Page 31 of Courting War
“Great Goddess, I ask you to lend me strength and fortitude for all the challenges ahead.” Kellyn knelt at the hearth in prayer, his fingers whittling away at his lovespoon. He didn’t have an altar for worship, so instead he used the flames.
A thud sounded from behind him, ripping him from prayer. Kellyn whipped his head around to see who or what was causing the disturbance.
It was his priestess, and she let out a long and impressive string of curses aimed at the Goddess of Love. “Why?” She glared, and he had no idea if the question was for him or Love. So he sewed his lips shut.
A thick, stilted silence pulsed through the room, clinging to his body like burning tar. Kellyn didn’t know what to do or say, so he watched, wordless, with his hands curling into his carving. The wood bit into his palms and helped ground him during the awkward moment.
The priestess rubbed her wrist and glowered. She embodied abewitching battle, and he hoped her ire wouldn’t be directed his way. For battle, even if beautiful, was still a battle.
She stalked to the bed and sat down fiercely—as if she wanted to murder either the bed or Kellyn. Then her glower turned on him.
Perfect.
“You’re praying?” she asked.
“I was.”
“What’s the wood?”
“A lovespoon tribute to the Goddess of War.”
Her eyes widened a fraction and traced the spoon like the chalk outline of a dead body at a crime scene. “Hmm . . .” She tapped her pocket and repeated, “Hmm.”
Kellyn waited for her to add more, but she never did. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I'm Kellyn Ellis.”
She flipped a midnight curl and pretended not to hear him. But from the slight twitch of her lips, she clearly had. The girl didn’t need to speak because she screamed her opinion with her body language, every muscle taut, and her head held high like a god sitting on a throne. A deep, dark disdain swam in her irises, simmering with annoyance—like Kellyn was a gnat that needed to be squashed. He was a peasant not worthy of her attention.
The room smelled of incense and firewood, which should have felt calming, but in her presence, they were signals for alarm.
Kellyn grunted and placed the carving in his pocket, rocking back on his heels, not knowing what else to do. He was a man of few words, and he had even fewer for this situation.
An awkward tension licked the space between them.
The priestess’s gaze caught on the peacock statue, and her already frigid features crumbled to dark sooty ash. Without warning, she sprang up from the bed, charged at the peacock, and kicked it hard onto its side, toppling it to the ground.
Shock spiked in his blood as the crash sound reverberated like a thunderclap. Shards of marble clinked against the redwood floor, a dust cloud exploding outward, coating the room with sharpedges.
“What are you doing?” Kellyn asked, standing up quickly and putting distance between them. The girl was an unoiled hinge. No, she was unhinged.
“Spies.” Her voice was a dark promise, but she didn’t glance in his direction.
Kellyn let out a long-suffering sigh. Utterly confused and exhausted with everything. This would be a torturous week—for however long he survived.
The priestess bent down and picked up the fractured head of the peacock. She rotated it between her fingers. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.” A wicked smile painted on her ruby lips, and a vicious glint lit her eyes as she threw the fragmented head against the floor, fully destroying it.
Kellyn itched his scalp; this girl was visceral—living anger. His heart drummed in his ears, and he sat on the bed.
She angled her head like a snake, examining its prey at the other two statues—the raven and the cat. “You’re loyal to the House of War?”
Kellyn rubbed his face, utterly confused and a bit horrified.
The cat statue inclined its head, rocks popping with its movement, and the raven statue said, “Yes, we are loyal to War.” Its voice was a hollow, guttural croak that sent shivers down Kellyn’s spine. Gods magic. He shouldn’t have been surprised because he was in their city, and it lived and breathed their power. Yet he still was because it was so utterly different from Theoden.
“Will you promise not to report or record anything unless I command it?” She narrowed her eyes as if she were looking into the cat’s soul and judging if it was worthy. The stone crackled with its movement as it bowed its head again. The girl nodded as if appeased, her stare cutting through the raven like a sharpened blade. “And you?”
The raven statue ruffled its wings. “I'm always loyal to War.”
“Excellent.” She carefully stepped over the shattered pieces and went to the bedside table. Methodically, she removed the pins in her hair one by one, and black curls fell down her back like waves of spun midnight.
