‘How have I not? The world has not seen a real Dark Age. Those past times overrun with creatures were merely … troubled in comparison to what could be. The humans have not discovered us. There is balance. Harmony. The Old Gods, however’ – he tsked, moving another counter – ‘they were too indulgent. Too focused on art and pleasure and had such darkness within them. The world would have become a feasting ground and little more. A hedonistic world is one not poised for war.’
‘I imagine the Morrígan and her sisters would argue otherwise, as the Goddesses of War.’
Elatha sniffed. ‘They’re also goddesses preoccupied with sex, magic, and madness.’ He gave Kyan a look. ‘No. We must control ourselves. If Empyreals knew they had the potential to find mates, they would be too busy living for themselves and their pleasures when they have a divine right to protect others. Again, selfishness. But you – you, Kyan, have never been selfish. You’ve always strived to protect the innocent. You’ve valued order. Rules.’
He had. There were benefits to both, but not when they kept you blind. Not when that control was maintained through lies.
He could still protect with a mate by his side. It would just mean he would live a richer life, a life worthlivingthrough, rather than being little more than a mindless immortal assassin.
‘You know the story of the origin of Empyreals? That they were made by the Morrígan?’
Kyan made a noise of assent, placing a counter.
Elatha tutted. ‘Wrong place.’
Kyan looked again, realising he’d forgotten a rule. His mouth pressed into a line as he recalibrated.
‘The Morrígan made a mistake. She unleashed a true danger by creating beings with such scope for transformation. The death of a god requires balance, no matter what type of god it is. Only gods should be able to kill other gods. You see, they wanted us to be foughtoff, even when they were away in their Otherworld. But it was unfair of the Old Gods to have you fight their battles. I know how useless, how devastating, it is to have someone fight in your stead. It’s always better to get yourself bloody, to do it properly.
‘Which is why we must right this wrong,’ Elatha said, swiping through another of Kyan’s pieces. ‘Because this has never been about humans and creatures and Empyreals, scrabbling in the mud. That was all just the first tier, the first distraction. It’s about gods. Gods do not work with the same …’ He searched for the word. ‘Morals, as humans and creatures. We have larger issues to contend with. There is a purpose to these things, a greater harmony’ – he smirked faintly and Kyan thought of the harmony of the spheres so tied to this ancient conspiracy – ‘to uphold.’
Elatha placed another counter, stealing another of Kyan’s pieces. ‘One cannot set a creature loose that can transform to kill a god and hope the world will stay in one piece.
‘Admittedly, the Fomóir you killed all those years ago was a lesser being. Still, I knew you could not be left unbound, wandering the earth with all that untapped power and grief.’
Kyan’s gaze lifted.
He tried to tamp down his building rage, but the fire of it curled and emanated from the Empyrean power within. He needed to steel himself against the emotions, to play this stupid game and get more information.
But something else cut through his thoughts. The question that had haunted him since the Druid’s announcement: how had he survived killing a god without ingesting goddessblood?
‘Ah,’ Elatha said. Real pleasure washed through his eyes. He sat back. ‘It seems you haven’t yet discovered who your father is.’
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Kyan
KYAN MOVED ANOTHER COUNTER DESPITE THE TICK IN HISpulse. ‘My father was Súaltam mac Róich. Brother to Fergus—’
Elatha laughed.
The sound twisted like a pick in Kyan’s stomach. He found himself suddenly, viciously angry.
‘My boy, that human man was not your father. No, I believe they claimed that to be the case to hide your divine heritage.’
The roaring in Kyan’s mind was like the shriek of all the monsters he’d killed.
Like the terrible sound of the fire that decimated his forest home.
‘Perhaps it was to keep you from us,’ Elatha continued. ‘I suppose it worked for a while, until you killed the Fomóir at the Druid site and we tracked you down.’
Kyan shook his head softly. After that, he’d gone to Scáthach and Callum. They’d helped drag him from his guilt and darkness, but then he’d left to find a new purpose, and the Wake had recruited him. He would have known if he had such a father. His mother would have told him. Clearly this was some kind of distraction technique.
‘I have no power; I’m no one’s divine son. Just who do you think I am?’
‘Oh, I know you have no obvious power. You’ve shown no essence of it in all the time you’ve been in our employ. But, since you survived the god-killing transformation, I’ve watched you for signs. You’ve proven to be such a good hunter. In some ways, I’ve even begun toconsider you my new son. Checking in on you, making sure you’re content. You have been content with taking mission after mission, haven’t you? You are so much better at taking orders than other people.’ Elatha robbed another counter. ‘I suppose some part of me found it … charming, that I should steal the son from the god that had killed mine.’
Kyan’s eyes flashed up from the table as his mind worked to recall the old stories.
