Prologue #2
Marina’s chest squeezed with a different type of fear.
The room was blurry, warped, like she was looking at it through layers of water. Her cheek stuck against the damp skin of Mother’s shoulder.
She blinked to clear her vision. “What do I do then?”
“You must learn to take advantage of a god’s foolishness. Or you must become more powerful than them.”
Nausea churned in her stomach.
To take advantage of their foolishness meant to allow a god to enter her bedchamber, take their seed, and create a legacy of her own.
A numbness unfurled behind her ribcage. Her mind fell blank, and her bones grew heavy in her skin at the thought of being a matriarch.
“Which of the two did you do?” She didn’t like how hollow, detached, her voice was. But she wished to know. Mother did not lack the power nor the wits to get what she desired most.
Mother brushed a long strand off Marina’s shoulder. “Both, my dear. I created a legacy and ended up with you—my proudest creation. Only after I became your father’s reckoning.”
Marina blinked in lethargic sweeps as her mother’s words sank in.
She often crossed paths with other goddesses, their bellies swollen, claiming to be living out their duties to their parents. But for Marina, the idea of motherhood did not allure her.
And even if it did, the thought of being nothing more than an object to quench a god’s lust coiled her organs.
Which left only one option.
Marina’s hands, still flaking with blood, began to burn arduously.
Bile climbed up her esophagus. There was a frantic urgency in her to wash her skin clean, scrub Evander from her body, erase him completely.
“And if I do not succeed in either one?” Marina asked, her pulse racing in her throat.
Mother pulled away. “Marina.” She placed her thumb under Marina’s chin and guided her head to look up. With her other hand, she peeled wet locks of hair from Marina’s cheeks, her touch as delicate as her tone. “Do you wish to be as useless as Naia?”
Marina’s heart twisted.
No.
Never.
The love she had for Mother swelled. It had roots that burrowed and curled around the chambers of her heart. The thought of ever disappointing her in the same way Naia did, again and again, punctured her chest.
With resolve, Marina straightened her spine, sitting up. “I will do what I must.” The muscles in her shoulders tensed, and she kept her hands wound into fists on her thighs, the tremors in her arms finally receding.
It was blood. Nothing more.
Nothing more.
She would rinse her skin clean, and all would be well.
“The next god will regret ever stepping foot inside my bedchamber.” Marina locked onto her mother’s eyes, jaw set.
It is only blood.
A proud smile lifted the corners of Mother’s mouth, exposing her brilliant teeth and darkening her pale gaze.
“Power is pride, Marina.” She stroked the back of her fingers over Marina’s cheek. “Never forget that.”
Marina stood atop the second-story balcony, overlooking the vast space beneath her—one of the halls on the lower grounds of the palace.
Evander hung from chains suspending him from the ceiling. His arms were pulled taut from the shackles binding his wrists, and his legs dangled like frail branches caught in a breeze.
The harsh hiss of Mother’s whip traveled across the room and slashed against Evander’s backside, the sound slick and wet. A gush of raspberry liquid ran down the backs of his legs and stained the moonstone floor.
The graceful swoosh of deities teleporting into the room carried like whispers. Tendrils of smoke twirled in the wake of their arrival.
Marina ran her eyes over the collective of divine faces, listening closely to their murmurs of intrigue and confusion.
What did Lord Evander do to offend Lady Mira?
The mystery would eat them all alive.
A wave of dizziness spun in Marina’s head. She gripped the railing in front of her, an assurance of support to keep herself upright.
Evander’s punishment was what she’d wanted. Something she’d dreamed about during the long hours of the night as she scrubbed her skin raw in a bath while the servants erased all evidence from her bedchamber.
Witnessing him pay for his crimes would fix her. At least, this is what she told herself. It was the only reason she’d come to watch.
And yet, she still felt the hollow ache spreading like rot behind her sternum; traces of Evander’s violation marred her skin.
Marina kept her gaze fixed on the end of Mother’s whip as it made contact with the flesh of Evander’s back. Scraps of his tunic tore and swayed around his waist, the beige fabric blotted with currant.
The god let out a pathetic whine as his body swung from the impact.
Marina observed the river running down his broken skin and over his trousers. The sight of blood did not faze her, and yet her skin buzzed, as if it was still caked upon her, dissolving through her pores and mixing into her own veins.
Panic lit in her chest with an urgency to wash her hands even though nothing was on them.
She squeezed the gold iron railing tighter.
They are clean.
You are okay.
“I must say, I do enjoy the view better from up here.” A deep, masculine voice fabricated at her side, the scent of stripped tree bark and smoke rushing through her hair.
