Page 130 of The Lost Reliquary
I begin to tremble.
“Daughter”—Tempestra-Innara’s voice pours into me like warm, honeyed milk—“I am so sorry. I failed to see the war within you, how it has poisoned your soul with such suffering, for so long.” They look around at the audience, to my blood brethren surrounding me and those watching from above. “Lys needed not suffer in silence. None of you do. You all have my love. And if I have not fully earned yours, then it is I who have failed, not you.”
For the briefest instant, regret pricks me, needle sharp. Then, I feel the sting of winter, hear the cracking of ice. I see blood at my feet, feel it warm and sticky between my fingers. My jaw tightens. “Horseshit.” A broken whisper. Then again, louder. “Horseshit. I can tell you where those who’ve died in the name of your path would tell you to shove your love, yourmercy. You want our adoration—crave it. But underneath it all, you’re nothing more than a monster with a kind smile and a gentle touch, who forces us to be your claws and teeth.”
I expect anger. Maybe even a blow or two. But the Goddess only smiles so sweetly, so patiently, that I want to scream.
They say nothing, only turn to Nolan and gesture for the reliquary. He doesn’t hesitate in handing it over, his eyes snagging briefly on me.
The Goddess considers the crystal vessel, blazing beneath their touch, with an almost respectful gaze. “There is malevolent, blasphemous power here, created with ancient knowledge not meant to remain in this world. The creators of this horror are long gone, dead.” They raise the bottle up for everyone to see. “Which is how it is meant to be.”
In a blink of movement, the Goddess’s fingers release the reliquary. It plunges to the stone floor and shatters. And as the dark ichor that isthe last vestige of Arcadius, the Green God, becomes a pathetic trickle on the Cathedral stairs, something in me breaks as well, giving rise to the mad desire to lunge forward, to lick that power from stones that already know spilled blood so very well—
The Goddess points a finger. In an instant, the flame appears, running over the blood as if it were lamp oil. It burns away, leaving only a dark stain in its wake.
Another piece of me crumbles. I slump to my knees, chin hanging to my chest.
“The weapon is destroyed,” announces the Goddess. “Taking its darkness with it. Soon, daughter, yours will be gone as well. Stand.”
I ignore the order. I am not a puppet yet.
But the guards are listening. Two of them get their hands under my arms and pull me up. I expect to be dragged to the Goddess, but instead they come to me, gliding down the steps, hands held out as if to embrace me. And—even now, I can’t fucking help it—I lean toward that gesture. Long, thin fingers rise, reach for my face. But instead of the soft touch I expect, I flinch as thin lines of pain scratch their way over my cheeks. The hands recede, blood—myblood—painting their tips. Tempestra-Innara anoints their lips with it, an inversion of my blessing years ago. Or maybe simply a representation of the consumption that is about to take place. Then, they slice a line across each of their palms with the same pointed nails.
It doesn’t make sense for a goddess to bleed, but they do. This time by choice.
When they come for me again, I can’t help it—I struggle. The Cathedral Guard shouldn’t be enough to hold me, but under the Goddess’s engulfing gaze, I am half frozen, at the mercy of the waters rising around me. Yet in that moment—that last, desperate moment of me being only myself—my craving for their touch suddenly splinters, broken as swiftly as the reliquary. Muscles tense, warm defiance flooding my veins as I shift my eyes away, to the person who could have stopped this, to Nolan. Because I need to; because I want him to see the difference between me right now and whatever it is I’m about to become.
And remember it.
Then Tempestra-Innara’s flesh skims mine and it begins. A trickle atfirst, but rising like a swollen river. Tempestra’s light… their warmth… their searing, ravaging divinity begins its inescapable feast. Nolan is gone. The Goddess’s gaze bores into mine, eyes like mirrors, reflecting the consuming light enveloping me.
Mingled together, our blood sings.
No…it burns.
But there is still resistance, deep within. In a place where the light has not reached yet, far down where I hid those countless fantasies of deicide. Of escape to freedom. It is there for me to tap, to draw strength from as I try to push back the light, the flame, disentangling it from what isme.
I won’t simply give in.Can’t.
Shhhhhh…
A sense of irritated tolerance spreads, reaching across the bridge building between us. I shove it back, push it away…
Lys… shhhhh… soon it will be…
Stop. Please.
Already, the borders between me and them feel as if they are weakening, crumbling. And behind those walls…
Innara’s face shimmers in front of me and I see the separation, that schism between the divinity and the flesh, driven by Tempestra’s fire. Skin darkens, begins to peel and flake, bits rapidly turning to ash as the Goddess shrugs off their former avatar in favor of their new…
Oh.No.
Something in me thins beyond tolerance, a membrane tearing apart, opening me in full to the Goddess’s divine source. Every thought, every fear…
Every secret.
Surprise, Tempestra.
