3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Mace
I look at Viola, the bright pink flesh on her forearm the only sign, save for a few blood stains on her clothes, that she brought a God to our land, and I am overcome with pride. She conquered a feat that killed countless others and though it didn't turn out how we planned, she walked out with confidence, leading our group through a place she vowed never to return to.
Despite her abhorrence to the Race and the Summit, she's in her element in the forest, trekking across land she's traveled many times before. Seeing how she can navigate the woods up close brings a whole new appreciation for how she survived the Race year after year.
And with that, a wave of guilt for how much harder I made this on the humans. For the needless slaughter I orchestrated.
The Race initially started as a pilgrimage. One of my prized possessions, a journal from the last high priest of Himureal, a woman named Lucinda, talks of the people of Krillium journeying every year to the Cliffs of Barez, where the Gods would gather to hold council. Their act of worship, a desire to see their Gods prosper, did, in fact, strengthen the Gods. But it wasn't compulsory. It was freely chosen by the pious to follow the priest of their God.
Once the Gods were gone, high priests became Patricians, and Patricians eventually perverted that pilgrimage into what it is today.
And I helped.
By the time I joined Stone, filling my father's seat on the Patricians, the Race had been solidified as what it is today, and it was too late to stop the momentum it had gained. I will live with that, and it's stain on my soul for the rest of my days.
But no guilt can touch what I feel when I think of my brother, Zeph. I should have seen the signs. I was supposed to be there for him, to support and guide him, but I let Stone's obsession become my own and slowly pushed him away. As the firstborn, I should have been his protector, but instead, I shrugged him off and let him seek comfort in a bottle of alcohol.
As wonderful a woman Viola is, and with my desire for her at an all-time high, I should not have allowed her to come between us. He is my own flesh and blood.
Would I have backed off if he asked me to, though? I can't say.
What kind of person does it make me that I could forgive him for what he did to Tulip? She's so fragile, and he could have easily killed her, but I saw the acts of a desperate man, not a malicious one.
I could never tell Viola that, of course. Her care for Tulip eclipses what she has for Zeph, which is why I was gentle when I stopped him from his assault on her. I needed to save her friend, but not at risk to my brother. I care for Viola deeply despite the short time we've known each other, but I would do anything for my brother. If he showed up here begging for forgiveness, I would embrace him. Just as I told him when he attacked me, I have no desire to fight him. I love him, and despite all he's done, I would give my life for him.
It's what our parents would want.
But for that to happen, I have to convince a group who witnessed him in his darkest moment that the acts of desperation they saw are not indicative of his true nature. I find myself glancing up towards Gallant Mountain, squinting as if I could see Ytopie nestled behind it. What is my brother doing within the confines of the city?
I've kept my distance from Viola since the revelation that being together makes our magic go rogue. I don't want to think about what that could mean for our relationship and our future together if my magic does not embrace hers and continues to act of its own accord. It's mostly mine that seems eager to get out and join her. It's not like she's leaking shadows or frost everywhere.
If she's noticed my recent aloofness, she's said nothing; instead, she talks with Tulip and Morrow as we all continue our trek through the forest. We are aimless, with no direction or plan yet except to get away from Ytopie.
With Plume's help, I've created a sort of hollow in the ground to rest for the evening—a wide hole deep into the soil, a makeshift underground cave. Plume grew vegetation to make it more comfortable and block the entrance from wandering beasts. If needed, Morrow will throw up a shield, but I'd rather him save his strength than maintain that if we don't need it.
Viola looks at home here, stretched out on the soft moss with her arms behind her head. Tulip is pressed against a dirt wall, her legs stretched out and tangled with Viola's. Their relationship confounds me, and today is the first time I've had a front-row seat to their interactions. Viola is such a dark and stoic person, and Tulip a bright flash of sun, yet somehow they're drawn to one another. Maybe it's a bond developed through trauma or an inherent need to protect that lives within Viola. Whatever it is, those two are inseparable.
Morrow sits across from Tulip, silent and contemplative as he looks at her. Tulip pretends not to notice, but his eyes rarely leave her. His long dark braids are a curtain around his face, and he plays with one absentmindedly. I've encountered him around the city a few times, but he's always been something of a hermit. I wonder what he owed Stone to get dragged into this. I make a note to ask him if I can wrench him away from Tulip.
Plume drags her hand across my shoulder blades, a casual touch she's done since childhood, as she passes me to sit at Viola's head, and my body tenses. I cannot bring myself to sit with them, instead leaning standing against the dirt wall.
"What is our plan here?" I ask. "We continue wandering until Himureal comes for us?"
Viola stretches languidly, without a care in the world. Her chest pushes into the air, and I remember exactly what it felt like in my hands. A small sliver of skin below her shirt becomes visible, and I fight the urge to run my tongue across it.
Her voice carries that husky tone I heard so many times through the connection, the shimmering panel of magic reflecting what the mesh of Air magic projected during the Race, as she answers me. "Himureal won't attack us. He needs me alive."
Morrow scoffs, looking down at her. "You, not us, gir-, uh woman." Tulip flashes him a dazzling smile at his word choice, and his cheeks deepen in color. "He will take us out to get to you."
Viola doesn't move from her stretched-out supine position on the moss, the centerpiece of a group gathered around her like she is a sacrifice. "Shadowweaver…" she muses, her voice soft. "He gave me a God name that complements his."
My fists clench at the memory of his possessive nature towards her, nails digging into my palms. "You seem awfully calm about that fact for someone who was adamant just two days ago that you were not a God."
