16. Chapter 16
Chapter 16
Zeph
I think my eyes are crossing. I'm on my third petition of the day, another inconsequential dispute over quiet hours within inner city limits, taking up what little personal time I have now.
No wonder Mace was so irritable. The sheer number of papercuts I have sustained is enough to make anyone feel unhinged.
Frustrated, I toss the newest stack of inter-season disputes onto the table and pull at my auburn hair with my hands. I drag my fingers down my skin, enjoying the tightness it causes, before digging my fingers into my beard. I've always been a tactile person, but lately, I feel as if I'm going to crawl out of my skin. It's like my guilt has legs beneath it, longing to get out, to burst from me and showcase to the world my inequities.
I am working too slowly, Loris' words echoing in my head. I haven't spoken to him since he stormed out of my home, demanding I choose a God. He's still truly believing Viola is a God and that it's either her or Himureal.
To be fair, Loris was the first to declare her a God, and despite getting shot down multiple times, he's clung to it. Himureal's words only further emboldened him to his claim, which leaves me to contemplate its veracity.
Could this woman who has so easily woven herself into my being be a God?
I know she is worthy of worship, but could she be one who could sustain our magic and world?
I rub absentmindedly at my chest; the dull ache I've been experiencing for the past few days is quiet, but the habit is sticking around. My beard is unruly and badly in need of a trim, and I can't remember the last time I properly bathed. Between Patrician duties and high priest responsibilities, I am exhausted, pulled in every direction. By the time I finish with all the bullshit that comes along with being in this office, Himureal needs me in the ballroom.
He's been holding court, and his attendance doubled in a day. The first day, Nimh and a handful of Nerieds came to speak to him and truly find out if Water could have a home under Winter. He was never completely direct on where Water stood, but he still welcomed them with open arms. The next day, they were back with the full complement of Water wielders.
I thought this was a roaring success, an entire faction of our people immediately pledging fealty to him.
Of course, it's not enough for him.
The door to my office bangs open, loudly crashing into the wall. I startle and drop my papers. Himureal slides into the seat across from my desk, fury contorting his features. "What is it now?" I ask, shorter than is probably wise, but I am fed up with being beholden to the whims of a jilted God.
"You disappoint me, high priest," he growls, lowering himself into the chair in front of me. "This pathetic showing of supporters is unacceptable. I need more followers. How am I ever going to defend myself against my siblings if the people don't believe in me, Zeph? You are not doing your job."
I slam my hand on the desk on instinct but immediately flinch back in worry. "I am doing more than my job, Frostweaver. I am running the city, like you asked me to. I am acting as your high priest and managing the public perception of this whole Mace and Viola running-off fiasco." Emboldened, I suck in a deep breath and continue, "Has it ever occurred to you that you need to become one of the people to get them to follow you? You cannot sit there on a dias and expect people to come to you. That's not how things work anymore."
He snarls, ice crawling across my desktop from the connection of his fingertips. "Watch yourself, boy. You forget your place."
Himureal is correct, of course. I've spoken out of turn and potentially put myself in harm's way by allowing my temper to override my rational mind. Pushing back from my desk, I grab the decanter and glasses from the top of the bookcase and pour two fingers of liquor for both of us. I place his directly on the ice as a peace offering. "I hope you like yours chilled."
A few sips later, the calming burn running through my veins, I speak again, pushing reverence into my words. "I apologize for my outburst, Frostweaver. It is just that you have been gone a long time. The people have never seen a God before, so the way they act towards you is not going to be the same as it was before you were banished. I could go in as your high priest and force them all to kneel, but you will not get the devotion you need through that. You'll get fear."
He snatches his glass from the table and drains it in one go. Speaking as if the words are painful, he glares at me and pins me to the spot. "What do you suggest, Zeph?"
I enter the Hasty Butcher to find Himureal already here, sitting sentinel straight-backed and tight-legged at a barstool. Bracken, the proprietor, eyes him warily as the God squeezes the stem of a glass of wine so tightly between his slim fingers that I fear it may shatter.
All of the denizens are giving him a wide berth, unsure what to do with a God amid their drunken revelry.
It took all of a day for the knowledge of Himureal to spread from the Patricians to the citizens of Ytopie. They all must have quite loose lips. The rumored history of Himureal must still hold because every time he looks at someone, they shrink and immediately walk in the opposite direction.
I approach the bar, feet sticking on the stone floor with every step towards it, and Bracken hands me a glass of my favorite liquor as I clap Himureal on the back with a familiarity I have not earned. I lean close to him so I can whisper, "Respectfully, you do not look like a God of the people right now. People are afraid of you. This is a bar, you are going to have to loosen up some if you want them to feel comfortable approaching you." It's how I would speak to Loris, and I miss the man. But there is no way Loris would tolerate being in Himureal's presence, so I didn't even bother inviting him out tonight.
"I do not need them to approach me or like me. I need them to worship me."
"We talked about this, Frostweaver," I grit out, trying to keep the frustration out of my tone. "It is different now. I need you to trust me."
Bracken eyes me warily, quirking a brow as if to ask if I know what I'm doing. I give a half-shrug to the Geomancer and focus back on Himureal.
He swings his head towards me, long white hair flipping over his shoulder as he does so. "You're late. I'm not sure what I'm even doing here." I begin notice familiar mannerisms from my childhood. My mother was kind and warm but did not do well in crowds. The noise of it always set her on edge. After centuries of complete sensory deprivation, it appears Himureal is experiencing a similar struggle. His fingers are twitchy, and he winces slightly whenever someone gets too rowdy. For a moment, I feel bad for the God who spent centuries with no stimuli to be shoved into this type of environment.
