Listen. I am aware it is December 20. I have had a very busy month and you are going to have to deal with these being late. Thank you to @agirlandherquill for doing this again!
WIP: Just Jane
Prompt(s): “I chose to be here. No-one made me except myself.”
Words: 411
Notes: This is very close to the end of the story. I had another part that would've included three more prompts, but it also would've given away the entire ending. So you get this small scene instead.
“You don’t have to stay,” Duchess Anwen said. Her plate armour fit her perfectly. A few short months ago it would’ve made her look like a child playing dress up, like her coronation dress had, but now she had the weary steadiness to carry its weight. “I don’t know if it was Kell or Percy who told you to remain close to me, but I won’t tell anyone if you decide to find somewhere safer.”
“I chose to be here. No one made me except myself,” Jane replied.
The leather armour they’d found for her felt weird—it wasn’t heavy or stiff, it was just strange. She had a sword at her hip that she barely knew how to use and at least six knives strapped to her body. She was a thief, not a fighter, but the others had been so determined to arm her that she hadn’t had the heart to turn them down. Now that they were out of sight—Percy and Nic with the knights and soldiers lined up in front of the city walls, Pavia hidden somewhere along the top of the wall to protect them with her magic—Jane found the weight of the blades oddly comforting.
“I’m sorry it’s come to this,” she said.
“It’s not your fault,” Duchess Anwen replied. “You did your best.”
Still, it didn’t feel like it had been enough. They had delayed the invasion but not stopped it. Now they were exactly where they had tried so desperately to avoid being: hemmed into the city, unable to escape, with only a small army to defend the walls as the Vaedian army bore down on them. They had already crested the horizon. It was a matter of hours before they’d be engaged in open battle.
“Do you think my ancestors will forgive me when I meet them in Zailahr?” Duchess Anwen asked.
“What could there be to forgive?”
“This Duchy has remained independent for hundreds of years and is going to fall while under my rule.” She chewed her bottom lip. “My mother will be so disappointed.”
“Then she shouldn’t have gone and died fighting the Vaedian Empire's war. I know they were our allies but we all knew this would happen eventually.”
“Do you think that would’ve changed anything?”
Jane hesitated. “Probably not.”
Duchess Anwen smiled faintly. “Thank you for lying.”
Her heart ached. They’d been so close. And now it was too late; all of their efforts had been for nothing.
I know I'm simultaneously reposting my pieces for last year's Writemas, but I wanted to take a stab at this year's as well!
Alas, I'm likely going to be more sporadic this time around due to finals eating me alive lol
Thank you to @agirlandherquill for hosting and inviting me to this event!! My Day 1 prompts are listed here!
My prompts: "I chose to be here. No-one made me except myself." | a silver forest | He never wanted anything to change, for if it did, he would never recover. | The perils of partnership
A sharp gust of wind wakes him from an unfortunately fitful sleep.
He blinks as his vision struggles to focus, everything around him practically glowing as the snow-covered woods reflect the heatless midday sun. The whole world looks like it's covered in a silver sheen—cold, brittle, and far too bright.
A sharp whinny draws his attention and his eyes finally manage to focus on the mop of raven-black hair beside their stolen steed.
“…You’re still here.” He grimaces as his voice comes out gravelly from disuse, the words framed as a statement but still carrying a hint of a question.
His nephew shrugs, "Of course I am. Would you rather me leave you to the wolves and whatever else wanders these woods at night?" He busies himself with tightening the horse's saddle, "Besides, it's not like I'd have anywhere else to go."
He narrows his eyes.
"I'm slowing you down, wasting what few resources you've been able to scavenge, and I've manipulated you, hurt you for years now, so it's not like sentiment is keeping you here. You quite literally have no reason to—"
"You're my Uncle." The boy turns, arms crossed, anger sparking in his blue eyes. "You really think I'd just abandon you? Try as you might have, I'm not you. I won't abandon someone I care about. I'm sick of us acting like that's the only thing this family knows how to do."
"You pity me," He mutters, "This is nothing more than some moral obligation."
