The air grew suddenly cold, the stars shifting to storm clouds overhead.
Acaeja’s presence soured. The fates in her wings darkened, all cold nights and smoldering ashes.
“We have discussed this many times, cousin,” she said.
“And perhaps now you’ll tell me that we’ll discuss it many more,” Nyaxia snapped, lip curling.
Acaeja didn’t answer. But a small, knowing smile curled her lips.
“Yes,” she said. “I expect we will.”
“Maybe it isn’t so bad for you to know what it feels like to mourn something,” Nyaxia spat, sneering down at the Sightmother’s head. “What do you feel for this witch, anyway? You have thousands more. I had only Alarus. Only him.”
Her voice cracked over those final two words, and it struck me just how childish she sounded—how lost.
I had been so ashamed of my inability to shed my grief from fifteen years ago. And yet here was a goddess, one of the most powerful beings ever to exist, and her grief was still just as raw, two-thousand years later.
The pain in the air hardened, sharpening to anger. Nyaxia’s flawless face twisted into a hateful sneer. “And all of you have exiled my people. You’ve hunted them. You kill them. I have defended Obitraes through force alone.”
Acaeja regarded her steadily. “I loved Alarus as a brother,” she said. “I have never had any quarrel with your people. And I have defended you, Nyaxia, from others who judge you in ways you do not deserve. I will not excuse the actions of the White Pantheon. But this—”
Nyaxia cut in, snidely, “This is what I have earned—”
“This, Nyaxia, is a new sin.” Acaeja’s voice did not raise. She didn’t need it to. The power in it alone cut through all other sounds. “Your follower has murdered one of my most devoted acolytes. You intend to take a kingdom from the grasp of the White Pantheon. You have been wronged, cousin, I will give you that. But someone must pay for the blood that’s been spilled here.”
Her gaze fell to Atrius—Atrius, who was still drenched in the Sightmother’s blood.
The terror that spiked through me at that, just her attention going to him, paralyzed me.
And before I could stop myself, I leapt to my feet.
“I am responsible.”
The words flew from my lips before I gave myself time to reconsider them.
A bolt of raw fear speared Atrius’s presence—even though he hadn’t so much as flinched when it was himself under Acaeja’s scrutiny.
I couldn’t let myself pay attention to that, though, as both goddesses’ eyes turned to me. The force of their attention alone nearly made my knees buckle, like my body could not withstand the power of their gazes.
“I’m responsible,” I said again. “And it would be an honor to sacrifice my life to you, my goddess, in payment.”
I couldn’t acknowledge Atrius. I would break if I did. I had the attention of two goddesses on me—two of the most powerful beings to ever exist across time itself—and yet I felt his stare just as strongly as theirs.
Nyaxia laughed. “See, Acaeja? If you want to take a life in exchange for a life, here’s a pretty, young one ripe for your plucking. But you will not touch my acolyte.”
Nyaxia, it seemed, was suddenly very protective when it came to her rival gods. Perhaps more about competition than it was about benevolence, but I was grateful for it on Atrius’s behalf either way.
I told myself that I had never been afraid of death. And yet, I couldn’t stop the shaking when Acaeja turned to me, her ice-white eyes staring through me. She approached, feet gliding without movement over the tile floor.
She leaned down before me, our faces level. All the threads, every one of them, bent toward her, as if begging to return to their natural origin. Each layer of my soul peeled back for her, leaving me terrifyingly exposed, like at any moment she could reach into my ribcage and pluck my bleeding heart.
The past, the present, the future blended. I felt uprooted in time, a million versions of myself over a million moments now standing in this spot, on trial under her judgment.
“Tell me, child,” she said, “why would you offer yourself up to me so willingly?”
One of her many fingers, this one marked with a thorned circle—the symbol of the heart—reached out and trailed down my cheek.
“Because I did betray my Sightmother.” Despite my best efforts, my voice wavered. “And because I have offered you my entire life, and it would be a greater honor than I deserve to offer you my death, too.”