Chapter 46
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
I f there was any doubt that magic was thick in the night here, the way the blaze went up—like it was ready to consume the entire world—put it to rest. I had to leap away from the fire pit, my hands shielding my face, the moment I dropped the match. My Threadwalking ritual fires were laughable compared to this. This was a spire of light that pierced all the way through the sky, like the flames were trying to reach for the gods themselves.
And the gods, in turn, reached back.
A powerful crack of magic split the sky, the earth. There was no sound, no movement, and yet we all reacted to it like the force of an earthquake. The hairs on my arms stood upright. Every inhale burned, like the air itself had turned into something not meant for human lungs.
The Sightmother’s head snapped backwards, her face lifted to the night, light pouring from her palms, her mouth, the eyes beneath her blindfold. That light pooled in the sky like cream poured into black tea, swirling slowly, cracks of lightning collecting in its center.
To open a passage to the gods required incredibly powerful magic. Only a handful of people in the world were capable of it. A part of me expected the process to be long, drawn out, like one of our many archaic rituals.
Now, that seemed naive of me .
Of course calling upon a god wasn’t a pretty, ceremonial act. It was a sledgehammer against a door. A ram against a gate. It was a scream so loud that no creature, mortal or god, could ignore it.
And the gods, indeed, took notice.
Maybe it was the way the light shifted, the sky turning mottled purple against the blaze of the Sightmother’s spell. Maybe it was the way sound dulled and heightened at once, my ears ringing. Maybe it was the way all the threads reoriented, as if disrupted by a much greater force, leaving me swaying. My physical body felt very far away, and my hair lifted around me, as if I was floating underwater.
Shadows, distant silhouettes, collected within the growing pool of light above us.
And just as I could sense the presences of the mortals around us, I could sense them too—the gods. A presence more powerful than I had ever experienced. It made me want to collapse in supplication, like my soul itself had been stripped from within my skin.
The Sightmother couldn’t move. She couldn’t so much as speak. But through her focus, she managed to shout through the threads, {Now!}
I had fallen to my knees, though I didn’t remember doing so. I forced myself upright—difficult, on such violently shaking limbs.
I turned to Atrius.
And somehow, his presence made all the rest of it seem tolerable. A steadiness tethering me to shore.
His hair floated around him too, tendrils of silver suspended in weightlessness. He’d somehow managed to keep himself on his feet, though the other vampires and even the Arachessen acolytes were on their knees. His face tilted to the sky, watching the shadows peer down at us.
He looked at the gods like they were a challenge.
But when I approached him, one labored step after another, his gaze fell to me.
I touched his face, my fingertips caressing the solidness of his cheekbone, the softness of his lips, the scar along his jaw.
Even with my senses obliterated like this, he smelled of snow. Fresh and cool and new .
His eyes traced my face, and I could feel that stare like he could feel my fingertips—mimicking my movements on him, forehead and lips and chin.
Here, before him, even more than the gods, I was so terrifyingly exposed.
I had managed to hide my true self from the Sightmother, a woman who could see the depths of my inner presence. And yet, I could not hide myself from Atrius. He saw all of me. Whether I liked it or not.
Good. Because I needed him to see me now. See the truth.
We had one chance.
My free hand fell down his arm—gripped his wrists, as if in comforting reassurance or heartfelt apology. The leather of his restraints was smooth against my palms.
My other hand held the dagger up between us.
“There is no greater offering to a god than the acolyte of another,” I said.
I raised the blade.
And then, so fast I prayed no one else would have time to react while so blinded by magic, I sliced Atrius’s bindings, and shoved the hilt into his hands.
“Don’t stand still,” I whispered.
Knowing he would understand.
Knowing he would know what I was telling him to do, right now, in this moment, with the gods steps away and the Sightmother consumed by her spell.
His eyes widened. The shock in his presence reverberated once, for half a breath, before it settled into resolve.
Already, the acolytes’ heads were beginning to turn to us. But Atrius and I had fought together so many times. I knew he didn’t need much time to kill.
And indeed, this strike took him only seconds:
Seconds to lunge across the altar at the Sightmother.
Seconds to draw the blade across her throat, violent and quick, not even giving her time to scream, her voice fading to a wet gargle.
Seconds for him to hold her back by her hair, letting all that blood pour over the altar, and lift his chin to the sky.
“Goddess Nyaxia,” he screamed. “I give you this gift. An acolyte of Acaeja. The blood of a tyrant queen, and the crown of a White Pantheon kingdom. I spill this blood and claim this kingdom for you, my Mother of the Ravenous Dark, Nyaxia.”
His voice cracked. Bathed in such intense light, no one else could see the single tear slide down his cheek. No one but me.
He choked out, “My pact to you has been fulfilled.”
Yes, it was difficult to get the attention of a god.
But this? This was enough.
In fact, it was enough to get the attention of two.