Page 6 of Gods of Prey
“Lord Revel!” A dryad approaches, her skin the rich brown of fertile earth, hair a cascade of pink cherry blossoms. “The eastern gardens are requesting your presence. The new souls are arriving, and they wish for you to perform the Welcoming.”
I offer her my most charming smile, ignoring the pit opening up in my stomach. “Tell them I’ll be there shortly, Thalia.”
She blushes, the color of her cheeks deepening to mahogany. “Of course, my lord.” She lingers, twisting a fallen blossom between her fingers. “Will you be attending tonight’s Celebration of New Growth?”
“Would it be a proper celebration without me?” I wink, and she giggles.
This is how it’s been for centuries now. Sebastian leaves for his mortal punishment alongside Siennara, and I step in as interim God of Life. The crown feels heavier each time, the responsibilities more binding. And every creature in Aurelys—from the highest nature spirits to the tiniest sprouting seeds—looks at me with the same expectation: Be what Sebastian is. Fill the void he leaves.
As if anyone could.
I make my way toward the Hall of Seasons, where the Council of Elders awaits me. The path beneath my feet sprouts wildflowers with each step, another reminder that my power here is merely borrowed. Sebastian’s footsteps would create entire orchards if he wished.
“Lord Revel!” another voice calls out. This time it’s Lyra, one of the light nymphs who serve in the palace. Her body glows with a soft luminescence, her hair made of pure sunbeams. “A moment of your time?”
I pause, watching as she floats toward me. “For you, Lyra? Always.”
She smiles, delighted by the attention. “The musicians are preparing for tonight. I thought perhaps you might wish to choose the opening melody?”
She drifts closer, her light pulsing in a way that suggests more than musical interests. She’s so close, her arm brushes against my left wing and sends spiders skittering down my spine. I ignore the sensation, plastering a soft smile on my lips.
“Something celebratory, I think,” I say, gently brushing a strand of light from her face. “But with depth. Nothing too frivolous.”
“Like the piece you composed for the last solstice?” Her glow intensifies as she leans into my touch.
“Something new,” I say. “We’re always creating here, aren’t we?”
She nods eagerly, bravely reaching to caress the soft golden feathers at my back. Many gods are protective of their wings. They’d kill anyone who came close to touching them. But I’ve been intimate with Lyra enough times for her to feel comfortable with the gesture, and I can’t decide if that’s good or bad.
“I could help you compose it. In your chambers, perhaps? After the council meeting?” she offers, biting her bottom lip.
The invitation is clear. It would be easy to accept, to lose myself for a few hours in her light and warmth. To pretend that this golden palace and all its adoring inhabitants fill the emptiness I feel.
“Perhaps,” I say noncommittally. “I’ll send word after my meeting with the Council of Elders.”
Disappointment flickers across her radiant features, but she covers it quickly. “As you wish, my lord.”
I continue on my way, nodding to the various spirits and divine beings who bow as I pass. They all love me here. Or at least, they love what I represent: the stand-in for their true god. The placeholder. The best friend who keeps the realm functioning while Sebastian experiences mortality yet again.
The Hall of Seasons rises before me, its massive columns carved from living wood that changes with the four seasons, even though seasons don’t truly exist in Aurelys. Currently, they display spring, with buds and fresh leaves spiraling up toward the open ceiling.
Inside, the Council of Elders awaits. Ancient nature spirits, each representing an aspect of life: Birth, Growth, Flourishing, and Transition. They keep the realm moving smoothly and make my job near effortless.
They rise as I enter, bowing deeply.
“Lord Revel,” Elder Thorn, the Spirit of Growth, greets. “We have matters of great importance to discuss.”
“Don’t we always?” I take my seat on the throne of living wood. Not Sebastian’s grand throne in the central palace. I’ve never presumed to sit there. But I have taken over a smaller version for council meetings. Still, it responds to me, branches extending to cradle my arms as I sit.
“The balance reports are concerning, to say the least,” says Elder Dew, the Spirit of Birth. Her face is young but her eyes are ancient. “The transition between life and death has become erratic.”
I lean forward, brows furrowing. This is what I feared. “Explain.”
“Souls are lingering longer than they should before passing to Umbraeth,” says Elder Bloom, of Flourishing. “And new souls are arriving with...residue. Memories and attachments they should have shed.”
Elder Frost, Spirit of Transition, nods gravely. “The veil between realms thins. Something disrupts the natural order.”
A chill runs through me despite the perpetual warmth of Aurelys. “When did this begin?”