"I chose to be here. No-one made me except myself." A beat. "And…despite what you may think, you're not beyond saving. There's still some good left in you somewhere."
He snorts. "You sound like your naïve sister."
The boy’s eyes flash dangerously. “You don’t get to talk about her like that. The world would’ve burned long before now if it weren’t for people like her. She wasn’t right about everything, but she wasn’t wrong either.”
He huffs and turns away, the movement tugging at wounds that protest sharply. His legs seize, white-hot pain streaking through them, and he hisses.
Instantly, his nephew is at his side again, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder until the burning sensation fades. He blinks hard, staring at a patch of snow blurred between him and the nearest tree. The boy doesn’t leave, instead he turns and settles beside him, their backs pressed together for warmth.
Neither of them spoke, the silence between them both familiar and heavy.
This dynamic was new, practically foreign, their roles almost completely reversed. He never wanted anything to change, for if it did, he would never recover. He wasn't sure if he could face the reality of everything he's done, everything he's broken to get here, only to be stabbed in the back, all of it for nothing. He isn't sure he can handle having the very boy he deliberately manipulated and hurt for years, now risking himself just to keep him alive when everyone else had left him for dead, and rightfully so.
Still, the boy stays, and when sleep tugs at him again, he lets his eyes drift shut and pretends not to notice the blanket being adjusted over his shoulders.
Chosen Prompt: A crumbling clocktower(Setting), given by @agirlandherquill
Tijuana wrapped a blanket tighter around herself and lifted her face to the sun, eyes closed. Her graying hair flowed in the breeze. She lifted a mug of hot cocoa to her nose, just to take a sniff.
It was a nice day, given it was a day in December, in Washington(the state), and a day right after a lot of snow. Tijuana sat on a picnic blanket, surrounded by fragrant evergreens and The Pillar. Wrapped around her shoulders was another blanket, already lightly wet and dusted with pine needles.
Tijuana's picnic blanket had an empty space, though, a space for Roy. He was the one who insisted on bringing her out here her first December in the area. He promised a delicious mug of hot chocolate, a beautiful view, and a peaceful afternoon. "Up by The Pillar," he said. "A place where your world can just. Stop. Where you can leave life behind for a moment."
She looked out toward the horizon. The place was on a tall hill that watched over the city below. Not quite a mountain, she was told. Those were farther east, and even higher. But the hill was still impressively tall.
She turned her head to look up at The Pillar. It was a clocktower, placed partway up the hill to help show the whole town the time back when the city was a simple town. Its bells used to ring out beautiful melodies for all to hear. Sadly, it became old and too expensive and difficult for the owners to take care of.
So it sat there for years, slowly aging, slowly crumbling. It became known as The Pillar of Time, or just the Pillar, as it wasn't used for anything else. The hands had rusted in place decades ago. The gears wouldn't turn. The bells had long lost their clappers. It was just a place where time stood still, or at least slowed, for any visitors who came to see the view, to step away from responsibility, or to just be alone.
It was also the place of her first date with Roy, on one of the place's busiest days of the year. The city would sell hot chocolate and Christmas treats and sing carols under The Pillar of Time every year. Tijuana and Roy decided to stroll around the festival, sipping cocoa and eating cookies. Tijuana laughed at how particular Roy was with his drink. "Two marshmallows, please. Always two. No more, no less. That's the perfect amount." She'd never lived in such a cold place before. She'd never tried any cocoa before. So she tried some with two marshmallows. And burned her tongue.
Next, Roy showed her the inside of the tower. Back then, they were still allowed to walk around inside. She gazed at all the gears and mechanisms with awe. She rang the bells with glee. She loved being there.
Tijuana brushed a few silver strands behind her ear. She sighed, almost content. Then, she saw something new. Something exciting.
A truck was winding its way up the hill. She watched it pull off the road and into the parking lot. She smiled as a man got out and waved him over.
"Sorry for being late," he said. "Got more hot chocolate here, though."
She laughed. "Come on, sit down. There are marshmallows waiting."
He sat. "Dad would love seeing this."
She looked up at Roy's truck, smiling. "Yeah, he would. Two marshmallows?"
