25. Tears of High God
25
TEARS OF HIGH GOD
Cassian stood outside the city limits, face-to-face with its familiar outskirts, his presence concealed in a black cloak. Woodland creatures scurried across the ground cover. Crickets and cicadas sang. The sounds had once brought him peace, but they now scraped at his ears.
He pulled at his hood as he peered through the night, as far through the thicket of trees as he could see. Just beyond it, out of reach.
It has been only two days since he’d departed from Finnian, and the stones in his chest had crumbled into a numbness. Like a disease, it spread down his limbs, taking everything in him to raise his arm and reach forward.
He extended his forefinger and the invisible barrier encasing the city flared, a solid, glass-like, glowing blue wall. Rippling rings bounced across it from his touch.
It felt like acid had coated the back of his throat as he curled his fingers into a fist. Discomfort knotted in his stomach, and his breath went light. The reality of what they’d done crashed down on him and he backed away on shaking legs.
He was not welcome.
The absence of Finnian haunted his thoughts. What was he doing? Was he okay? Now that he loathed Cassian, would he find another lover?
He could not shake loose the image of Finnian laying with another.
Finnian hated him now. He had no reason to wait.
The ache in Cassian’s chest was like a scalpel, wedged deep beneath the skin.
Trembling from the thought, he sought solitude in the Serpentine Forest. Dropping in the mangled depths of its belly, he threw his arms over his head and cried out. The furious, gut-wrenching roar shook the cypress trees. The Achlys dispersed like field mice. He collapsed to his knees and wailed until he could no longer.
The Land fell to silence in mourning.
A century and a half.
A century and a half he would have to walk with this pain.
The news of Naia’s escape came to him through Mavros.
“My lord,” he said, his brow pinched with concern, as it had been several weeks since Cassian had fallen back into the Land after Finnian had sent him away. “It won’t be long now.”
His words brought no reprieve to the strangling ball caught inside Cassian’s lungs.
As if Mavros could sense this, he added, “The sooner your plan begins, the sooner you will be reunited with the young god.”
It was a flicker of hope lit in the strangling abyss, one Cassian fixated all his energy into keeping alight.
However, weeks and months spanned in the Mortal Land without Naia being found.
“Perhaps she is being cloaked by the young god,” Nathaira suggested.
Cassian paced the space of the bridge overlooking the River of Souls, jaws pulsing. “Impossible. When I looked through the Fate of the obsessively reincarnating soul, he was murdered by Marina on Nohealani Island, in an inn. If they can’t locate her, it means she is being cloaked by the island’s protector—her father.”
Nathaira rested back on the railing of the bridge, her calm demeanor only further irritating Cassian’s nerves. “You know that you cannot interfere in this, no matter how much you wish for your plan to speed ahead. If that is the soul’s Fate, we must be patient.”
Cassian spun around and glared across the distance of his Land, a fire bristling in his blood as he set his sights on the jagged mountaintops behind the Serpentine Forest.
“Tell Mavros to clear my schedule for the hour.” His demand came out in a harsh tone. “I have an old friend I must pay a visit to.”
Nathaira lifted off the railing and appeared at his side. “Lord Cassian, I plead you to come down from your anger before you go see him.”
She’d always had a soft spot for Vale. He was her High God, and she glorified him. From the day he was escorted into the Land, she’d taken it upon herself to keep him company. Cassian had found Nathaira on numerous occasions outside of her cottage alongside Vale, who taught her the ways of nature. It was how her meadow came to be.
Cassian cut his eyes onto her, a warning. “Save your wisdom for another time, Nathaira.” He placed his fist inside his pocket. “Nothing will keep me from seeing mine and Finnian’s plan through. Not even my dearest friend. He’s concealing her on his island, and until Naia is found, I cannot move forward. For all we know, my interference is all the soul’s Fate has been waiting on.”
He heard the words leaving his mouth, the threat and severity in his tone. As if he would burst into Vale’s confinement, resorting to violence first before a conversation. He couldn’t blame Nathaira for her assumptions. Lately, he’d been anything but his usual level-headed self.
Nathaira’s stare burned the side of his cheek, her tranquil features rigid with disapproval. “Listen to yourself. Vale is protecting his daughter. All I am saying is do not leave here furious and say or do something to your oldest friend that you will later regret.”
