21. Chapter Twenty #2
I froze. He had never raised his voice at me. Not like this. Before I could blink, he shoved me against the bark of a dying tree, his rough hand wrapped loosely around my throat. I let out a gasp.
His eyes were a forest fire, molten and wild—locked on mine as he towered over me. “Do not mistake me. I never asked for you, or the burden you carry. Does your simple mortal mind have trouble understanding that?”
The words cut, twisting deep in my stomach. I opened my mouth to respond but he pulled his hand from my throat and turned away, lightning fast. Leaving me there panting, my eyes blown wide.
“And yet here I am,” he pressed on, pacing back and forth. “Every step you take, every interim bond you touch, I feel it. I feel you. And I didn’t ask for any of it. Not once. So pardon me if I’m unable to hold your hand through your ridiculous, untamed human emotions.”
His fists clenched like if he let go, he’d shatter—or reach for me again, and that would have been worse. Much worse.
So much for my emotions, he was ready to erupt with all those that he repressed. I ignored his harsh words and his obvious hypocrisy in lieu of his confession.
He could feel it when I got visions?
The forest hushed. My pulse hammered, but I forced my chin up. “Then why stay?” The whisper barely reached the trees. “You are a god who has never bent, never cared for rules. You’ve said so yourself. So…why this? Why are these orders the ones you choose to obey?”
For a moment I swore I saw it—the truth buried beneath his arrogance. Something fierce ached in his gaze. The very thing that he worked so hard to hide.
Then it was gone. His mask slammed back into place. His expression shifted, a look of disgust marring his godlike features. “Because the Fates wove it so,” he said, every word bitten clean. “And not even gods can unpick their bonds.”
I let out a slow breath, anger cooling into something heavier, quieter. His words still burned, but beneath the sting, I saw it—buried under his fury and mine both, the weight, the unwillingness.
“Maybe we’re not so different,” I said softly, surprising myself. “Neither of us wanted this.”
His eyes searched mine, intense as ever, but something shifted in them. He turned on his heel and stalked forward. "We need to move. We have a lot of ground to cover, and you've already managed to waste enough time as is."
I glowered at his retreating back but followed anyway.
We continued to walk in silence for what seemed like an eternity.
Both of our hoods were up, both of us refusing to look at the other.
The image of him feral, shoving me against that tree was playing on repeat in my mind.
He had never shown his emotions so blatantly, so…
fiercely. While it had shocked me, I hadn't been afraid.
He hadn't hurt me, and although his emotions had been intense, I somehow knew he wasn't capable of harming me.
If anything, I'd felt something else entirely, with his hand wrapped around my throat…
Nope. I wasn't going there. I needed to focus on something else, quickly.
Then, like a thread tugging loose, the old woman by the pyre surfaced in my mind yet again—her cracked voice speaking words I’d never heard yet somehow understood. As if my heart was deferring to my brain, to remove my more complicated emotions from the equation.
“I was able to speak with her,” I murmured, half to myself. “The mourner. She spoke in a tongue I’ve never known, but I understood her. I spoke her language. How is that possible?”
Tairngire let out a long exhale, irritated that I'd broken the silence with yet another question.
But his reply came plain, not riddle-laced, thank the gods for that.
“Because you have been granted the gift of divinity. Even without it coursing through your veins, you can understand all mortal tongues.”
I stared at him, confusion in my eyes.
He sighed. “The mortal realm has shattered itself—regions, religions, kingdoms. Each carving its own tongue to stay apart. They think it makes them special, closer to the gods they think they know…but division is their curse.”
I gulped, a stone in my stomach. “You mean…they did this to themselves?”
He let out a humorless huff. “With help, of course. The Old Gods wanted it this way. Give mortals too much peace, too much unity, and they remember who pulls the strings. Better to scatter them. Better to let them argue in a dozen different tongues they refuse to understand.” His mouth twisted as he shook his head.
“Alliances and enemies, born from words they cannot share, unless an effort is made. And that effort is futile. Even between those who govern their nations.”
The revelation sat heavy in my chest, threads fraying at the edges of my Sight. I wanted to scream at him, at the gods, at all of it. Instead, I whispered, “Cruel.”
His eyes found mine as he leaned in closer. No glint in them, only quiet, weary truth. “Mm, maybe. But necessary.”
“Necessary?” My voice snapped. “Necessary for what? For mortals to suffer while gods pull strings like children with dolls?”
The words hung dangerously between us. “You think I don’t know their games?” He crossed his arms and shifted his gaze up toward the fog laden sky. “You think I haven’t watched them interfere in others’ lives, twist them, manipulate them…and call it balance?”
He chuckled low as he met my gaze once more. “I’ve lived through their lies and justifications for a millennia. Their…creations are just as flawed as they are. That should come as no surprise to you.”
I exhaled slowly. He rarely spoke so openly of his disdain for the Godhead, but it was there, raw and cutting, which meant that there was something deeper—something personal.
Something that he didn’t want me to know.
Something that made him keep a tight lid on the emotions he pretended didn't exist.
Well, damn him. I was going to find out. No more of this cryptic nonsense he kept playing at. His emotional reaction earlier had been all the proof I needed to push him.
“What did they do to you?” I asked, soft but firm.
He tore his gaze from me, shifting it to the distant smoke curling over the plagued village. His words came rough, scraped out like they’d been ripped from him. “They took what was never theirs to claim.”
Silence cracked louder than a war drum. My heart slammed in my chest. This was more than I usually got from him. He was so guarded—protecting his secrets like a homeless man with his rations. I kept pushing. “What do you mean?”
Then the wall slammed back down. His shoulders straightened, his expression cold. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It is done.”
“Yes, it does.” I stepped closer, reaching out to stroke his arm and pulling back at last minute. “If they took something from you, Tairngire—”
“Enough.” His tone snapped sharp, final. Then softer, a twitch of his lips, though his eyes stayed hard. “Let’s just say, there are some threads you don’t want to unravel. Not yet. Please…”
His voice broke on the last word. The look he gave me then wasn’t taunting. It was warning and begging in tandem. Vulnerability that looked so foreign on his face that I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d brushed against a wound nothing could heal.
This was going to be a long trip.