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He sighs, spinning me to face him directly with his hands on my shoulders. “Yes, bloodlust. Since your world has been without me for so long, your powers will amplify now that I am here and can push more magic into the land. Your blood magic seems to have gotten the largest boost. Now. What is your name?”
His grip on me doesn’t feel kind, but his tone and face do. I do not possess enough logical thought at this moment to dissect that duality. “Viola Mistflow. That’s my name.”
He drops his hands from my arms and nods. “Viola Mistflow. Your blood magic can be hard to control when fresh and young. You can try to ignore it and leave the room, or you can embrace it.” He kneels to Stone’s corpse and drags his finger through the pooled blood.
“Embracing it means you will unlock the mystery that blood means to tell you. Living blood and the blood of the recently deceased tell different stories, as does the blood of the long gone.” He’s in front of me now, holding the finger coated in Stone’s blood out to me. “What will it be, Viola?” He murmurs, face close to mine.
Instinctively, I lean towards him, towards the blood whose smell burns my nostrils and spins my head with questions.
“Tongue.” His voice is soft, but the command is obvious. I stick out my tongue with no thought. He places his finger on the soft flesh, and when he does, the world around me surges, and I lose my footing. I crash to the ground, dazed, as a vision falls over me, the story of the death of Mace and Zeph’s parents and Stone’s role in it playing out in front of me.
In a blink, Mace is in front of me, pulling me to my feet.
Mace. How can I ever tell you what I just saw?
Himureal looks to Mace disapprovingly. “Who are you?” He scans the garrison as if noticing we are not alone for the first time.
“Mace Nightroot. I’m head of the Patricians. And Viola is…” He looks at me. My disoriented expression does not help Mace find the words to describe whatever is between us. “I am responsible for Viola.”
His words snap me out of my stupor, and I swing my head to him incredulously. “Responsible for me? I’m responsible for myself, Mace. I thought you’d realize that by now.” I spin to Himureal and school my face with a disinterested affect, wanting to hide from the God just how much Mace now means to me. “We’ve slept together and haven’t thought much past that.” The shocked gasp that tumbles out of Tulip’s mouth is almost worth the terrifying look of anger on the God’s face.
“Your presence is not needed, Autumn.” I give Mace an encouraging nod, urging him to step aside. “Viola, tell me about your arm.” I look down at Shadow, still coiled tightly around my forearm. He picks his head up and fixes his gaze directly on the God.
“That’s Shadow. He started as a shadow, then a shadow-snake, and now he’s just a snake.” Shadow flicks his tongue at me in annoyance at my assertion that he is just a snake. “Sorry, not just a snake. He’s my familiar.”
Himureal curls two fingers towards Shadow, beckoning him to his own arm. Shadow hisses and twists tighter around me.
The Frostweaver laughs, the mirthful sound echoing in the cavern. “You made yourself a familiar from shadows. His magic is more yours than mine. No wonder you are the equal that brought me back.”
He stalks at me, reaching for my hand. “Come, Shadowweaver, we have lots to do. This world needs Gods, and we can give it to them.”
I stare at his extended hand with fingers so white his nailbeds are blue, and confusion twists in my gut. Everything about this God is deceptively beautiful, from his looks to his voice and vicious magic. “What of the other gods? The Radiant Sunfire, the Bloomtide, the Harvest Lord?”
Himureal sneers. “We do not need them. Together, you and I can ensure they are locked away forever.”
Backstepping, I nearly trip into Mace. He must not have retreated when Himureal demanded it of him. “We did this so you could bring those Gods back and put the world back to how it should be. That’s the only reason why I was a willing sacrifice.” His eyes flick to Mace’s hands on my arms, their steadying presence empowering me.
Memories of childhood stories about Himureal rise to the surface, horror tales of a monster of a God with no regard for life. It’s incongruent with the beautiful man standing before me, looking decidedly more God than monster.
“I will not share my rule with those unworthy beings. Now take your hands off the Shadowweaver, Autumn. I am responsible for her now.”
Chapter 54
Mace
MygriptightensonViola, and I feel her tense against me. I want to lean down and whisper in her ear not to antagonize a God, but if I have learned anything about Viola, it is that telling her to do anything would be pointless, especially when it comes to this.
“Once again, I am no one’s responsibility but my own. I appreciate the offer, Himureal, but I have no desire to be your assistant.” It’s hard not to wince in anticipation of the backlash from her words.
Himureal was said to be a brutal force when the Gods were all still present within Krillium. The one record we have from his high priest paints the picture of a God who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted and who had no problem tricking unsuspecting people into deals that heavily favored him. He was not my first choice of God to bring back, but Stone was adamant.
And look where it got him.
I have no time to grieve the man who stepped in to raise me after the accident that took my parents’ lives because that man left me with a megalomaniac God who wants to ensure no other God can return to deal with.
The God of Winter fixes Viola with a rigid stare, his expression unreadable. “My assistant?” he drawls, taking a slow, lazy step toward where we stand. His sharp features are fixed in a smirk, and his bright eyes do not break from their perusal of Viola. “I am not looking for an assistant, Shadowweaver. You are the daughter of Winter, created in my image. Do not debase yourself by thinking you arrived where you are now by anything but divine intervention.”
For decades, I have been told that Stone had to kill the Race winners because they showed Winter magic, and it would need to be concentrated for a vessel to form. Knowing Himureal would return and fix our world is the only thing that allowed me to sleep at night.
