Chapter 31 #3
By the time Seris is brought to the great hall, word has already spread through the compound and probably beyond.
I can tell by the way people are positioned: Caius stationed near the main door with his weight balanced and ready, one hand resting casually near his hip.
Renan against the far wall, still making notes because the man apparently never stops working.
A handful of Discord's inner circle arranged in careful clusters throughout the room, holding conversations that are just a little too casual, watching every entrance without seeming to watch anything at all.
And in the center of it all, Koshin.
He's wearing formal black and silver—I've never seen him in anything like it before.
This is the performance version of himself, the one designed to remind everyone in the room exactly who they're dealing with and exactly how dangerous it would be to forget it.
His posture is loose, almost lazy, but that's part of the show too.
I've learned what his stillness looks like when he's actually paying attention.
This isn't it. This is theater, and he's the only one who knows all his lines.
Seris appears at my side, escorted by two Discord attendants who fade into the background the moment she's delivered. Her hand finds mine without either of us looking.
"Is this real?" she whispers.
"As real as anything else around here."
"That's not even slightly reassuring."
"Welcome to Discord. You get used to it." I squeeze her fingers once. "Or you don't. Either way, here we are."
Koshin's voice cuts across the room, and every other sound dies. He doesn't need to raise it—the room goes quiet for him like it's been trained.
"House Solyne stands under the protection of Discord."
"Seris Solyne speaks for her name and her holdings. Any action taken against her—" His head tilts, that smile spreading into something with edges. "Any action at all, by anyone, for any reason. Will be treated as an action against this House. And I take those very personally."
From the corner of my eye, I catch movement near the eastern door. Gold threading on dark fabric—Coin's colors. Someone watching, probably composing their report in their head already.
Good.
Let them watch. Let them write down every word and carry it back to their masters with all appropriate gravity.
"The protection extends to her person," Koshin continues, "her household, and her territory.
Discord recognizes House Solyne's right to govern its own affairs under these terms." A deliberate pause, and his attention sweeps the room before landing on the Coin observer.
He holds the look just long enough for it to become uncomfortable, until they're the one who has to look away.
"Questions can be directed to Renan. I don't answer them. I find them boring."
The Coin observer's expression doesn't change—they're too well-trained for that—but their hand moves in a small, subtle gesture, touching something at their wrist. Recording the moment, probably. Or sending a signal. With Coin, it's usually both at once.
Seris's fingers tighten around mine. I squeeze back.
And then it's done. The announcement made, the words recorded, the political reality shifted. My sister is going back to that house, and all I've managed to do is wrap her in someone else's protection instead of my own.
It's not enough. It won't ever be enough.
The preparations happen faster than I expected.
Discord moves with an quickness that speaks to practice—evacuations, extractions, complicated logistics that most people never have to think about.
Within two hours, there's transport waiting in the courtyard.
Guards have been selected, briefed, equipped.
Supply crates are being loaded with things I don't ask about because I'm not sure I want to know.
Caius finds me in the corridor, watching the organized chaos of it all. He's adjusted his cloak to show his blades.
"I'm going with her."
I turn to look at him. "Whose idea?"
"Mine."
"I've decided. Someone needs to ensure the house doesn't collapse while she learns to run it, and I'm the obvious choice. I have experience with territory management. And if anyone tries to kill her, I can kill them first." He counts off on his fingers. "Three reasons. That's enough."
"You're the God of War. Don't you have... war things to do?"
"War things." He considers this. "There's always war things. But war things can wait. Your sister has good instincts and terrible defenses. That's an interesting problem. I enjoy interesting problems."
I study him, looking for the angle. With anyone from Discord, there's always something underneath. But Caius is just... standing there.
Earnest.
Like volunteering to babysit a traumatized mortal in a murder house is perfectly logical.
"And if Coin makes a move?"
"Then I make one back." His hand drifts to his gladius, not threatening—just comfortable.
"Coin is predictable. They'll send someone to assess, then someone to negotiate, then someone to threaten.
Three visits before violence. I've made notes" He pauses.
"At home. I have charts for most of the Houses. Color-coded."
"Of course you do."
"Organization prevents chaos," he says again, like it's a personal motto. "If anything happens, I'll send word immediately. I have very good messengers. Also, I'll probably have already killed whoever caused the problem, so the word will mostly be informational."
"If anything happens to her—"
"It won't."
"But if it does—"
"Then I will have failed, and you can be angry at me. That's fair. I understand consequences." He meets my eyes, and there's nothing uncertain in his gaze. Just absolute confidence.
"But it won't. Your sister survived your father for twenty years. That requires skill. I respect skill. I'm going to make sure no one undoes her work."
I don't know what to say to that. It's not comfort, exactly.
It's just...
Caius.
Treating protection like a logistics problem he's already solved.
"Fine. Okay."
"Good. I've already packed." He adjusts his cloak again. "I brought six weapons. That should be enough. Seven felt excessive."