A second man had gotten out of the truck and was walking over. He wore sunglasses and held the end of a cane, but he seemed to know right where he was going. Roy made his way over to his son and wife and slowly sat on the picnic blanket. "No more, no less. That's the perfect amount," he said.
"And this is the perfect place."
They sat together to enjoy the sun's warmth and to let time leave them behind.
Thank you to @agirlandherquill for organizing this event!
WIP: Second Chances WIP
Prompt(s): "I'm walking away now... Not coming back." / A forbidden forest / A tragic choice / A lovable lie
Words: 509
Notes: The last one was kind of dark, so have something a little bit silly between Talea and Edith.
Talea flopped onto the ground next to Edith. “I give up.”
“Already?” she asked.
“It’s been half an hour.”
Edith looked up from her book. “It’s been maybe fifteen minutes.”
“It feels like it’s been half an hour,” Talea said petulantly. They were on the back lawn of Wychwood Manor. Not that it was much of a lawn at the moment—wild flowers and tall grasses were plentiful, as the sheep that usually kept the field manicured were grazing somewhere safer.
“You’re being a baby. How hard can it be to shoot lightning out of your hand and hit a piece of firewood that’s ten paces away?”
Talea scowled. “Don’t tease me.”
“Who else will?” Edith looked back at the page, the corners of her mouth pinching as she tried not to laugh. “I could invite Gideon to join us.”
“Don’t you—” She spluttered, hating the warmth that flooded her face.. “Shut up.”
“If I’m not allowed to tease you, am I allowed to make observations about your romantic situation?”
“No! There is no romantic situation! Stop talking so loud.” Talea looked around them, confirming that Edith hadn’t summoned him.
Edith scoffed. “Please, you two are the most ridiculous pair I’ve ever seen, and I watched Lord Winfield pine over Lady Camden for a year before asking her to dance.”
“That’s an unfair comparison.”
“His poetry was so bad,” she said with a grimace before continuing. “You and Gideon act like there’s some tragic circumstances keeping you apart when the truth is that you’re both too cowardly to address some poor decisions you both made years ago. It’s painfully obvious to everyone around you that you still have feelings for each other and are dancing around them instead of having a simple conversation. You’re acting like children, indulging in the easy lie that you hate each other instead of talking about what happened.”
Talea blinked several times, staring at her sister. “That was quite a speech.”
“Thank you, I’ve been working on it for a few days now.”
“The situation isn’t as simple as you’ve painted it.”
“I know there’s complications regarding the wolf and witch thing, but wouldn’t it be nice if that was the only thing keeping you apart?”
“Edith.”
“At least then you two could hop into bed together and get rid of the tension that suffocates every room you’re in together.”
“Gods and saints, Edith,” Talea hissed. “You’ve been spending too much time with Quincy.”
“Perhaps, but I’m not discussing you and Gideon with him,” she replied.
Talea frowned. She didn’t want to imagine what they did when they were alone together—Quincy was still an asshole as far as she was concerned, and she didn’t want him anywhere near her sister.
“I just think you two would make beautiful babies together,” Edith teased.
“I’m walking away now. Not coming back,” she declared as she got to her feet. She walked backwards towards the manor. “I hope you get rained on.”
Thank you to @agirlandherquill for organizing this event!
WIP: Just Jane
Prompt(s): "I'm incapable of forgetting, unfortunately." / "You're home now, with us." / A misty bridge / A fading hearth
Words: 749
Notes: For context, I'd recommend reading Writemas 2024 Day 5.
Jane was barely paying attention as they rode through the night. Percy was leading the way, followed by Pavia, Kell, herself, and Nic bringing up the rear. They’d decided to push on to the next town instead of stopping in Athelney for the night like they’d discussed earlier in the day. Jane didn’t care—she didn’t know much of the duchy outside of Summerlight, and she wasn’t even sure which direction they were travelling.
A light mist filled the air as they approached a stone bridge. It was only when Percy’s horse stepped onto the bridge, and she heard the hoofbeats on the stones, that she realized where they were.
She pulled her horse to a stop. “Wait.”
