A hundred things rise to my lips. Pleas, apologies, warnings… but I don’t speak. I can’t. Because I see it, the moment his gaze flickers, the moment his expression hardens.
He’s seen Mael standing next to me. The raw emotion—the disbelief, the confusion—fades into something colder. His mouth tightens into a thin line and the hurt in his gaze hardens into somethinghorrible.
Finality.
He’s already letting go.
Shame and fury curdle inside me. I want to hold his gaze, to make him understand, to make him see past the lies, but I can’t. Because there is no past anymore, only the moment ahead. Above the roaring crowd, the seven Sibyls bellow.
“The time has come for another Godbound to rise!” The words crack through the air like the snap of a warden’s whip.
My heart slams against my ribs. My pulse is a war drum in my ears. I turn to face Mael.
His plan to sneak me away, to bind me in marriage under the cloak of secrecy, must fail. A maddening desire to be free of him sparks in my gut. I feel like a cornered alley cat, ready to scratch, fight, or run. Anything to escape.
Mael’s face twists with determination at whatever he sees in my expression.
He half-turns, about to call his men.
When I move.
His body tenses—a second too slow—but I see the shift in his stance, the flare of his nostrils. He knows what I’m about to do.
He grabs my hand. “Guards?—”
But the silk of my glove slips against his grip, and I tear free, leaving it behind in his hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eva reaching for me as well. Then I leap?—
The parapet vanishes beneath me, and for a breathless second, I am weightless. The world tilts. A rush of wind, a kaleidoscope of gold and marble blurring around me.
Then the temple’s carpet slams into me, wrenching the breath from my lungs as I land on my side.
Agony bursts, a jarring shockwave that ricochets through my ribs, my spine, my skull. I barely register the gasps, the startled cries, pain is my entire world. I roll, my body protesting every inch of movement, clutching at my aching side as the temple explodes into chaos.
Voices rise in a frenzy, footsteps thudding toward me, hands reaching.
Then Mael’s voice cuts through the madness. “Do not touch her!”
The temple stills, just enough for my pulse to thunder loud in my ears, for the realization to anchor deep in my bones. I drag in a breath, my lungs burning. My body screams at me to stay down. But I don’t.
I push up. Slowly.
Pain splinters through me, but I don’t waver. The wide space here lies open between two clusters of benches, their rows flanking me on either side. Directly ahead, a broad path cuts across my course— to the left it climbs toward the dais on its high stage, to the right it leads straight to the tall entrance doors.
I don’t look up until I’m standing, my spine straight, my hands trembling only slightly at my sides. Then I meet Mael’s gaze.
He stands at the railing, staring down at me. Waiting. Not chasing. Not calling for my capture. Just… watching. As if expecting me to crumble beneath the weight of my own choice.
I lift my chin.
Gritting my teeth, I stagger forward. I cross the open gap between the benches on the left and right, moving past more rows whose aisles are softened with dark carpet. Ahead, a straight path draws me onward, leading directly to Calista’s statue.
She’s carved in white stone, her figure lean and regal. Her horns begin thick at the base, laid fluidly across her hair like adornment until they sweep upward into sharpened, vicious points. Her triangular sigil is carved over her chest. It’s an upside-down triangle lined with outward-facing spikes and blood-like droplets pooling within. It’s beautiful. And terrifying.
But my choice is made.
“She’s cursed!” someone’s voice rings through the temple, finally noticing the blackened fingertips from my single, gloveless hand. But I don’t look back.
With a swift motion, I drag my bare palm across the sharp, decorative edge of the stone at Calista’s waist. The fallen goddess, forgotten by almost everyone.
