Page 110 of On Brutal Thrones

My heart gives one painful thud. I’ve offended a god.

Any sane mortal would drop to her knees. Beg forgiveness. Press her forehead to the dirt and pray he’s feeling merciful.

I want to call for the men. Their names are right there, caught behind my teeth. But if I shout, they’ll come running, and Valtor will have all four of us within his reach. I can’t risk drawing his attention to them when I’m the one he came to see.

Instead, I stand there. I’m terrified, but standing.

Valtor smiles.

The river begins moving again.

“Perhaps you should get back in.” His gaze dips over me once more. “You seemed much more relaxed a moment ago.”

My nails bite into my palms.

I think of my mother. Of what this divine’s selfishness did to her. To our family. To everyone who depended on our lands and our manor and the little ecosystem of people trading, working, and surviving together.

Then I think of Thorian. A little boy born to a god who looked at him and saw only disappointment.

Several kinds of love surge through me at once, and every one of them makes me hate the creature standing in front of me more.

“Thank you.” I dip my head the smallest amount I dare. “But I’m comfortable over here. What do you want?”

Valtor studies me.

His smile remains, but a coldness creeps into his expression. I feel it immediately. The pressure in the air increases until my ears pop.

He could kill me. That thought keeps circling through my mind. He could kill me, and there’s nothing I could do to stop him. Thorian, Fenric, and Talon could come racing down that hill, and all three of them together couldn’t stop him.

Worse, I’m no longer convinced the other divines would care. Except maybe Soryn.

“You know, Lady Nocturne, I’ve watched my son fight through these Trials many times.”

“I’m aware.”

“Again and again, he shows up at the team-naming ceremony with some hapless fuckers who don’t realize what they’re getting themselves into.” Valtor rolls his eyes as if Thorian’s repeated suffering is a mildly embarrassing habit. “Each time he loses, I think perhaps he’s finally accepted reality. Then there he is again.”

I stay quiet.

Valtor sighs. “I suppose I understood it at first. He was born a demi-god, after all. My son.” Pride enters his voice at those last two words, but it has nothing to do with Thorian. It’s pride in himself. “Naturally, everyone expected greatness.”

My stomach tightens.

“So did I,” Valtor continues. “I expected power. Something remarkable. Instead...” He makes a dismissive motion with one hand. “Nothing.”

The word hits me harder than it should. Nothing. That’s what Thorian has been to him all these years.

“I assumed the Trials were his way of proving me wrong. Proving that even without a divine gift, he could accomplish something worthy of my attention.” A faint smile crosses Valtor’s face. “Children do so desperately want their fathers’ approval.”

I almost laugh. It takes everything I have not to. You stupid, arrogant bastard. Thorian doesn’t want his approval. He wants Valtor to suffer. He wants him to answer for every cruel thing he’s done. But Valtor has no idea. Of course he doesn’t. The possibility that his own son might hate him so deeply has apparently never occurred to him.

“But this year...” Valtor’s expression changes. “This year, he’s worse.”

“Worse?”

“Distracted.”

His eyes slide over me again.