Chapter Twenty-Nine
You may be asking yourself how I could possibly write a book about the illicit lives of the Imperial Court and not include the Emperor himself. All reckless impulses and love of gossip aside, I am immeasurably fond of living. Some egos are too dangerous to poke.
The Illicit Lives of the Imperial Court
Anonymous
(banned in the Empire)
Aleksi was prepared for Sorin to be upset or furious or even disappointed that he had trapped them both in a protective circle of his own making.
He was not prepared for the laughter.
“I forgot about this little trick of yours.” The laughter died as Sorin rose and brushed dirt and sand from his clothes. “Will it fall when you do, or will it persist beyond your death?” He shrugged. “Let’s find out.”
Sorin did not reach for a blade, nor any other armament. When fighting other gods, he had always preferred a much more visceral weapon: the world.
He tackled Aleksi, shoving him into the ground with such force that the stone and earth split beneath them.
Aleksi’s sword slid across the ground and out of reach.
They rolled, grappling for advantage, and Aleksi punched Sorin hard enough to knock his head into the ground and leave a bloody indentation behind.
It made Aleksi think of the Lover’s Lakes again, and the giant craters and canyons that had been left behind by Ash’s and Sorin’s broken bodies after their fight. Would Rahvekya have its very own version after this day? What would they call them?
Would they be alive to come up with a name?
Over and over, they rolled and pummeled one another, fists hitting immortal flesh with a force that would have killed anyone else. For Aleksi, the pain was far away, even when Sorin let the first hints of Void magic seep into his blows.
It had to be far away, because Sorin was still laughing.
“Worry not, old friend.” Sorin’s derisive amusement lent the appellation a mocking edge. “This will be over soon enough.”
And he would think that, wouldn’t he? He had always looked at Aleksi with dismissive eyes, skipping over him as if the very idea of him was a fallacy or a child’s bedtime story. Sorin had never considered that a god of love could be functional in any practical sense, much less effective in battle.
He rolled to his feet, stepped back, and hefted a large, shattered piece of stone. “You always hated me, Aleksi.”
Aleksi rose, as well, more slowly and heavily. His dagger was still on his belt, and he bent to retrieve his bloody sword. “Hatred is not in my nature. You know that.”
The stone in Sorin’s hand began to crack and glow with dark light.
“Your nature? Oh, yes, I know all about your nature.” The stone shattered, leaving behind a core shaped like a dagger, still glowing with the power of the Void.
“You hated me because you were weak, and I was the only one who saw it.”
The rest of the High Court liked to talk about how Aleksi was the only universally beloved god among them. While it was true that he enjoyed more steady adoration and fidelity than the others, there were those who disliked him. Even hated him.
Invariably, it was because they had never known love. For some, the opportunity had simply eluded them, and they had descended into bitterness as a result. Others still lacked the capacity to love another.
That was Sorin. As hard as Ash and others had tried to believe that he was kind because he could be good, that he cared because he sometimes loved . . .
Aleksi had always kept his distance. Because, for as long as he could remember, he had understood on a sickeningly visceral level that Sorin loved only one thing in this entire world.
Himself.
In a flash, Sorin struck, triumphantly slashing the rough edge of his stone blade across Aleksi’s arm.
Aleksi staggered back as his skin opened and blood flowed. It hurt . . . but not as much as a Void weapon should have. And Sorin’s triumph melted into angry surprise as the wound—slowly, sluggishly—began to heal.
Because Aleksi was no longer simply of the Dream.
“I am goddess-touched,” he murmured. “In this place, her love shields me.”
“As if magic can be tied to a place instead of wielded by the strong,” Sorin spat. “Such a primitive affectation.”
“If you say so.”
“This is what I say.” Sorin pointed his dagger at Aleksi. “They tell me that your goddess has died once before. So it will be an easy task to dispatch her again.”
Aleksi had to end this. Not just to protect his lovers or the island or even the world from Sorin’s violence and treachery, but to avenge his family. To fully end the suffering of Ash and Dianthe and the others, the ones who still hoped against vain hope that Sorin might love them back.
Aleksi struck in return, slicing across Sorin’s side as the man attempted to dodge the blow. Though shallow, the wound seemed to hiss, as if his flesh was burning.
Sorin heaved in a rough breath, then grinned. “Do not forget, Aleksi,” he purred, “that you and your ilk may call me the Betrayer . . . but I am still the Builder.”
Aleksi watched in horror as bits of detritus began to fly through the air. He ducked, then realized the rubble and broken boards and glass shards were not weapons meant for him. No, they flew toward Sorin, assembling themselves around his body like custom-fitted armor.
Sorin cracked his neck and lifted his dagger once more. “Now, we can begin.”