33. Chapter Thirty-One #2
Then she moved. Each step to the dais was deliberate. The hem of her armor-shifted gown dragged against stone. She wasn’t walking. She was claiming the space, a goddess who knew the effect she had on her people.
Tairngire rose smoothly, as if he'd been waiting for this moment. And when her eyes cut to his, her mouth curved in old recognition.
“Forest God,” she said, voice edged with humor.
“Warrior Goddess,” he replied easily, his tone both mocking and respectful at once. The kind of paradox only divines managed.
The hall shifted nervously, as though it didn’t know whether to exhale or hold its breath. Two An Chéadcumtha in one room—one a storm of steel and firelight, the other a shadow of the First Forest in green and gold. It was both rare and unsettling. Didn’t matter what realm—It wasn’t seen often.
Every half-born and ascended mortal stared hungrily, openly, as if this sight alone would carry through lifetimes. This was no longer a feast. This was history in the making.
Scáthae’s laughter rang out, precise and impossible to ignore. “You do not show yourself often, Awakener. And when you finally do…” Her eyes cut toward me. “You bring the Seer of the Seven Realms.”
The hall rippled at once, every soul caught mid-breath. Heads turned. Eyes sparkled, all eager to witness what happened next.
I felt it, the weight of their wonder pressing in, brushing against my skin like invisible hands. Their eyes shifted between their War Goddess and the Forest God, and I pretended not to notice the stares that came my way.
His expression shifted, emerald eyes glowing in the faint candlelight. He’d brought me here knowing exactly what it would do.
And Scáthae…she didn’t look away. Her gaze stayed locked, peeling back every layer, weighing every secret.
Caedmon’s laughter broke the spell, booming through the vaulted hall like a drumbeat. The sound was so warm, so infectious, that the silence shattered. Voices followed—chuckles, relieved sighs, shifting shoulders.
“At last,” the king bellowed, sweeping his arms wide as if to embrace the goddess herself. “Our halls are brighter for her presence!”
The crowd answered with cheer, and the weight that had pressed on my chest loosened just enough that I could breathe again.
But then Scáthae moved. The warrior goddess strode forward with a predator’s poise, every eye following until she stopped before me. Her hand extended—no delicacy there, but steadiness. The hand of one who had wielded swords and commanded armies.
“Come now, Seer,” she said, her voice strong with conviction. “I’ve been waiting, and I should inform you, it is unwise to keep a goddess in such a state.”
The hall hushed again with expectancy instead of anxiety, it seemed as if they were desperate for a show.
Her hand stayed outstretched, gaze fixed and gleaming like a blade catching flame. I stood so fast I nearly knocked my plate from the table.
Tairngire stepped forward until he stood between me and the goddess, his presence so intense the torches along the walls seemed to falter.
“Be nice, now,” he said, warning coiled beneath each word. His eyes narrowed, runes beneath his skin glinting faintly. “Keep your weapons sheathed. This is not your battleground tonight, huntress.”
Scáthae’s expression was downright delighted, dangerous in its intent. “Do you fear I might break her, Tairngire?” she asked, voice alight with laughter though her eyes never left mine. “She does not appear to be the type to back down when a challenge faces her. Yet, you would treat her as such?”
Ten points for the Goddess of War.
He leaned closer, predator meeting predator, air crackling between them. “No,” he said, voice dropping but loud enough for the entire hall to hear. “But I won’t watch you test what isn’t yours to claim.”
My eyes darted between the two, my defiant mouth silent for once. I was unsure how to speak in the presence of two divines discussing me like I wasn’t standing in between them.
Whispers ran through the cavernous space. Chairs shifted, eyes darting between god and goddess. Even Caedmon’s jovial smile couldn’t dispel the weight of the moment.
Scáthae laughed, soft and unhurried, the sound slipping easily into the hall. “Ah, protective, then. How uncharacteristic of you.”
Tairngire’s jaw worked, his stare colder still. “Call it what you like. But tread carefully with this one, war-born. My warning will not come twice."
I didn’t have the time to sort through the multitude of emotions that overwhelmed me hearing that Tairngire was “protective” over me, because Scáthae’s hand still lingered in the space between us, eyes focused and unblinking.
Every lesson, every warning from the temple echoed in my skull: never touch a divine being unless commanded to. Never risk a vision you cannot master.
