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He rubbed at his jaw as if I had just slapped him across his freshly shaven face. “They arenotinnocent,” he said slowly, his voice even and smooth, but the way he held his teeth together as he spoke, told me that he felt nothing of the sort.
Aurelius had known what was happening to the Cursed, and he had done nothing to stop it.
He had . . .
My temple throbbed, a pounding ache reverberating through my head.
Like a spinning top, twisted and left to its own demise, my world began to swirl around and around and around, until the spinning stopped and I fell to my side.
Blackness painted my vision as a memory surfaced . . .
Sage
“Get them off,” Aurelius snarled between clenched teeth. He was standing by the large fireplace in our private chambers, the terrible-smelling ooze still clinging to his clothes, to my dress.
After the God of Death left, so did the attendees.
I couldn’t blame them—the celebration had been in shambles. The story we had been trying to sell was stripped and laid bare—the lie blatantly spelled out for all to see. The heroes they were celebrating hadn’t won the war—the villains had. Naturally, this would shake their beliefs in Aurelius as a ruler, and cause discourse amongst the two realms—a tasty little meal for the heathen God of Chaos, no doubt.
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. Everything was a mess.
“They will not budge, your divineness,” sputtered the red-faced God of Craftsmen who was working—and failing—at breaking the lock on the shackles. He was a short man, about as wide as he was tall, his body packed with mountains of bulky muscle. He even walked like it was a great effort, the ground shuddering beneath his feet with each heavy step.
Our private chambers were full of people, each one of them taking a stab at trying to break the unbreakable—the diamond-like shackles that the God of Death had used to imprison Aurelius. They had been at it for hours—the early morning sun which had started peeking its head over the horizon told me as much. A vibrant red-orange glow shone through the windows into our room, the light reaching for Aurelius. As it always did.
Aurelius let out a mighty growl of disgust. “Do none of you imbeciles know how to get these off?”
“They are trying, my love,” I said, walking from my spot by the window over to him. Gently, I cupped his face as I tried to bring him comfort. “They will remove them. We will find a way.”
He jerked his head away from my touch. “You do realize that this is your fault.”
His words hit me hard, like a fist sent into my gut. I sputtered, “My fault? How so?”
“You allowedhiminto our lives,” he grated.
I glanced around, noting just how many eyes had fallen on me. Normally, Aurelius would never have had this conversation in front of others, but that leash he kept so incredibly tight—apparently, he was letting it slacken.
But unlike Aurelius, I didn’t particularly care what tea the court gossips would spill over their morning croissants. And I wasn’t about to let him place the blame all on me. “I did no suchthing. You sit on the crown he once had. Everything he did was so he could take it back—”
“You will not speak another word,” Aurelius cut me off, his voice raised. He took a step forward, and for the first time, I winced as my husband came towards me—the memory of what happened during our last disagreement edging on the cusp of my mind. “Be careful, wife. You almost sound like you are trying to defend him.”
“I am doing no such thing,” I said, shaking my head, unable to believe what I was hearing. His words were blasphemous.
“Then why do you tend his orchard, for all to see, with such love and care? Is it because you have fallen for the enemy?”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I stated as much.
But it fell on deaf ears because Aurelius continued his verbal attack. “Do you not hear the whispers, goddess? Of what they call you behind your back?” He turned to the God of Craftsmen. “Tell her. I’m sure you’ve heard the title they have given her.” He shifted his gaze, looking around the room. “Go on, someone tell her what they call her.”
No one dared to step forward, not for fear of me, but rather the unraveling god before them.
“Very well, if no one has the courage to speak the name you all whisper behind her back, then I will say it.” Aurelius turned to me, his golden eyes now imitating the flame he commanded. “They don’t refer to you as my wife, or the Goddess of Life. No, they all call you the Goddess of Whores because that is what you have become—”
I slapped him. It was hard enough to knock his head to the side.
I pulled my hand back and cradled my stinging fingers against my chest, shocked at what I had done, and judging by the audible gasps emitted from around the room, everyone else was too.
I regretted it immediately.
