12. Chapter 12
The walls of the dining hall are a deep shade of dripping crimson, reminiscent of centuries-old, clotted-up blood.
They encircle a stone slab table that occupies the center of the room, where candelabras cast eerie shadows along the walls.
I sit at the table before a metal platter of food large enough to feed an entire family and proceed to tuck my hands in my lap.
Beside me sits Solara, who’s come to haunt me again.
“You’re closer than ever to finding her,” she says.
I pretend I’m not listening. Instead, I stare on ahead, watching in my peripheral vision as Bella, Lily, and Maxine all take their respective seats opposite of me.
Bella fixates on a bug skittering across the table.
Lily indulges in a glass of champagne like she’s a fish deprived of water.
And Maxine inspects her own reflection in her plate, preening at whatever image is looking back at her.
“You mustn’t give up hope,” Solara presses, her gaze so unwavering, it’s even hotter than my scalding plate of food. “I miss you as much as you miss me,” she adds, as she so often does. “Stop picking at your fingers. You know how they bleed.”
There’s so much that I want to say to her, but I can’t. So instead, I press my lips together and sit on my hands.
“You’re upset because that brooding man betrayed you,” she notes quietly. “It was a necessary transaction that got you into the castle. Now you’re free to find the Mother of Chaos and reunite us across the universe.”
I snort. Maxine side-eyes me. Bella gives me an odd look.
The truth is, I would do anything to be with my sister again, including selling my soul to the Mother of Chaos if it was required of me.
But realistically, the idea of finding an ancient goddess hiding within these castle walls, waiting to be set free, is preposterous.
My only chance of survival is to flee. Because once the Goddess of Love gets wind of my spellmark, she’ll turn me into a filleted pigeon.
Tears prickle my eyes as Solara’s body evaporates, becoming one with the smoke that swirls around me.
It seems that Bella has blown out a candle, effectively sinking the room into a deeper despair of darkness.
“It’s my birthday,” she says dryly as she studies the lifeless wax. “I turned twenty-five today.”
“Happy birthday, Bella!” Regent proclaims as he greets us at the head of the table with a beam stretching across his face. “And boy, do I ever have a surprise for you! The gods are on their way, and they’re itching to meet each and every one of you.”
“There’s been a mistake,” I blurt out, my words exploding from my mouth like projectile vomit.
The God of Dreams didn’t pick me. You have the wrong person.
But before anyone can inquire as to what I mean, the door is violently thrown open, causing my heart to leap out of my chest. She storms in, her gown clinging to the curvature of her body like liquified sin dipped in starlight, her skin glowing so alabaster and bright, it looks like it’s been injected with holy fire.
The sharp-pointed crown nestled on her head looks like it’s been dunked in some kind of poison, its severeness contrasting starkly against the ocean of golden curls cascading down her back in ringlets.
She peers around the room, her intense gaze colliding with mine in a dance of death.
Her eyes narrow, and I suck down a bated breath. Why is she looking at me like that?
To my relief, her gaze shifts, seeming to grow bored again.
She passes over Bella, Lily, and Maxine, before landing on the sunkissed man to her right, who stands as tall as he is stoic, with hair shaven down to his scalp and vine-like veins on his forehead that bulge whenever he looks at us with those fierce, topaz eyes.
If the sun were a person incarnated, it would be him.
“Hello everyone,” the woman purrs. “I am the Goddess of Love, Armona Godsend. And this is my brother, Rhaziel Godsend, the God of War.”
The clean-shaven military general takes a seat at the head of the table where he proceeds to barrel into his pork chops like he’s been wrestling pigs since the dawn of time.
The queen’s eyes darken in response as she watches him, her irises turning an enraged shade of scarlet, matching the diamond-studded necklace wrapped around her throat like a vise.
“I apologize on behalf of my brother. It seems that he’s forgotten how to use a fork,” she says quietly. Rhaziel looks up and growls at her.
The door bangs open again, this time revealing a heavy-set man draped in silver star-canvased robes, who is much softer around the edges and wider around the midline than his siblings are.
His blond beard is streaked with hints of red, his skin is alabaster pale, and his head is a flurry of golden curls.
