very thing that tethered me to my immortal soul was fraying.
Which I supposed wasn’t actually far from the truth. Each of the gods had tethered their souls to their direct descendants—they were literal living, mortal pieces of the gods. Once thosemortal pieces were all destroyed, that piece of the tether no longer existed. It’s also why we took extra precautions to place a second tether on an inanimate object. It gave us a second defense if all of our descendants were somehow killed.
It’s that type of trickery that proved us victorious over our siblings in the last Godswar. Their descendants turned on each other, killing with brutal efficiency, which allowed Kaos and I to swoop in and eliminate each god, absorbing their innate powers.
After all, only a god can kill another god. And whoever kills a god must take the deceased’s place—it’s how Kaos and I ended up with more abilities than we were originally gifted from Fate. It’s also why Fate locked us away for centuries. We were too powerful, and he feared us.
As he should.
Kaos and I were allied from the beginning, in agreement with every plan, every step.
So the sudden change in my brother, his inability to see what we needed to do, was concerning. He was too concerned with his last descendant’s moves and motives, too consumed with locating our soul artifacts.
I couldn’t disagree on their importance, but they seemed much less of a priority than amassing followers. The soul artifacts were missing for centuries, ever since we were imprisoned on Meru, and would continue to stay missing until the time was right. If no one had found or destroyed them by now, then I felt they were safe for another few weeks.
At least, that was my original thought. My takeover of Elyria, which should have taken weeks, was now stretching to seven, eight months. Much too long.
And now, with the apparent apathy of the southern cities and the lack of crystals for Mages, it appeared my plan would be delayed even further.
Well, we can’t have that.
I studied the maps affixed to the wooden wall—the wine still slowly descending in rivulets—contemplating my next step.
I could join Kaos in his search for the artifacts, but that would just vindicate him.
I scoffed at the thought.
Definitely can’t have that.
My eyes scanned the southern territories, my eyes easily passing Alivar and Iluul, no longer interested in expending my limited number of sycophants on cities that couldn’t see the benefit in assisting a goddess—their future queen. A mistake that sealed their future fate. Once I held the entirety of Elyria within my fist, their reckoning would come—swift, sure, and brutal.
I tapped one long finger against my lips, lost in thought as the heat inside the ramshackle hut grew stifling.
Even immortal beings weren’t fully immune to temperature changes.
An insect buzzed incessantly in my ear, lazily flying in front of my face every minute or so. The sound and constant need to swat at it was rather annoying and, eventually, I simply plucked it from the air.
Holding it suspended between my finger and thumb, I tore my gaze away from the useless maps to the irritating, foul creature I’d captured. It struggled vainly against my hold, its ugly round body twisting in fear, the animalistic need to escape, high. I narrowed my eyes as it beat its wings erratically in tandem with its twirling legs, the attempts to escape becoming desperate.
Annoyed and bored with its inability to understand that it was dead the moment I’d trapped it with my fingers, I squashed its body with a forceful pinch. A small, satisfyingcrunchsounded just as the irritable sounds of its wings ceased beating. I flicked the insect away onto the packed sand floor of the housebefore wiping the greenish slime from the fly’s body on a spare sheet of parchment resting on the desk in front of my chair. Almost immediately, a scorpion scuttled from a dark corner of the hut to the carcass, grabbing it between its pincers before scurrying back to its hole.
Maybe that’s what Elyria—what these blasphemous cities—needed: a display of godly power to make them fall in line. My gaze strayed to the wine-stained map on the wall and caught on Cellia, a smaller city in the Borderlands near the site of the massacre of my Keepers.