But I’d broken that rule before, and just like with Tairngire, my palm lifted anyway. I simply couldn’t stop myself. My chest thudded as my fingers slid against hers.
The instant skin met skin, there was no pushing it down. No dam to hold it back. I was gone.
The dining hall gave way to the copper tang of blood and the reek of split flesh.
Scáthae stood armored in steel, her blade drinking light like it craved it.
She moved with terrifying grace. Her war cry splitting the sky.
Half-born warriors scattering like crows.
Demigods fell before her, shields shattering like pottery.
Each strike was precise, unstoppable. She was battle itself.
Nothing would come between the Goddess of War and vengeance.
I could taste her desire for blood on my own tongue.
The vision snapped like a thread.
I blinked, back in the dining hall once more.
Her hand still gripped mine as I doubled forward with a gasp.
Normally, visions tore me apart—left me shaking.
But this? My body held, even though I hadn’t expected it.
The Oracle had once told me that divine visions would rip through my mortal flesh, leaving me a husk of what I once was.
I looked down, gripping my dress, grounding myself in reality.
I was still whole.
My eyes flew back to Scáthae in shock . Her face was stone, expression unreadable. Only her eyes betrayed the faintest flicker—interest.
“How fascinating,” she confirmed my suspicions.
Heat clawed at my back. Shame burned in my gut. My fingers slipped from hers as though scalded. I dropped my gaze. The truth sneaking its way into my head. I had no control, not over my Sight, not over myself.
Damn it all to Karthmor.
“Do not look ashamed, child.” Her voice softened, not necessarily warm, but certain. She leaned in, her breath brushing my ear like the whisper of morning fog over a valley. “You cannot control what you do not yet understand.”
When she drew back, her hand beckoned me, command that needed no invitation. “Come.”
Beside her, Tairngire’s face was unguarded, for once. Something hard gleamed deep in his eyes—was that…possessiveness? The mask slid back into place instantly and he nodded at me once.
Ugh. Now he thought I was looking to him for approval, which I was, in fact, not. I narrowed my eyes in response, he simply rose a brow in challenge. Later. I’d deal with him and his dominance issues later.
I turned away from him and followed the War Goddess out of the dining hall. Every step was heavy. Every breath was too tight. Scáthae’s hand lingered at her side, her stance was easy but her presence was far from it. “You had a vision.”
Not a question. A statement.
My throat bobbed as I considered whether to tell her a lie. I settled on the truth, remembering Tairngire’s words. She sees through falsehoods.
“I don’t have control.” The words slipped out. “But Tairngire has touched me. Yet no visions came.”
I regretted it instantly, admitting he touched me at all. Her expression shifted, as if she were calculating my response and every reason for it. “Perhaps the Awakener has better control of himself than I.”
The thought sank deep, gnawing at me. Better control. Was that why? How could he touch me—repeatedly—without pulling me into Sight?
Her eyes narrowed, her penetrating gaze striking me. “Strange, then, that the Fates would bind you to him.”
I stilled mid-breath. The air between us turned electric. She said it so plainly. “Tairngire does not bond. Has never bonded. The Godhead sets him apart. And yet, the Fates tied you to him in blood-red thread.”
The questions tore from me, raw and insistent. “Why? Why me? Why him? He doesn’t want it. I never asked for it. What did they see, that he cannot?”
The goddess didn’t answer. She only looked past me, something troubling clouding her expression. “Not all threads are woven for strength. Some are spun for their unraveling." She frowned, her silver-rimmed eyes lost deep in thought. “Remember that, child.”
The words wrapped around me, the only thing unravelling was my resolve. Was that all I was meant for? To break?
Fucking figures.
“But he brought you here. To me. He sees something," she tapped her chin with a finger. “Possibly…a reminder of another.”
I tilted my head. “Another?”
Her eyes raked over me, unflinching, assessing. “You have never been trained for battle,” she went on, ignoring my question. "Your body is soft. Your arms unused to weight. You are not built for combat.”
The words struck a nerve. Did she realize what I’d been born to?
That I’d tried everything in my power to train myself in combat stances? Avoiding the Old God’s gaze? Newfound confidence broke through me. Goddess of War or not, I wouldn't stand down and be underestimated. Not anymore.
