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“We aren’t going anywhere, Aurelius. I need to get you out of the city.”
“We both need to get out of the city.”
Calix smoldered. “No. I must face her.”
“Calix, I am not leaving.”
“I told you, it isn’t safe—”
He wagged his finger. “And I told you, I am not leaving. So, what are we fighting then? What are her powers?”
Calix seemed for a moment as if he might protest further, but then relented. “I have never seen her in therian form. To my knowledge, she has been resisting her change so long, that she even manages to hold it at bay during the sable moon.”
“I didn’t know that was possible?”
“Neither did I. I’ve tried myself, but I can never managed to do it.”
Aurelius pulled dusty lectures from the recess of memory. “The therians of Mesti are fueled by jealousy? Not for money or possessions, but for skills and talents, intellect, strength, charm...” Realization twinged. “That bitch!”
“What?”
“When she came to talk to us. Her eyes were hypnotic. Afterward, I felt suddenly shy and reserved, which I never do. And she was bounding up and soaking in the crowd! She used her powers and stole my confidence!”
“Really?” said Calix, with concern. “How do you feel now?”
He hunted inside himself. “Fine? I suppose? She must have only drained it briefly? Is that even possible?”
Calix’s brow furrowed. “She’s been a metamorph since her early twenties. Maybe she’s learnt a way to just drink what she needs? Rather than draining people dry?”
“Maybe,” said Aurelius with a shrug, resisting the urge to ask whether that was something Calix might be able to learn as well. Now was not the time.
“And she also has the power to alter her physical form,” said Calix.
“Don’t I know it! I got the fright of my life when I saw—”
He remembered too late. Calix’s hands gripped tighter and stopped.
Oh... gods...
“I’m so sorry, Calix. Your father... he didn’t deserve that.”
Calix paused only briefly before continuing. His face was hard. “We don’t have time for that.”
The streets rolled by until they eventually came upon an ominous building.
“What is this?” said Aurelius.
Calix shot him a look. “You really don’t go in for worship, do you? The Temple of Mesti? Built and maintained by your embassy for the last hundred years?”
“Oh,” he said, faintly embarrassed. “And she will be in there?”
“This is where she comes for her Sanctum.” Calix placed his hand on the doorknob, his knuckles tensed. “And it’s a fitting place for her to receive her punishment.”
It was dark inside, lit only by the orange fire of a glass kiln, humming with a low heat that cast long shadows. It smelled powdery—the same powdery smell that had filled the palace grounds during the explosion of smoke.
One shadow slithered up the far wall of scrolls, shaded thin and dark across the face of the goddess, before finally settling upon a kneeling figure.
Aurelius didn’t know what sound he had expected. Manic laughter? Some evil soliloquy?
