Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
The leather strap bites into my palm as I wrench it tight, securing the last piece of my armor. My hands should be cold with fear, but I only notice a strange numbness. Like my body already comprehends it’s moving toward something far beyond normal.
Outside the tent’s canvas walls, a wave of excitement swells. Thousands of eager people chatter, all here to watch me kill my wife or die trying.
Icy wrath flows through me, cold and relentless.
If the gods or anyone gathered here to view this shit show thinks I’ll harm a hair on Lark’s head for the “good of humanity,” they’re delusional. Over and over, she’s chosen me, chosen to love me. She’s accepted every part of me, good and bad. Forgiven me when anyone else would have left.
If any god so much as lays a finger on Lark, I’ll destroy them. Every. Fucking. One.
She’s the woman I love more than life itself. I need her more than the air I breathe and the water I wield.
She’s mine.
A ripple disturbs the air beside me, like heat over stone. I don’t have to glance up. I’ve been expecting this visit.
“Ready to make history, my champion?” Rivlan’s voice carries the casual confidence of a being who’s watched civilizations rise and fall like tides.
I continue adjusting my chest plate, testing its weight against my wings. “What do you think?”
“Touchy today, I see.” The elemental god’s form solidifies enough to cast a faint shadow across the tent floor. His appearance is more settled today, less fluid than usual. A calculated choice, I’m sure, to seem more relatable. More trustworthy.
I stay silent, because what is there to say? If Rivlan really thinks I’m about to fight my own wife, he’s an idiot.
His attention shifts to the open flap of my tent, where sunlight cuts a bright rectangle into the dim interior. The noise of the crowd swells, rolling in like waves against a cliff. “Quite a mortal crowd gathering.”
A song breaks out somewhere in the stands and is quickly taken up by hundreds of voices. A wedding song, ironically. For a new husband who is about to face his wife on the battlefield.
“Yes.” I yank another leather strap tight enough to leave marks on my skin. The pain helps center me. “We invited them.”
Rivlan spins toward me, his watery form losing cohesion before snapping back into human shape. “You…fool.” The word spills from him like poison. “That only serves Zeru. We discussed this. Keeping the match contained. Limiting witnesses—”
“Why?” I finally look up, locking my gaze on him. “Why was that so important?”
Rivlan’s form swirls, but he offers no reply.
The silence stretches between us, marked only by the distant roars of the crowd as another dignitary is announced. I can almost see him calculating, weighing how much to reveal, how much to conceal.
I turn away to reach for the shield leaning against a wooden chest. It’s beautifully crafted, inlaid with silver that matches my wings. A weapon created for spectacle as much as protection.
“Those diamonds you gave us as a wedding gift…” I run my fingers along the shield’s edge, testing its sharpness. “They need to stay cold, don’t they?”
A pause. Slight, but there.
“Of course.” Rivlan’s voice is smooth as polished stone. “All precious things require proper care.”
“Proper preservation, you mean.” I spin back around to face him. “Like frost on a window. Like crystals in a temple…or a portal.” I wait a beat. “Like frozen devotion.”
The temperature plummets.
Water droplets materialize in the air between us, suspended like perfect little beads of glass. Rivlan’s expression shifts into something more inhuman. His smile stretches too far back on his face. A reminder that beneath his careful mimicry of mortal form lies something powerful and ancient.
“Clever. But that’s why I chose you.” He gestures dismissively. “What does it matter now? The die is cast. The decisions made.”
“Let me spell it out for you, Rivlan. You may be a god, but I hold the dice.” I set down the shield with deliberate care.
“And I know everything. I know you harvest devotion. I know you stockpile it like winter preserves.” I step closer, my magic responding to my rising anger, ice materializing beneath my feet with each step.
“Tell me, do we taste different when we’re fresh versus frozen? ”
The god pales. “Don’t be ridiculous—”
“Is that what I’m being?” I cut him off, my voice dangerously quiet.
“Because I’ve seen your crystals pulse. Seen them feed.
” The hanging water droplets between us begin to crystallize, reflecting our faces in countless miniature mirrors.
“You didn’t just want a champion. You wanted a guardian’s devotion on tap. Premium vintage, is that it?”