“Perhaps not,” I snapped, “but I’ve drawn shadowed blood, and I’ve studied.
Profusely. I know the histories of every blade forged in Caerthannas, the accounts of every war and battle, and I’ve never wanted anything more than to wield divine-blessed steel against my enemies.
So please, do not offend me by looking upon my unmarred skin, making assumptions.
I could learn.” I let out a loud scoff. “I will learn, if given the chance.”
For a long beat, she only stared, cold and unforgiving. Then, she laughed. A melodical lilt, the sound unfitting for the fierce warrior in front of me. “There it is.” She made a fist, pumping it into the air, once. “The fire.”
Her smile was a warrior’s grin, fierce and proud.
“Yes, Seer. Misplaced, I see it now. That is what you are. That is what the Awakener sees in you. The Fates gave you the wrong gift—or perhaps, too many. You were not meant to sit cloistered in temples, staring at the Weave. You were meant to bleed and strike and rise. And you will. Yes, you will train under my gaze.”
She tilted her head, the golden cuffs in her dark hair glinting in the torchlight. One arm crossed over her chest, the other remained a fist, tapping against her chin methodically.
“But fear not, sacred one.” Her thick accent shone through, certain syllables elongated and rolled.
I couldn’t help but notice it now, the stark difference between her and Tairngire’s speech.
His was flawless, a natural lilt on certain syllables.
Scáthae’s almost sounded as if the Common Tongue were a foreign language to her, one she didn’t speak regularly.
“You will not train alone,” she continued, breaking me from my wayward thoughts. “At dawn, you will rise and meet with my chosen daughter, Mairenn. She knows the weight of blade and shield. You will learn through her.”
The words should have silenced me, registered and left me with a sense of awestruck wonder, but restless curiosity surged instead. I couldn’t resist the compulsion to ask the personal question that burned on my tongue. “Why do you choose them? Your…mortal lovers?”
Her eyes snapped to mine. For a moment, the hallway around us seemed to cave in. Then her lips curved—dangerous, holding unrestrained amusement. “Such bold questions, Seer. Desire and power are rarely woven together by chance."
I swallowed hard. Her mysterious words burrowed beneath my skin like thorns. It wasn't an answer, but then again, I should have known better than to expect one from a divine.
She leaned in, her voice low enough to feel like a dagger pressed to my throat. “Come now. Let us get you back to your god.” A flicker of humor ghosted her face as she pulled back. “I can feel his anxiety from here.”
Her grin was downright devious, like she was savoring the thought of the unchained forest god pacing her dining hall.
I was sure he was anxious about my mouth.
He knew I didn’t have control over it, but luckily for me, the Goddess of War didn’t seem to mind.
If anything, she almost seemed to admire it.
The great doors groaned open as Scáthae swept back into the hall, her presence parting the air itself. I followed in her wake, steps quiet though my pulse thundered.
The laughter and chatter that had returned in her absence hushed again. Every eye turned as she crossed back toward the high table.
Tairngire was seated beside the king, no longer at ease. His shoulders were tense, jaw set like stone. The moment I entered, his head snapped up. His emerald eyes caught mine like a crack of lightning.
Unsettled. That was what he looked like.
I reveled in it, the almighty forest god stewing like a feral beast. Then his gaze slid past me, to the goddess at my back.
His expression shifted, and a slight curve took his mouth, as if he’d known I would return to him, unharmed.
But beneath it, something sharper flickered.
I hated the heat that coiled in my chest.
Scáthae stopped beside her son’s throne, laying her hand on its back, though she only had eyes for Tairngire. “Your Seer has teeth,” she said, her voice rich with approval.
Her eyes flashed bright, revealing the immortal blaze, then dimmed again before anyone else could see. Tairngire nodded at her once, as though she’d confirmed something only he understood. I narrowed my eyes.
Arrogant god.
The hall swelled with chatter once more, goblets lifted as if nothing had happened. Scáthae moved swiftly, her gaze honing on Mairenn, pulling her close, whispering commands.
Tairngire stood, casually as ever, as though the Goddess of War hadn’t just summoned me for a private walk. With one tilt of his head, one flick of his hand, he beckoned me. No words, just inevitability.
Gods, I hated when he did that.
I followed anyway.