But if he wants followers, this is the place to start.
I force a laugh and turn to the patrons. They're all staring at us, an unlikely pair at the bar. I'm sure everyone is wondering why a Summer is with the God of Winter. He makes me feel close to Viola, his magic washing over me as hers did, but it doesn't satisfy me in the same way. Every brush of ice, every glimpse of a shadow, is a reminder that I need her with me, and if he is how I do it, I can put up with this for a bit longer.
"Everyone! The Frostweaver here has never been to a tavern before, so let's show him a good time, yeah? Let's get a band out here, and the first round is on us!"
Drunken roars fill the air, and Himureal turns on his stool to look at me. "That's it? Calling for a band and buying everyone a drink is your plan?"
I shrug. "That's it. Get a few drinks in them, and you, now that I think about it, and everyone will be loose-lipped, dancing, and we'll be able to get you ingratiated to the people easily. You'll be a God of the people in no time." I slam my drink and motion to Bracken to pour four more. "No wine. Wine is for dinners and galas. At a place like this, you need liquor. Drink both of these, then have a third to carry around."
After an hour, the people are dancing to music being played by a ragtag team of musicians that have clearly never practiced together. No one seems to mind. As the sun disappears and night fully embraces Ytopie, the grid flares to life, and I wince. The sound isn't as intense as it used to be, but it still sounds like a swarm of bugs around my head.
In the low light, the Hasty Butcher could be forgiven for its sticky floors and barren walls, but its humble charm is what makes it so popular among the citizens here. I have spent many nights here, drinking too much, laughing too hard, and making questionable decisions.
I want Himureal to see that side of his people, to understand who we are now. Things have changed over the centuries, and it would serve him well to learn the nuances of the culture today.
But unfortunately, Himureal is not doing well. Every time I turn my back, he moves himself onto the periphery of the room, refusing to lower himself to the level of the people. I've told him multiple times that there is no way people outside of his non-existent court will want to follow him if he's completely unapproachable, but he seems he continues to believe Gods should be above the people.
Truthfully, I think it's that he's uncomfortable in this kind of situation but too prideful to admit it. Who would have thought that Gods would have fears and anxieties like the rest of us?
I've given up trying to socialize him, choosing instead to drown myself in drink and avoid the frustrating directions of my thoughts.
I miss Mace. I cannot believe I am feeling that, but it's true. I watched two brothers sharing a toast a few tables over, and it opened up a wound inside me that I had no idea was there. I saw him every day, a presence I couldn't shake from the moment I was born. Even though we weren't close, we still worked together. He was always available to me should I need him. And now he's gone, and I hate him for it, but that little boy in me still longs to see his big brother.
Would he forgive my transgressions?
What type of relationship is there for us if we're both vying for the affection of the same woman?
And then there's Viola. I need her so much it hurts. It's not like when she was in the Race, and I could watch her on the connection. She's completely gone, and I don't know if she's safe at all. The part of me that screams to protect her is furious, thrashing within me like a caged animal. As much as I hate that Mace took her, at least he is another set of hands to defend her. I have to believe he would take care of her. Otherwise, the fear in my chest would take over and cripple me.
I'm on my fifth drink when Cirrha pops up in front of me, clutching a glass of red wine that is beginning to stain her plush lips. "I know you're lying, Zeph."
I nearly choke on my drink. "About what?"
She gestures towards Himureal, who is scowling in the corner, frost coating the wall where he rests. "Something is wrong with him. Something happened to him during his," she drops her voice, looking around to make sure no one is listening, "banishment. There is no way this is a God meant to lead us." I find myself fascinated with the way she sips her wine, and my eyes track the way her tongue pulls a drop off of her lips. "Mace and Viola must have seen that he was unworthy, and that's why they left."
I shake myself out of my drunken fascination. "Then why would they leave you and our people with someone who they believe unfit to rule?"
Cirrha stutters, taking a step back. "Maybe they didn't have a choice but to flee."
I take a step towards her, crowding her space. Her breath hitches in her chest, and I relish the feeling of power that gives me. This close I can smell the toasted almond and vanilla scent of her skin. "I was there, Cirrha. Look at me, look in my eyes, and know what I am saying is the truth. Himureal asked Viola to rule by his side as his equal. She spit in his face and then attacked with the help of Mace, Plume, and Morrow. They didn't have to flee. They were in no danger."
"I can't believe that. Please tell me that's not true." Cirrha's eyes are watery, and her hands clutch my arms desperately. Though what I said was the truth, I know I am hurting her by leaving out context.
Pulling her into an embrace, I pat my hand on her back, the cool gray silk of her dress soothing my flushed skin. "I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it myself. When Viola first came here, Loris told me he thought she was a God. Himureal confirmed that she's akin to one. He made her from his magic. She just didn't want to be by his side." I drop my head, moving my lips close to the shell of her ear to avoid being overheard. "I don't think she came to that idea on her own. I hate to think it of my own brother, but I know he and his magic are behind it." We both look to Himureal, who's still in the corner, refusing to interact with the patrons of the bar. The more he drinks, the more frost that wraps around him, and if I don't stop him soon, he's going to freeze the whole damn bar.
"We're going to get her back, Cirrha. Mace will answer for his crimes, and Viola will take her place with Himureal and help restore our land."
"And what of the other Gods?" she whispers.
I shrug, motioning to Himureal that it's time for us to leave. This outing was clearly a failure, and I'm going to need to think of something else to get him in the good graces of our people. "The other Gods are not needed with Himureal and Viola here. It took us centuries to get him back, we cannot expect the others to return easily."