Rivlan shivers like sunlight on water. Something flashes across his features. Frustration, perhaps. Or fear. “You need me. The other gods—”
“Are worse?” My laugh sounds harsh in the confined space. I point to where the stands are on the other side of the heavy canvas walls. “Maybe. But at least they didn’t pretend to be my ally while planning to feed off my power.”
“I gave you a gift!” Rivlan expands, filling more of the tent with his presence. The walls grow damp. “The gift of magic—”
“You gave me a larger storage container!” Water explodes from nearby vessels.
The washing basin, the drinking pitcher, even the moisture in the air freezes into jagged patterns around us.
The tent walls creak under the pressure of sudden ice.
“Were you going to tell me? That if we used those diamonds in the future to restore magic, I’d be feeding you too? ”
Rivlan draws himself up, dignity settling across his features like a familiar mask. “The diamonds have naught to do with devotion. They are clean. Crystals can be used to store many things.” His voice softens, attempting to soothe. “And I gave them at great risk to myself.”
The crowd outside roars again. Someone important has arrived. Lark? One of the gods? We’re running out of time.
“How much risk?” My voice rises despite my efforts to control it. “Being killed? Killing someone you love? Fighting the woman you love to the death?” I invade his space, each question landing like a blow. “Was it that risky? The only risk you took was that I would reject your offer.”
“You cannot see all things, Knox.” Rivlan’s voice takes on the resonant quality of deep water, a reminder of his true nature. “And I am not bound to explain them to you.”
I consider my next move carefully. The ice spreads farther across the ground, climbing the central support pole in delicate, translucent patterns.
My magic has never flowed so freely, never responded so instinctively to my emotions. “Exactly how much power does a guardian have?”
Rivlan blanches. Or whatever the equivalent is for a being made of water and divine essence. His form becomes less distinct, the edges blurring as if he’s preparing to retreat.
This, I realize with sudden clarity, was always the risk the gods took.
Not that we would discover their feeding. Not that we would resent it. But that a mortal would actually seize the power they have access to through their connection to the divine.
I am that mortal Or close enough.
Moving to the weapon rack in the center of the tent, I lift a massive sword that glints in the dim light. It’s ceremonial, meant for show rather than actual combat, but it emphasizes my point. The blade catches what little light filters through the pavilion walls, tossing it back in cold flashes.
“You’re going to fight.” It’s not a question. Rivlan’s form settles again, resignation evident in his posture. We both know the stakes haven’t changed.
“Oh, I’m going to fight.” The sword is light in my hand, as if my newfound understanding has altered the physical world itself. “But not as your champion. As Tirene’s guardian. As Lark’s husband. As myself.”
Power thrums through my veins, not borrowed or gifted, but claimed. I see now what the gods have always feared, why they needed the devotion of mortals. They’ve forgotten what humans are capable of when not constrained by artificial limitations, by divine manipulation.
“The diamonds—” Rivlan begins, a note of urgency entering his voice.
“Can stay frozen.” I turn away to gather my final pieces of armor. “Like all your carefully preserved power.” I glance back over my shoulder, offering him a smile sharp enough to cut. “Better hurry. I hear there’s a famine coming.”
Rivlan’s form flickers, indecision evident in his constantly shifting appearance. For a minute, I think he might attack me. Preserve his plans through force. But that would reveal too much too soon.
Instead, he begins to fade, his essence thinning until he’s barely visible. “You play a dangerous game, Knox. The other gods will not be as forgiving as I have been.”
“Forgiveness implies guilt.” I buckle on my sword belt. “And I have nothing to feel guilty about.”
His presence vanishes entirely, leaving only a lingering chill in the air. I stand alone in the pavilion, ice melting slowly around me as my emotions settle. The confrontation has left me strangely lighter, unburdened in a way I haven’t been since I first learned the truth about the gods’ feeding.
I gather my shield, placing it on my arm. The weight, balanced against the sword at my hip, is right. Outside, the noise of the crowd has reached a fevered pitch. They’re ready for blood, for spectacle, for the divine drama they’ve been promised.
They want a fucking show?
We’ll give them one.