Cassian pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
There was a voice of reason that existed within him who’d heard her, agreed with her, even. But that voice of reason dwindled more and more as the days passed, forced to walk alone on the road he and Finnian had carved together.
Nathaira frowned and placed a hand on the top of Cassian’s shoulder. “I know you are hurting, Cassian, but do not let Ruelle turn you into her—obsessed with vengeance and hurting others to get it.”
The mention of Ruelle’s name filled his mouth with a bitter taste.
“I appreciate the effort, Nathaira, but I will do whatever I must to ensure Vale reveals Naia’s presence on his island.” He gently lifted her hand from his shoulder and took a step. “And when this is all said and done, Ruelle will be nothing but bone caught between my teeth.”
Cassian held onto the flickers of light shining across his ceiling.
One day , he told himself.
The muscles in his chest spasmed with grief as he lay in bed, its other side an empty satin pit.
Finnian was in the gleam of the fireflies painting his ceiling; the lingering earthy scent and floral fragrance were still embedded in the pillow; the bundle of dried lavender hung above the headboard.
One day , Cassian recited over and over in his mind. We will have our one day.
It did nothing to relieve the ache clawing apart his entrails.
He left the bed and did not return to it, as the comfort, the sleep, did not come as easily to him anymore.
Cassian waited on the dais of his throne, his hands confined to his pockets, too on edge to sit. It took a grave amount of effort to remain still on his feet.
Mavros stood at his side, hands joined in front of him, in a somber quiet.
Four Errai emerged alongside the soul, a wall cloud of bodies draped in slate robes and pale-plated masks.
Cassian’s heart pounded, the beat of blood thick in his ears.
The familiar soul stopped before Cassian, the flare of its energy dripping crimson. It pulsed like a heart, harboring lifetimes of pain and sorrow and resilience.
“Let me go back,” they said.
“Not yet.” Cassian’s eyes jumped to the deity on the right. “Take them to the Lavender Fields of Healing.”
“I must go back to her,” the soul protested.
The feeling of splinters lodged in Cassian’s heart. He resonated with those words, but his empathy could not sway his decision. “You will. Soon . One day.”
The soul’s energy festered, an intense flare of vivid red. “I must?—”
A heavy shadow of divine power rose from behind Cassian, clawing over his shoulders and around his head—a terrifying, umbral backdrop. “You will obey me, as I am your master in the afterlife. You are to rest, heal . When the time comes, I will allow you to return.” He flashed his eyes onto the deity to the right again. “Now, take them away.”
Before the soul could dispute, they disappeared amongst a tailspin of swirling blackness.
Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose, his lungs constricting his breath.
Mavros cleared his throat. “My lord, I?—”
“High God of Death and Curses.”
Cassian’s pulse jarred. He held up a hand to silence Mavros.
“I summon you.”
Spurts of adrenaline pumped through his system at the sound of Mira’s summoning.
Finally.
That flicker of hope within him burned brighter.
“Continue your thought when I return.” He straightened his shoulders and inhaled. Turning to regard his attendant, he said, “I have a little goddess to curse.”
And without a second to waste, he vanished.
Cassian opened his kitchen cabinet, the lemon juice on his fingertips leaving sticky prints along the wood. He clenched his jaw at the mess as he reached inside for a glass.
A percolator stared back at him.
Memories flooded in: mornings in Finnian’s townhome, the crackling of the fire in the stove, the boiling of the water, the bitter aroma of the coffee filling the kitchen, Cassian resting against the edge of the counter, an arm slunk around Finnian’s waist, tucking strands behind his ear.
An ache thrummed in Cassian’s hands, echoing up his arms and into his heart.
The muscles in his chest pulled taut, and he slammed the cabinet door shut.
Cassian slumped against the bench in Finnian’s Grove.
The sunrise spilled over the mountaintops of Moros. Its rays dripped across the tops of the wisteria and the hawthorn, bleeding over the scene in streaks of terra cotta mauve.
He stared vacantly at the patch of white trumpet blossoms.
They are my favorite .
His pulse slowed to the memory. The trickle of the stream, the beam of fireflies, the familiar energy of Finnian’s presence at his side.