His eagle-shaped eyes are framed by a pair of silver spectacles, which he removes to scrutinize us with.
After a long, painstakingly awkward moment, he drops down onto a chair, props open his book, and proceeds to act as though we aren’t all sitting here.
Lovely.
“And that is Thalmos, the God of Wisdom.” The queen tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth.
“I apologize for the lack of manners on behalf of both my brothers,” she adds, her voice strained, as if speaking to us is causing her immense pain.
“It seems that our time spent ruling this very vast continent has made them forget how to socialize.”
The God of Wisdom flips to the next page of his book and sighs, his curls tumbling into his eyes.
Across from him, the God of War sloppily dunks a chunk of his ribeye steak into a serving bowl containing gravy.
The queen gives them both a vexing look, and the God of War smirks between bites.
Rhaziel and Thalmos, I try to remember their first names.
“As I’m sure you all know,” the queen goes on to explain, her voice skittering on the edge of insanity, “I have decreed that every adult in the realm must be married by sundown on the seventh day of the week. As of right now, there are six days remaining until the sun sets in the east.” She whisks a glass of bubbly champagne from the table and takes a swig.
“You will be pleased to hear that my marriage requirement extends not only to the mortals, but to the gods as well.” She pauses to execute a sharp, unauthentic smile across her lips.
Maxine kicks me in the shin from under the table, giving me a look that says, I told you so.
“Which is why we’ve called upon each of you single-handedly,” the queen continues, “so that you may bind us to the realm with your heartstrings and tether us to reality.”
Excuse me?
Her gaze flits to Lily as she adds, “It is the highest honor a mortal can receive, to be chosen for this noble quest of falling in love.”
Lily sits up straighter in her seat, appearing excited to be given such an opportunity.
“Actually Sister, we have five days and eleven hours remaining before the curse sends us to Purgatory,” Thalmos says.
I recall his star-drenched robes and oval spectacles from the storybooks I read growing up.
He’s the god responsible for the realm’s history, or lack thereof.
His stories have been spun into nursery rhymes and folklore, instilling fear in the hearts of children and serving to fine-tune the whims of men.
His carefully crafted ideologies are what gave rise to bloodproofing, the very method that ensured I was never able to earn my own living, forcing me to bottom-feed off Eric like some kind of leech. Fucking prick.
I clench my fists beneath the table and growl at him. He pays me no heed, mostly because his attention has already fallen back onto his stupid book. What is he reading, anyway? I tip my head and read the spine, only to find the title says: Reincarnation, A History Through Time.
“Thank you, Thalmos,” the queen drifts off in a deep-seated sigh.
“Due to the direness of this situation,” she adds, her gaze bouncing around to each of us, “I have included a bit of motivation. You’ll find that if you fall in love with your assigned god before sundown on the seventh day of the week, you shall each receive a gift. ”
Lily flutters in her seat. Maxine leans forward, scoops up her spoon, and stuffs a helping of potatoes into her mouth. Bella scrapes her fork against her plate, eliciting an ear-splitting screech.
“What kind of gift?” I ask.
If the queen is shocked by my abrasiveness, she doesn’t show it.
Instead, she nods toward Regent, who jumps to attention somewhere along the back wall and presses a button amidst the shadows.
The wall shifts like it’s made of loose screws and warped metal, until finally, a glass vitrine emerges from its maws.
I stop breathing. Because seated on that shimmering glass display case are endless rows of freshly cut diamonds, jewels I’ve only seen described in the books I read growing up.
Solara and I would always fight over a certain book in particular, one with a matte black cover and a loopy silver title: Aurorian Gemstones in All Shapes and Sizes.
Some of the diamonds in the display case are supported by the finest rose-gold bands in the realm.
Others are dripping in golden stardust or glinting in hues of scarlet red.
There are rings with bands forged by molten copper and bloodiron, excavated straight from the mines of Malgrave.
Black bands of obsidian linger along the bottom shelves like pools of glistening ink, which, in my opinion, are the most intoxicating.
And expensive. One of those rings alone could change the entire trajectory of my life.
I’d never have to worry about relying on a man, or bloodmagic, ever again.
I’d be richer than even Eric’s father is, the infamous Lord Graves himself.