Page 24 of Courting War
Kellyn sucked in a breath, sweat dripping from his temple. He pulled his chisel out of his pocket and started carving a lovespoon. Building, carving . . . doing anything with his hands settled him.
The guards searched him before the opening ceremonies for weapons, but it was just for show because no matter what Kellyn did or had, a human couldn’t kill an immortal—especially not with a tiny knife. So, he was allowed to bring his carving tools.
As Kellyn carved, his gaze drifted through the grand ballroom, which glowed and crackled from the decor. Waterfalls of lava carved intricate patterns in the walls, forming the shapes of the nine pantheon gods out of glowing fire. It was warm but spelled to not roast human flesh. The floor was constructed from dried lava and mixed with white marble, creating a dichotomy of light and dark—just like Nefeli’s half-moon-white, half-raven-black hair.
The atmosphere should’ve felt calming, like fire on a cold winter’s day, but it rankled instead.
Bells struck, ringing throughout the city, and a rainbow of color coursed through the room, creating a twilight mist. The bells mingled with the sound of his anxious intake of breath. His chest burned as if working far too hard, and he swallowed around the knot forming in his throat.
From the mist and twilight, eight gods sprang fully formed, decorated in finery and immortal cruelty. An aura of magic and unmatchable power vibrated around them like leeches clinging to their skin. Kellyn wanted to look away from their glory, but his gaze wouldn’t budge. With silent grace, the gods’ eyes tracked the mortals as they glided—not walked—to the nine thrones at the head of the room. In even the simplest of movements, it was clear they weren’t human.
The throne on Nefeli’s right glittered and mocked Kellyn with its emptiness—another year, the Goddess of War refused to join, another year leaving the Theoden champion without a protector. But it was okay. Kellyn knew she had a reason for being gone.
Kellyn swallowed hard; his mouth as dry as the Viridian Desert.
Tension radiated and hovered in the room. No mortal daredto offend the gods inside their palace, so no one knew how to behave.
As Nefeli rose, her tiara sparkled like a diamond in the midnight sky. No, it didn’t sparkle. It moved. Upon closer inspection, the tiara was formed from golden bees and animated peacock feathers.
All the gods’ garments lived, pulsing with their particular style of unknowable magic. Shadows clung to Havyn’s skin like a dress. It was unclear if she wore any garments or if her attire was spun from darkness. Andromache, Goddess of Light’s dress, was woven from starlight and would be almost impossible to look upon were it not for an enchantment. As if she wanted to cause pain, but still be seen.
“Greetings, dearest champions. Welcome to the Sacrifice—our deadly game of tricks, magic, and deception.” As Nefeli talked, her gaze stopped and rested on each of the nine mortals.
When her eyes hit Kellyn’s, a full-body shudder stroked through him. It felt like having his soul excised from his body. Sinew by sinew, bone by bone, the goddess’s gaze raked over him—a physical force like he’d been shot by a cannon.
Kellyn played with his tartan cuffs, internally begging for the violet eyes to pass him.
“Please rise and greet your gods with the respect we deserve,” Nefeli commanded.
Kellyn shot to his feet, wary of offending the gods. He bowed deeply to each one before standing straight and awaiting his fate like a strong, obedient soldier.
“A Sacrifice cannot occur without a priest to preside over it,” Nefeli continued. “As is our time-honored tradition, all nine champions will receive a priest, priestex, or a priestess to aid them through their seven-day journey here. So without further ado, it’s time that we introduce you to them.”
Nefeli’s violet eyes cleaved a path through the room, exposing pools of lava in the floor where nine people emerged—one of which was Emmett.
Kellyn’s heart surged at the sight. It turned out that Emmettdidn’t have to choose between his two friends because Andromache had hand-picked a priest for Cecile. One that would perfectly match and aid her.
So, Emmett could fulfill his vow to Kellyn. They had promised to aid each other and have each other’s backs. And if Kellyn would die in the Sacrifice, he felt better knowing that his friend would be by his side. Emmett was still livid about the champion mix-up, and he hadn’t spoken one word on the ship over, buthe’d still come.He’d shown up and vowed to help.
That was true friendship, being there even when it hurt.
“Please, join your champion.” Nefeli motioned to the priests.
Kellyn sucked in a breath and held his head high, towering over all the other competitors. He’d never met a mortal taller than him, and probably never would.
His eyes scanned the priests and latched onto Emmett, whose russet skin glowed under the lava light. Kellyn flashed a soft smile at his friend. But the other boy refused to look back and bypassed him completely.
What?
An anchor dropped in Kellyn’s heart, and his smile dropped to a flat line as Emmett took place beside Cecile.
Had Andromache chosen Emmett to be Cecile’s priest? Or had Emmett asked to be?
Kellyn’s fingers trembled, and he squeezed his lovespoon and knife tightly, accidentally nicking his palm. But that didn’t hurt compared to the guttural pain swirling in his stomach. He tried not to show it outwardly, but his eyes stung.
He was all alone.
Entirely and utterly abandoned in this.