They flourish in darkness and I find something poetic about that.
He recalled the twirling moonflower between his long fingers, and how his eyes filled with meaning as he’d said it.
Cassian longed to hear him say it again.
One day.
“Lord Cassian, High God of Death and Curses.” The words left Naia’s mouth in a clumsy, nervous jumble. “ Come to me.”
Cassian fastened the button at the center of his suit jacket, unsure of what would be left of him when one day arrived.
He materialized in a shadow-lit library, the scent of aged books and seaweed-infused air triggering memories of Finnian. The century-old, stained pages of his grimoire, and how he secretly enjoyed snacking on dried seaweed because it reminded him of home.
Cassian rested his back against one of the shelves, arms crossed.
“I appreciate your time, Lord Cassian.” Naia stood across the room in a blue velvet gown, keeping a safe distance from him.
He could sense her hesitation in her unnerved demeanor. She’d always been that way, timid and too afraid for her own good. The stark opposite of Finnian.
Cassian stared out the window and up at the moon, distorted from the wavelengths of the sea. “Aren’t you supposed to be preparing for your wedding, Little Goddess?”
“That is why I have summoned you.”
He’d been waiting years to hear Naia say these words, expecting that flame of hope to double its size when the time came. But that wasn’t the case.
All he had left within him was a bleak, hollow space filled with a singular desire.
Cassian wanted to call Finnian and tell him their plan was on track. He wanted to hear about Finnian’s side and how things were going—preferably draped in sheets and hidden away from the world. Finnian could tell him about the black market and all its success; how he’d pretended to be after Himura blood for a make-believe revenge scheme against Malik for killing Arran; the plots he had in store to right his wrongs. Cassian wanted to hold him, tell him how much he wished he could’ve been there to comfort him after Eleanor and Isla’s deaths, that they were in his Land and had found peace.
They had over a century of time to catch up on. Cassian just needed to hang on. They were almost at the end.
Then, finally, the weariness in his soul could drain away.
Crimson rained down all around him. The ground beneath his feet shuddered. He swerved the shards of ice and jagged briars of blood, the child secure in his arms. Trapped on the godsforsaken island.
“This is pointless, Little Goddess,” he hummed. “Look around you. Do you see what is happening?”
Naia, a beautiful mess of silver damp locks and fierce emerald eyes, lunged for him.
The heel of his palm lodged into her collarbone and she tumbled back.
Cassian’s breath hitched as the syringe fumbled from her grasp. A force of life blew through him and he rushed forward. If he could get his hands on it, they would be one step ahead in their plan?—
A set of fingers wrapped around the syringe. Fingers he could recognize mixed in with a hundred others—honey-tanned, long and lithe, soft and tender, decorated in titanium rings.
Finnian swirled the syringe triumphantly with a vicious smile. “Too slow, Cassie.”
A lump swelled in Cassian’s throat. The nickname was atrocious and used purely out of spite, but he didn’t care. It was probably an amusing detail Finnian had intentionally added when crafting the potion to alter his memories.
Over a hundred years had passed since he’d stood before Finnian. He looked the same, and yet so painstakingly different. His shoulders had filled out beneath his dress vest. The tie stuffed under the collar was crooked. His strands curled at the ends in reaction to the rain.
He fixed a superior look at Cassian, eyebrows piqued and paired with a smug smirk.
Cassian clenched his teeth to keep from grinning. Gods, he missed him.
It is almost done.
“Finny, no!” Naia yelled.
Keep going.
Cassian growled and dove for him.
A cloud of ruby swirled around Cassian’s fist.
His soul let out a long breath and smiled.
“I have come to you with a proposition.” Finnian stood angelically in front of the Land’s gates, looking right through Cassian. “As my sister has already broken her curse by handing over her freedom, I am here to exchange my freedom for hers.”
Cassian didn’t allow himself to dwell in the resentful way Finnian regarded him. The plunging of what felt like daggers through rosewood. Instead, he focused on the forward momentum of their plan.
He is here; we are almost finished.
Cassian cocked his head like an intrigued predator, playing the part. He pulled a hand from his pocket and swiped a finger over his bottom lip. “You have my attention.”