She laughs, that bark of a laugh that drew me in from the moment I heard it. She quirks a brow at me as she slightly raises her head. It's like I can read on her face the reminder of my worship to her in my office. "Well, two days ago was a very different day than today, wasn't it? Today, a God was born in my blood."
"I think it was technically yesterday," Tulip adds, her unhelpful humor causing Viola to snort.
Viola sits up fully now, pushing her back to the wall between Plume and Tulip. "You're right. It may have technically been yesterday. Either way, a God was birthed in my blood. He called me his equal, his daughter. I harnessed the Witches' Ladder, and my magic doesn't follow the rules that govern this land's magic. Logically, it's clear." She speaks this revelation like we're discussing the weather, not whether or not she is a divine being.
"You're a God," Plume whispers, placing her hand on Viola's thigh.
"I'm something more than a Seasonale, I think we can all agree."
I finally sink down and join them all on the ground, my legs uncomfortably bending up from lack of space to stretch them out. I rest my elbows on my knees, steepling my fingers in front of my lips. "So where does that leave us, Shadowweaver?" Even though she brought up the name, my coldness in using it makes her flinch, and I immediately regret it. I soften my voice. "We just need a plan, and I think you're the best one to come up with it, Miss Mistflow."
The honorific has its desired effect, and she rolls her eyes at me with a chuckle. "I think we bring back the other Gods."
As the words leave her mouth, the grotto is filled with protests from Plume, Tulip, and Morrow. Viola and I lock eyes and the connection drowns out their noise. I suddenly wish we were alone here. The relief at having a plan, or maybe the acceptance that she may be a powerful God, allows a flush to creep up her neck as she rakes her sight down my body. She drags her thumb across her lower lip, eyes sparkling with promise.
"Are you even listening, Lola? Didn't you learn your lesson with Himureal?" Tulip shakes Viola out of our stare-down.
She turns to face her friend with a lazy smile. "I did learn my lesson. I learned I can take his place."
"Take his place?" Plume whispers, all of us leaning in to hear her better. "Are you saying you want to become the God of Winter?"
"Want to? No. But I may have to." Viola stands and stalks to the front of the cave so she can see us all. As she passes me, she drags her fingers across the back of my neck, shivers rushing down my spine. I have to turn to be able to see her face as she speaks. "The idea of bringing Himureal back was that, as a God, he could bring the others back. We need all four Gods for balance in this world, right? If he calls me his equal, then it stands to reason I could bring them back. I could bring the balance. And the four of us can eliminate the threat of the Frostweaver once and for all."
"You're forgetting that humans banished all of the Gods. What if they are just as bad as him?" I say. Her megalomaniacal aspirations create conflicting emotions within me. I'm simultaneously worried and aroused at her sheer power. Some base instinct within me screams that I need to conquer the God in front of me.
"But did they?" she challenges. "We've learned your and Stone's interpretation of the texts of the Gods wasn't exactly correct, haven't we?"
She's not wrong, which makes me squirm. "You're right. I can only assume the texts were written in a way to make it harder to bring the Gods back. It stands to reason that perhaps they could have been changed."
"I think it's plausible that everything we think we know about the history of Krillium is incorrect," Morrow adds, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.
I leap to my feet, an idea taking root in me. "I have a journal back in Ytopie. A high priest cataloging her movements and actions with Himureal."
"High priest?" Viola asks, her snowy gray eyes curious.
"Before there were Patricians, each God had a single high priest," Plume says, and Viola swings her head to face her. "That's why the Patricians always said they were the mouthpiece of the Gods. They are the evolution of the priests."
Tulip nods proudly. "My family is descended from a high priest of Solarius."
I turn to look at Viola, who is tapping her fingers together as she listens to us. I can see her mind spinning, trying to process the new information. "How will this journal help us?"
"It's not written in riddles but plain and easy to read," I say, leaning back against the wall. "Most likely, the priest never meant it to be seen. But it could help us figure out what actually happened."
"It's not like we can get into Ytopie," Morrow grumbles.
Viola strides toward me, her head tilted slightly to the side. "But if one priest had a journal," she says, but I interrupt her before she can finish her sentence .
"It is likely the others did as well."
I see in Viola's eyes the seed of my idea growing within her, sparkling mischievously. "If we find those journals, we will learn more about all of the Gods." Her voice is quiet, and she's so close to me now you'd think we were the only two in this cave. "And we may find where their seeds are so I can bring them back. We can learn what really happened during the banishing.
Something about strategizing with Viola overwhelms me, and I grab her face and kiss her deeply, uncaring of the eyes on us or what our magic may do. Her lips part for me immediately, tongue tangling with mine. I'm vaguely cognizant of a crack of thunder in the distance.
As Viola pulls away from me, she nips my lip, a bead of blood coming to the surface. Her body stiffens as it did when Stone was killed, and her mouth hangs open slightly. I give her an almost imperceptible nod, and she slowly licks the drop of blood off. I watch her pupils dilate, leaving only a small gray ring around the black. She sways just a tad, but the color quickly returns to her eyes. I look over her shoulder and see our three travel companions have turned in a circle to speak in low voices, giving us a modicum of privacy, and they miss Viola's sudden bloodlust. The grin she gives me as she returns from her vision is pure sex.
The texts say blood speaks differently for each person, but in one entry from Lucinda's journal, she mentioned that Himureal could see past misdeeds and planned malfeasance.
The way Viola is looking at me makes it clear what she saw in my blood.
I wrap my hand into her hair at the back of her neck and tilt her head up to me. "Let's find out if you're really a God, Miss Mistflow."