Seris stands beside the armored carriage door, dressed in proper traveling clothes now—still Discord's dark colors, but tailored to fit her properly.
She looks older than she did this morning.
More settled in her own skin, like she's grown into a decision that was too big for her and found out she fits it after all.
We stand there looking at each other, and I don't know how to do this. I've never had to do this before. All those years of trying to protect her, and I never once imagined a scenario where I'd have to let her walk away into danger on purpose.
"I still hate this," I tell her, because it's true and because I don't know what else to say.
She nods.
"I mean it. I hate everything about this. You're walking back into that house and I have to stand here and watch you do it, and I can't—" My voice catches. I swallow it down.
"Yeah." She steps forward and wraps her arms around me.
She's shorter than I am—always has been—and she tucks her head under my chin the way she used to when we were children, back when hiding behind me actually meant something, back when I could keep her safe just by putting myself between her and whatever was coming.
I hold on to her. Probably too hard. I don't care.
"Come back in one piece."
"I'll try."
"Try harder than trying."
Her laugh is wet against my shoulder, half-choked. "I will. I promise."
We stay like that too long. Not long enough. There's no amount of time that would be enough.
She's the one who pulls back first. Her eyes are red and wet, but she's not crying—holding it together the way she's always held it together, that careful control I used to mistake for compliance.
I want to tell her she doesn't have to. I want to tell her she can fall apart, just this once, just with me, and I'll catch her the way I always caught her.
But she's already turning. Already climbing into the carriage, folding herself into the dark interior. Already disappearing behind tinted glass.
Caius meets my eyes through the window. Nods once—a promise, or the closest thing to one I'm going to get.
The vehicle pulls away. The gates open to let it through, then close behind it with a sound like finality.
I stand there in the empty courtyard, shaking, watching the space where she used to be.
Great job, Io. Killed the monster. Freed the princess. And now the princess is riding off to reclaim the monster's castle while you sit in the dirt and shake like a child.
Really fucking nailed the rescue.
I don't know how long I sit there before I realize I'm not alone.
Koshin doesn't say anything. He's just... there. Leaning against the courtyard wall a few feet away, watching the same empty space where the carriage used to be. I don't know when he arrived. I didn't hear him move.
"You don't have to—" My voice comes out wrecked. I stop. Try again. "I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
"I'm fine."
He doesn't argue.
Doesn't move closer.
Doesn't offer comfort or platitudes or any of the things normal people say when someone's falling apart in front of them. He just stays where he is, silent and still, like he's got nowhere else to be and nothing better to do than watch me not-cry in the fading light.
It should be annoying. It should feel like pressure, like observation, like one more thing I have to perform through.
It doesn't.
The sun sinks lower. The shadows stretch longer. And when my legs finally stop shaking enough to trust them, I push myself up and find him watching me with that expression I can never quite read.
"Better?"
"No."
"Good." His mouth curves, just slightly. "Liars are boring."
I look down at my hands. The marks catch the last of the light—fine threads woven permanent into my skin, proof of something I still don't fully understand.
Cosmic tattoos.
Divine claim.
Evidence that my life split in two somewhere in the last week, and I'm never getting the old one back.
I should be terrified.
I flex my fingers. Watch the threads shift with the movement.
"I killed my father," I say. "Put a bullet through his head.
Slept fine after. My sister is riding back into hell and I can't stop her.
I'm bonded to a mad god who sees every lie anyone has ever told, and I don't even know what that means yet.
" I look up at him. "I should be falling apart.
That's what normal people do, right? They fall apart. "
"You're not normal people."
"No." I laugh, and it comes out wrong—too light, too easy, the sound of someone who's realized the abyss is actually kind of funny once you stop being scared of it.
"I'm really not. I think something in me broke a long time ago and just..
. never told me. And now I'm standing here with blood under my fingernails and marks on my skin and I feel—" I stop.
Try to find the word. "Fine. I feel fine.
That's fucked up, right? That's deeply, profoundly fucked up. "
"I wouldn’t know. Like you said, I’m not self aware." He tilts his head, and something in his expression shifts—not softer, just clearer. "Does it bother you? Being fucked up?"
I think about it. Actually think about it, standing in the fading light with a god who talks to himself and sees things that aren't there and chose me for reasons neither of us fully understand.
"No," I say, and the truth of it settles into my chest with a weight that feels right. "It really doesn't."
Koshin smiles. It's not a nice smile. It's not a comforting smile. It's the smile of someone who's been broken so many times the pieces stopped fitting back together centuries ago, and who's finally found someone whose pieces are just as wrong.
We stand there in the empty courtyard, two broken things watching the dark creep in, and I don't know what happens next. I don't know what the marks mean or what the bond will do to us or how many people are going to try to kill me now that every House knows I exist.
But I'm not running.
I'm not hiding.
I'm not making myself small.
For the first time in my life, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be—standing next to a mad god in the ruins of everything I used to be, and I'm not even a little bit afraid.
That's probably the most unhinged thing of all.