“What’s wrong?” Nic asked.
“Where are we?”
“Almost to Skelside,” he replied. “The inn is less than ten minutes ahead.”
“No. I can’t—we can’t—no.” Her words were failing her. She couldn’t go back to Skelside. She’d made a promise when she was twelve years old that she’d never return.
“I need more than that, Jane,” Percy said. He’d circled back to join them.
“I made a promise,” she said. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. It was like she was a terrified child again, waiting for the next raised hand or raised voice aimed at her.
“You haven’t been here for years,” Percy said. “There’s no guarantee that the people you want to avoid still live in the area. We’re going directly to the inn, sleeping, and leaving first thing in the morning.”
No one left the ministry. She’d only escaped because she’d fled under the cover of darkness with nothing but the clothes on her back.
“And I’ll kill anyone who tries to mess with you,” Pavia added.
Jane’s smile was strained.
“I’m impressed you can remember a promise you made as a kid,” Nic said.
“I will never forget that night, unfortunately.”
Nic frowned. “Do you need us to kill someone?”
“Just point them out.” Pavia’s tone was arch, but her expression made it clear she wasn’t joking.
Jane nodded. She didn’t need to be afraid; she wasn’t alone anymore. She nodded again, steeling herself, then signalled to Percy that she was good to continue.
They entered Skelside. It felt smaller than she remembered, even though everything else was exactly the same. The same houses and shops, the same faded signs, the same judgemental glares. Jane tucked herself into the shadows of the stables while Percy and Pavia went to secure them lodgings and Nic tended to the horses.
There were the same faces, too. Despite the late hour and the years that had passed, she still recognized many of the people she saw. Every familiar face set her more on edge.
“You okay?” Kell asked. He leaned against the wall next to her.
“Not really,” she replied. She didn’t need to lie to him. “It’s weird. Eerie. I hate it.”
“I don’t have the same violent capabilities as Nic and Pavia, but let me know if there’s anything I can do to make this easier.”
“Can you reverse time so we stop in Athelney?”
He smiled. “I’ll work on it.”
A middle aged man approached them from the other side of the street, striding with purpose. He had an angry, jagged scar running down one side of his face. “Jane of Radiant Ephion’s Mercy.”
Bile rose in her throat.
“After twelve long years, you’ve finally returned home to us,” the man said. He grabbed her forearm, his fingers digging into her flesh and bringing back every awful second of her last night in the town. “You must pay penance for your actions.”
“Let go of her,” Kell ordered. He stepped between them, hiding the man’s face from her view. It didn’t make the panic recede or the air reach her lungs.
She hefted the fire poker and swung it at his head—
“This girl is my property. I can do with her as I please.”
It collided with his skull with a sickening thump and he collapsed to the floor—
“I will kill you where you stand if you don’t let her go right now,” Kell threatened.
Blood pooled on the floor and splattered her dress and the fire in the hearth was fading and the river was cold and—
“Kell.” She barely managed his name before the world narrowed to pinpricks and her knees gave out. She didn’t hit the ground; Kell caught her and lowered her softly into the dirt, holding her tightly until she lost consciousness.
Thank you to @agirlandherquill for doing this again!
WIP: Second Chances WIP
Prompt(s): "There's more to this than we were told." / A hunter's snare / She longed for life, nothing else.
Words: 960
Notes: Talea having a wonderful time in the woods again.
Talea ran from the shadow creatures. There were three of them on her heels as she dodged between trees and over roots. All she needed to do was lead them away from Quincy and Edith before blasting the creatures with enough light that they slunk back to wherever they came from. If she could summon the light again. All she’d been able to create on command were strange floating lights that were pretty but didn’t have any practical use.
She fell, left side hitting the ground hard. Leaves flew around her and obscured her view. She swore and tried to stand and move forward, but her foot was caught.
A hunter’s snare. Rope wrapped around her ankle. Glass shards embedded in the rope bit into her skin.
Using whatever self control she had left under the panic and fear, she made herself stop moving. Fighting it would make it pull tighter, and make the glass shards dig deeper into her flesh. She needed to loosen the knot.
