Page 76 of These Godly Lies
The First sits, his gaze falling squarely on Anna as he motions for her to approach. “Let us have a look at you, then.”
When she doesn’t move, Marcia pushes her toward him, threats falling from her lips like barbs. Anna stumbles forward, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes. Emotion clashes in her chest, fear and fury twisting until they feel like two heads on the same snake. For a moment, she thinks she might suffocate beneath the weight of it.
Then, between one breath and the next, it eases. Spilling from her until the beat of her heart slows, the pulse in her ears fading until a new sound snares her attention.
There is a whisper disguised as wind slipping between the skeletal branches. Anna feels it more than hears it. It’s a storm—a demand, a plea.
Anna stares, the echo of it robbing her of breath. She can feel it curling against her heart, the way a newborn curls its fist around a finger. The way Piers once hugged her as a child, with his entire body and no reservations. The way Eira took her hand in her weathered ones and called her Child.
Child.
Anna is just a child. Her eight centuries are a mere stitch in the tapestry compared to the canopy looming over them.
The branches groan and Anna hears the wordless songs mothers hum to their children. Comforting. Soft. A stark contrast from the cold edge in The First’s gaze.
“I’m afraid your lover has put you at a disadvantage,” he says, voice booming over the courtyard. “Entry into this family is normally by my invitation only.”
Anna looks at him with new understanding.
She thinks of the hives she abandoned on the California coast. Hives that thrived under her care, but were more than capable of surviving without it. She thinks of the bees, the intricately simple way in which they work together as a collective for the good of the many instead of the individual.
She thinks of what happens to an unfit queen.
The First grips her chin with bruising force, his long fingers a vice along her jaw. “What gift do you possess?”
So close, Anna can feel his power humming against her skin. The split second of electricity in the air before lightning strikes. She should feel terrified, but her heart is calm, her pulse steady.
“She doesn’t have one,” Khiran says. His voice is rough, an avalanche of sleet and stone. Bitterly cold and hardened by hatred. “She is of no use to you. Let her go. Let her be.”
The First’s stare is piercing. “Marcia.” The sound of knuckles cracking against flesh, a pained grunt that sounds too much like Khiran to be anyone else. “Since your first warning didn’t seem to take, speak again and I’ll slit her throat. Now.” The First’s fingers bite into her jaw as she tries to look. “You’ll find I abhor repeating myself as much as I do interruptions. Tell me. What is your gift?”
Stubbornly, Anna repeats what Khiran has already told him. “I don’t have one.”
He looks down at her a few seconds longer. “I don’t believe you.” His hold on her face softens, fingers assessing the line of her jaw. “No bruises. You’re less prone to damage than your lover.” He grabs her right hand faster than she can pull away, evaluating the nub of fleshthat used to be her finger. “But not impenetrable, I see.” He turns her wrist, catching sight of the pale shadow on her forearm and pulls up her sleeve. “What is this, then? Do you change your skin like he does?”
The flush that spreads over her chest is far from embarrassed. It’sangry.
Eight centuries ago, Khiran knew with only one look what the patterns on her skin were and were not. He knew because he had seen it before—because he cared enough about the world to want to be a part of it. The ignorance of someone who has had lifetimes on top of lifetimes to learn, who has decided the world is beneath him from a throne of roots and ruin, is infuriating. “It’smine.”
His lip curls. Whether it’s in distaste or disappointment, Anna can’t be sure. “Cassius.” He says the name like a summons.
Anna has to force her expression to remain neutral, but her heart stutters. She knows why The First is summoning him, but she can’t be sure if his kiss will yield the same results as last time. The empty space between her middle and pinkie finger stares up at her.
She still doesn’t know if it was Khiran’s magic or her own that saved her from succumbing to his gift.
Cassius hesitates, his eyes finding hers. For a split second, his horror is an echo of her own. Then his expression goes carefully blank. Guarded. She can see his mind working behind his passive expression.
Anna realizes with a sinking heart that whatever plan he’s making is contingent on her being immune to his charms. He doesn’t know about the ring. Doesn’t know she is probably as susceptible to his kiss as any of the others. They never told him. Never toldanyone. The only one who ever had an idea of the ring’s origins—of its importance—is gone. Anna thinks of all the secrets Eira kept, fromher, for Khiran’s sake and knows with certainty that this was guarded just as carefully.
The First gestures to her with a flippant hand, leaning back into his throne. “I’ve grown impatient. Force the answers from her.”
“Very well,” Cassius says, tipping his chin in mock deference before stepping towards her. His hands, smooth and unblemished,cup her jaw with the gentlest of pressure—a cage in appearance only. There’s a message in his eyes, begging to be read.
Pretend.
The strain on Anna’s heart doubles, fear spiking. She doesn’t have any way of telling him she may not have to.
The kiss is as chaste as one can be, the mere brushing of lips.