She could feel the High God’s presence, depthless and dark, like a churning void calling her to step inside its mouth. It invoked an acceleration in her pulse while dropping a pang of fear into her stomach.
She swallowed. In her periphery, the mask he wore, crafted from a large animal’s carcass, came into view.
It was an ancient cervid, with two horns twisted out from the top of its skull, connected by sagging strands of gold.
The bone had been preserved by his divine power, always staying an uncannily alabaster white.
It was said he forged it from the first creature that slipped into his realm, a warning for those who dared trespass in Tavora.
“Lord Acacius,” she greeted without looking directly at him. Instead, she concentrated on keeping the muscles in her face relaxed, expression blank.
He was a stranger to her. Aside from the small talks they’d exchanged with one another over the past years during feasts and gatherings, she had never been alone with him before.
The High God was capable of disillusionment, a power that could force anyone to drown in their own sorrows, fears, and insecurities. While she’d never witnessed it firsthand, she fortified her guard nonetheless.
Acacius casually rested his forearms on the railing, peering down below. “You look at him with animosity.”
Pressure pushed against the inside of Marina’s chest. She wanted to ignore the High God, but it could come off as disrespectful and would bring shame to Mother.
She had no choice but to respond, to make up some justifiable excuse for her resentment.
Something to satisfy the High God’s curiosity but prevent him from asking further questions.
However, his observation meant something to her. Out of a room full of deities, he could somehow sense her pain, and that alone made her want to be truthful, without constraint. Confide her anguish in someone—anyone—willing to listen.
“He touched me without my permission,” she said, the words bitter on her tongue.
“Ah.” Acacius twisted to look over at her, the two large holes of his mask glowing like gold discs. “Well, I would say he deserves his punishment then.”
Marina continued to stare at the gory scene of Evander. “It makes no difference.” Her voice was monotone, barely there.
Another slash of Mira’s whip echoed like a clap of thunder.
Her mother stood on a platform, her stance strong, directing her weapon like it was an extension of her own arm.
“Why is that?” Acacius asked.
“If not him, then there will be others like him. Those who take—who do not look back as they walk away.” She didn’t approve of the lump forming in her throat or the temptation on her tongue to spew out venomous hatred toward gods and their degradation.
She pursed her lips to contain her hostile feelings.
Evander had stolen something from her, and it was difficult to ignore the emptiness in its place, to maintain her composure as the hours waned on.
Acacius straightened up from the rail, his body heat warming her side like a gust from a wildfire. The material of his black wool robe brushed against her arm.
The slight touch coaxed her to meet his gilded eyes, swirling as he studied her. He stood at least a foot above her, the antlers of his mask giving a greater illusion to his already tall height.
“If a god puts their hands on you without permission,” he said, low and grim, “then simply cut them off.”
A bitter sound scuffed out of her, partially baffled by his candor, the other part furious with his suggestion, because she had already done so. “I cut off his head, and it simply grew back.”
“Yes.” He hummed with a smile to his tone. “But his pride will not.”
Power is pride. Mother’s words returned to her.
Marina stared at Acacius, secretly admiring his darkness. Something in her own abyss seemed to stir awake in response to his words, a stroke of exhilaration, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.
The bizarre need to smile back pulled at her lips.
After a long second, her gaze jumped from his eyes to the ashen exterior of his mask. She was curious to know what lay beneath it. None of the gods had ever seen his face.
“Next time you speak to me, do so without the mask,” she said.
A low chuckle rumbled from him as he backed away and bowed his chin. “It has been a pleasure, Lady Rina.”
She glared at him. “That is not my name.”
He spun around, his divine power gathering in a viscous, midnight-blue fog at his feet. It swirled like ribbons around the backside of his frame.
There will be more. Her mother’s words appeared again.
Marina’s heart sped up.
Evander’s blood stained her palms, no matter how much she wiped them clean, trapping her in that horrid moment when he’d invaded her bed and branded his fingerprints on her body.
What would happen next time? When another’s blood touched her skin?
The thought of more, of their blood diffusing with her own, shriveled her lungs.
Acacius’s form distorted.
She took a step toward him. “Wait, I…”
Acacius halted in his teleportation, the rays of his divine power levitating like obsidian silk at his waist.
He looked over his shoulder at her, his macabre mask tilting as he waited. “Yes?”
Marina’s jaw set from the discomfort as she worked the question off her tongue. “What if I…” She paused and licked her lips. Letting out an exhale in defeat, she tried again. “What if I cannot handle the carnage?”
Acacius’s gaze darkened into caramel, the shape of his eyes thinning from what Marina could only assume was a sinister smirk behind his mask. “Then you create a monster who can.”