Page 45 of On Broken Bonds

The god lounges at the center of the divine table, sprawled across his gilded throne as though the entire room exists solely for his amusement. Gold gleams from nearly every finger and around both wrists, the jewels catching the candlelight each time he moves. His enormous white beard spills over his chest, shaking with the force of his laughter.

The other gods are no more concerned by the spectacle than they were before.

Aqualis reclines beside him, swirling deep red wine in her goblet, the liquid occasionally lifting from the cup entirely to circle lazily around her wrist before settling back inside. Terranis tears absently at a vine creeping across the table, stuffing leaves into his mouth as though they were little more than snacks. Soryn watches the room with mild interest, silver hair cascading over one shoulder, her star-speckled gown seeming to shimmer whenever she shifts. At the far end of the table, Eryndor is still writing furiously across one of his tablets, looking up only occasionally to observe the festivities before returning to whatever calculations occupy his endless attention.

Valtor's laughter cuts off mid-guffaw. His head turns toward me. One by one, the rest of the room follows his gaze.

Before meeting the major divines, I would've imagined they experienced emotions only in the most superficial sense. That they acted entirely in their own interests, indifferent to everything else. Like spoiled children playing games with living pieces.

Now I know better.

I watch an entire parade of emotions march across Valtor's face. First surprise. Then disbelief. Then dismay. And finally, disappointment.

The last one is particularly satisfying.

He was hoping I would die, then. On a stupid quest to fetch a flower. I get the sense that Valtor might be rooting for us to lose more than he even cares about rooting for his team to win.

“Your flower,” I say simply, lowering my head and raising it to him when I reach the front of his table. There’s a thick, tense silence in the room, and from the back of the space, I can practically feel Thorian’s gaze locked on me, some of that surprise shared with his father.

Maybe Thorian was hopeful that I would return, but he certainly was not optimistic about it.

“I knew I sensed something about this one,” Soryn says, and when she speaks, it sends the lightest tingle down my spine, like when I was little and my mother would trace the tip of her finger over my back to bring about goosebumps over my skin.

“Keep the flower,” Valtor says, not responding to Soryn. “ I have no use for it.”

I don’t let him see how much that pleases me, getting Soryn’s praise and basically getting him to admit to everyone that he only asked me to get the flower to be an ass. Maybe that vampire in the garden was the one who actually fought the plant, but I made sure to get the peony before it completely disappeared. That’s something.

Turning, I make the long walk back from the feet of the gods and through the ballroom, where the various other teams and competitors stare at me openly. Some whisper behind their hands. Others wonder aloud how quickly I might die once the Trials officially begin.

“There’s still time to back out,” one of them calls.

The words should irritate me. Instead, they remind me of the vampire in the garden.

He'd said nearly the same thing in the garden. At the time, I'd assumed he was mocking me, amused by the absurdity of a human woman throwing herself into a competition she couldn't possibly survive. Yet the more I think about it, the less certain I am. There had been a strange look in his expression when he'd said it. One that hadn't felt cruel at all. Almost as though he genuinely wanted me to leave.

Not the Trials.

Him.

The memory rises unbidden. His mouth against my fingertip. The way his eyes had darkened afterward. The rough edge in his voice when he'd told me to stay away from him. It was all so… fascinating. Intriguing. Not to anyone else. Not really. But to me.

It makes no sense that I keep thinking about it.

I barely know the man, yet when I try to dismiss him as a stranger, the word feels wrong. Even before the incident in the garden, I found myself drawn to him. The easy confidence. The crooked smiles.

Then he took my hand.

The memory rises so vividly that my stomach twists.

One moment, we'd been talking beneath the moonlight. The next, his mouth was around my fingertip, and something had changed. Not just in him, but in me.

It had felt like being drunk. Like stepping into warm water after spending years in the cold. Everything else had seemed distant and unimportant. The Trials. My sister. The gods. Even my own good sense.

The realization should embarrass me.

Instead, it unsettles me.

Because Talon could've taken advantage of me if he'd wanted to. I was practically floating. He could've charmed me, manipulated me, convinced me of nearly anything, and I suspect I would've listened.