Cassian strolled down one of the many dark corridors on the lower levels of Moros. The hollowness that had taken root in his heart filled with each step.
I promise you, when we survive this, our Fate will be ours alone.
Cassian entered the room. The two executioners gave a bow as he passed through.
He joined at Shivani’s side as she stared down at Finnian, body slack and arms suspended up by the chains mounted in the ceiling. His head hung, chin buried in his chest. Blood and soot smudged his cheeks.
The Chains of Confinement blocked the majority of a deity’s divine power, leaving enough for them to regenerate at a tedious speed. Though, not enough to feed power perpetually into holding up a glamor.
Without it, Finnian’s coffee-stained strands were waves rolling over his shoulders, down his back, and exposing the puffy-white skin on the base of his jaw, angry patches that marked his lobe and the conch of his ear.
It felt as if Cassian had swallowed Shivani’s blades and they’d gotten stuck in his heart. The pain nearly stole the breath from his lungs seeing Finnian this way—battered and broken because of him.
I will beg for forgiveness when he wakes. However long it takes.
Shivani handed him a small plastic bag. Inside of it was Finnian’s necklaces and rings.
Cassian placed them safely in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, alongside where he’d stored Finnian’s hearing aid.
Arms crossed, Shivani glanced over at Cassian. “He’s out cold.”
“I put him under an illusion.” Cassian began rolling his sleeve up to his elbow. “May I use one of your knives?”
She reached into one of the pockets of her cargo pants and pulled out a switchblade. It danced around her fingers as she handed it to Cassian.
Cassian crouched in front of Finnian, took him in one more time, and tucked a frizzed piece of hair behind his ear.
Come back to me.
Cassian made a clean cut across his own wrist and held the scarlet, oozing incision to Finnian’s lips.
He tipped Finnian’s head back to ensure every drop made it down his throat.
The cut on Cassian’s wrist stitched up. His jaws set as he stood and retracted his divine power that was currently holding his lover under an illusion. It had to work.
Cassian’s heart sped up as he waited.
It will work. Finnian said it would.
Finnian’s eyes snapped open and the muscles in his arms tensed, jarring the chains keeping him in place.
Teeth bared and stained red, he ripped his head up, eyes burning with a wrath that should’ve dissipated by now. “Is this part of my torture? Throw me in illusions until I go mad?”
Cassian took a step back, the sting of Finnian’s glare traveling like bile over his skin. He tightly gripped the handle of the blade in his palm.
No.
With a snide twitch of Finnian’s lips, he huffed out a laugh. “Feed me whatever fucking illusion you wish, but Ash’s blood will never be yours?—”
Cassian jerked his hand up and recast the illusion.
Finnian’s body went slack again.
A sense of vertigo tilted Cassian’s world.
He blinked once, twice down at the god in front of him.
Spots invaded his vision.
His whole body went weak, a feeling of bones collapsing and skin sinking.
Cassian felt the cool grip of Shivani’s hands around his forearm. “My lord,” she said, but her voice sounded muffled, traveling through layers to get to him.
He pulled at the tie around his neck. “He—he doesn’t?—”
“My lord.” One of Shivani’s hands pressed against the middle of his back. “It will be okay. We will find a way to make him remember.”
“No.” He slit his wrist again.
“Come on.”
And again.
His teeth chattered, letting the wound drain into Finnian’s mouth.
Only to retract his illusion and for Finnian to react in the same venomous way.
“You will not break me.”
Cold, spiteful, and regarding Cassian with an unfiltered disdain.
It will never end.
Cassian rubbed at his chest.
This is my hell.
His heart palpitated, the chambers and muscles of the organ constricting in sorrowful beats.
He knew it. Their plan was shit. Everything he’d endured up to this moment had been for nothing. Forget Ruelle and his desire to kill her. What good would her death be if he didn’t have a life with Finnian to look forward to afterwards?
Cassian fell to his knees. The blade in his grasp clanked against the floor. His hands trembled as he lifted them to Finnian’s sleeping face. Tears stung his eyes.
“I need you.” His lips quivered. “Please. I can’t go on without you any longer.”
Cassian bound their foreheads, praying to whatever god that would listen. “Come back to me.”