Talea hissed in pain as she extricated the glass from her ankle. Fuck, she would have to visit Wren again. A bandage would mean even more questions from Gideon and the others. Eventually her lies would unravel. Maybe she could treat it herself if she—
Someone grabbed her hair and jerked her head back so she was looking into the canopy of leaves. Familiar silver eyes hovered above her; eyes that haunted her unconscious dreams after she’d been poisoned by one of the shadow creatures. Eyes she hadn’t seen since regaining consciousness at Wychwood Manor. In the light of day she could see the owner’s features; her straight nose, bow-shaped lips, and high cheekbones were oddly familiar considering Talea had never seen the woman before in her life.
The woman’s lip curled into a snarl and she pressed a cold blade to Talea’s throat. “Another Grand Duchess of Kiathet.”
“Former,” Talea corrected, as though it mattered.
“So King Maximillian chose his heir?” She managed to make the title of ‘king’ sound like an insult.
“My half-brother, Miles, was chosen.”
“Of course he chose the only male,” the woman said with disgust. “They always do. Even when the sons are bumbling idiots, they’re still seen as better options.”
“It sounds like you’re familiar with the process,” Talea said. She needed to keep the woman talking long enough to figure out a plan.
“Unfortunately.” Her expression shifted to be calculating. “You’ll understand, then. I’m not the horrible person that people paint me as. I long for life, nothing else, but I have been hunted for so many years. I was pushed deeper and deeper into these woods until I found the edge, and over the edge I found the power that I deserved. Little Max may have the crown, but I am the one with true power.”
“You mean the shadow creatures that keep attacking innocent people in the Wychwood?”
“I don’t want to hurt the innocent, but I need to destroy Max and every symbol of his reach until he understands the pain and suffering he caused me. Even if there’s collateral damage along the way.”
Talea swallowed her argument. There was the knife to her throat to consider, after all.
The woman’s attention snapped back the way Talea had come and she bared her teeth. “Here come more of them now. The king’s wolves. Be careful with them; they lie with ease and will betray you for scraps of favour.”
“The Blackbriars?”
“Be wary, little one. And remember me when they turn on you.”
“How do you know—?”
“They turn on everyone outside of the pack eventually,” she interrupted. She withdrew the knife and sheathed it. “I’m going to let you go now, and then you’re going to count to ten before moving or making a noise or I’ll kill you before you can escape that snare. Do you understand?”
Talea nodded slowly. Her movements were limited by the tight grasp the woman had on her hair. In the distance, she could hear Edith and Quincy calling her name.
“Good girl.” She released Talea and disappeared into the trees.
Talea counted as instructed, counting to fifteen for good measure, before shouting back to Edith and resuming her attempts to remove the snare.
“Edith! I’m over—” She looked up. Gideon stood just a few metres away, regarding her with his arms crossed. The heat of embarrassment burned in her cheeks. “You’re not Edith.”
“No,” he agreed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He crouched beside her and produced a knife that he used to cut the snare. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing,” she said. It hurt like a bitch, but she wasn’t going to admit that. “I think I just met the mysterious Morgwyn.”
“Doubtful if you’re still alive,” he said.
Talea got to her feet, half annoyed that Gideon didn’t offer a hand to help her but also knowing that she would’ve refused his help anyways. “Gideon, listen to me. There is more to this than we’ve been told. More to her.”
He regarded her doubtfully.
She wanted to say more to convince him, but at that moment, Edith and Quincy emerged from the forest. As Edith worried over her, and as she assured her sister that she was fine, she kept stealing glances at Gideon. She hated that her instinct was to trust him even after all this time. She’d just been told that the Blackbriars would betray her, and the first person she’d tried to tell was a Blackbriar. What kind of a fool was she?
She caught Gideon’s gaze and quickly looked away. She wanted to drown the butterflies in her stomach in acid.
Quantifying her foolishness was not something she wanted to do without several bottles of wine at her disposal.
Thank you to @agirlandherquill for doing this again!
WIP: Vessel WIP
Prompt(s): She longed for life, nothing else. / The solace of staying / The trembling of trust
Words: 794
Notes: The prompts are more vibes than direct quotes. Also, I don't know what it is about this project that makes me lose sight of the word count. I think these two just like talking.
Fenna paced the length of her room like a caged animal. Every nerve was taut like a hunter’s bow. It was the last night before everything changed, before the gamble that would either sever her from Phyrra or kill her. Both were terrifying in their own ways that she’d been going over for hours. She needed something else to focus on.
She pulled a few hairs from her hairbrush and dropped them into the small offering bowl on the windowsill. It didn’t look like much, the sigils for the nameless god of death blending into the dark clay, so no one in the complex had taken notice of it.
A rush of beating wings and a warm gust of air filled the room. Rook leaned against the closed door on the far side of the room with his arms crossed. “That’s a new offering.”
“Was it?” she asked, turning away to hide her triumphant grin. He hadn’t even taken a moment to consider responding or not. They both knew the significance of it, but she was happy to feign ignorance to make him squirm.
“Fenna.”
“What do you think the chances are that I die instead of walking away with my freedom tomorrow?” She untied the ribbon from her hair and methodically undid her braid. “The real odds. Not the ones you and Phyrra came up with to make me feel better.”
His shoulders sank. “Fen.”
“Becauses I’ve been doing my own research, and corresponding with scholars who study this type of thing. They weren’t very happy with my questions but some answered me. Enough that I know you two are bullshitting me. Again.”
“That’s because we’re not going to let it fail. We have redundancies in place to make sure you walk away.”
“Such as?” She shook out her loose hair in the mirror and stepped out of her slippers.
“Phyrra swore me to secrecy.”
“Because it involves someone else dying?”
He remained silent.
“My life is not worth more than anyone else’s. If things go sideways, make Phyrra take over my body. It’s what I signed up for,” she said, then forced a smile. “Besides, I’m the god of death’s favourite. I might be able to get some special treatment.”
Rook exhaled a laugh, smiling at the ground. “Maybe. If you’re lucky.”
“I heard the god of luck is also fond of me, which should play in my favour.”
“Did you bring me here with a lock of hair to make me promise to let you die? And then to bring up Edes?”
Her grin was real this time. “No, those were extras I tossed in for fun.”
“We have very different definitions of fun.” He finally stepped away from the door, the lock clicking into place behind him. “You know this isn’t allowed.”
She held out a hand to him, the same way he’d offered his hand all those months ago the first time he’d taken her from the temple courtyard. Her earlier confidence was waning. “Do you always follow the rules?”
His brows shot up.
“It’s your choice,” she said, again echoing him. “But you did respond to the offering exceptionally fast.”
“I always respond to you quickly.” He stepped closer again. He was still too far away to touch. “I wasn’t sure if you knew what it meant.”
She didn’t bring up all the creepy people who had dropped their hair into Phyrra’s offering bowl while looking at her hungrily over the years. “There is a good chance that tonight is my last night in the world. All I want is to experience life with whatever time I have left. And I trust you.”
He took her offered hand, finally entering her personal space. “Your hands are trembling.”
“I’m in uncharted territory. Last time I brought up my feelings, you didn’t take it well.”
“That’s because my godhood can be called into question if one of the others suspects I return your feelings. I could lose my standing and my ability to help you and Phyrra.”
“That’s what Phyrra said, too. That’s why I dropped it. But I figure that after tomorrow you’ll have bigger problems than someone accusing you of having feelings for a human.”
He nodded. “I do, so you know.”
“You what?” She was pretty sure her ears weren’t working, or perhaps she’d misinterpreted what he was saying.
“Have feelings for a human.” He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear.
“Good ones?” she asked. It came out as arch, but she was still reeling.
“You’re so difficult,” he said fondly.
Fenna couldn’t control herself. Not when he was looking at her with so much warmth and affection. She slid her hand around the back of his neck and pulled his face to hers.
Thank you to @agirlandherquill for doing this again!
WIP: Vessel WIP
Prompt(s): "I'm known for waiting, and eventually, I win." / "You're out of your depth completely, why not give in?" / The ruin of realisation
Words: 785
Notes: Oops, a super long one.
Fenna blinked, unable to make sense of her surroundings. Where was she? She had just been eating breakfast with the cloistered members of the temple. Then she’d blinked, and now she was… somewhere else.
There was cold dirt under her palms. She was on her hands and knees in the dark. Carefully, she felt around herself. Smooth stone to either side, above, and behind her. Ahead of her was open to what looked like a dirt-floored room, with a few shafts of orange light hitting the ground.
Phyrra? Where the fuck are we? she demanded. She had the sense not to speak aloud. The goddess remained silent—absent, even, like she’d left their body entirely.
“Rook!” The voice thundered with rage. Fenna instinctively backed as far away from the open side of the stone box as she could, pressing into the wall behind her.
“Ah, Rhaeus. It’s been ages since you’ve visited. What do you need?” Rook sounded casual.
“Where is my wife?” Rhaeus demanded.
“No clue, but I would assume she’s at her temple. Was I supposed to be keeping track of her?”
“Don’t play stupid. I know you’ve been convening behind my back.”
“‘Convening’ sounds so nefarious.”
“What is she plotting?” Rhaeus’ sandaled feet stepped into Fenna’s view and she recoiled even further. The sun god had been gracious when she’d first become Phyrra’s Vessel but had lost his patience decades earlier.
“She’s regaining her strength. Remember when you burnt her last body beyond saving because she was upset you were cheating on her? That kind of torment takes time to recover from. It’s a miracle she didn’t become a permanent resident of my realm.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I simply do what’s necessary.”
Rhaeus advanced farther. Fenna lay on her stomach so she could see him and Rook facing each other. Rhaeus was livid, his shoulders tense and his jaw set, but Rook didn’t appear bothered. He sat sideways on a large black chair on a raised platform, his legs crossed over one of the arms. He looked downright irreverent; a dangerous thing to be while facing down the king of gods.
Rhaeus sneered. “I don’t know what you’re plotting with her, but you’re out of your depth completely. Give up now before you embarrass yourself.”
“Why would your wife need to plot against you, Rhaeus? And why would she need my help?” Rook asked. He tilted his head in a way that could’ve been teasing if there wasn’t a hard challenge in his eyes.
“Stay away from her. Stay away from her Vessel, stay away from her temple. She is my wife and I will not have you putting ideas in her head.” He took a step closer so he towered over Rook. “Know your place, Rook. You’ll never beat me.”
“I’m known for waiting,” Rook replied, smirking despite the sun god’s threats. “It doesn’t matter what you do; eventually, I win.”
“Not in this matter.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
Rhaeus snarled and whirled away, disappearing into a flash of light.
Fenna couldn’t relax. She couldn’t move. The scant information she knew about Rook was falling into place and it all pointed to an answer she didn’t want to be true.
“You can come out now, Phyrra,” he said.
He was supposed to be her friend. Her ally. The one who understood how strange it was to be caught between the mortal world and games played by the gods. To be in both but not belong to either.
“Phyrra?”
He was supposed to be like her. He wasn’t supposed to be—he wasn’t supposed to belong—he wasn’t—
Rook’s boots stopped in front of her hiding spot and he crouched down. His brash expression dropped as he met her eyes. “Fenna.”
“Don’t touch me.” She scrambled away from him until she was pressed against the back of the box.
“Fen—”
“You lied to me.”
“I’m so sorry. We thought it would be better if you didn’t know.”
She choked on an angry laugh. “Why? So you could manipulate me easier? So I wouldn’t question your motivations? So you and Phyrra could make decisions about my existence without needing to involve me in the conversation?”
“So you wouldn’t be scared.”
“Scared of what, Rook?” she demanded. “I’ve been waiting to die for over a century. I’ve come to terms with it.”
“Can you come out from under the table?” he asked.
I’m sorry for leaving you, Sel. Rhaeus would have been able to sense my presence. Phyrra said, startling her. I will get us home.
Panic rose in her chest. “No, wait, I—!”
She blinked, and she stood in the temple courtyard. It was dark, clouds obscuring the moon and stars, and she was completely alone.
