Page 80 of Godslayer
None of this is the point. It’s just the start of the point. And the point is… I’m disappointed in myself. Because I made a vow when I was younger. I vowed that if my spark ever grew enough to actually manifest in some special way—special enough to be Chosen—that I would not let it die just because I won the prize. I would not sit up in the Maiden Tower drinking fragrant teas, and eating fancy cakes, and forget that there was something unique and extraordinary inside me.
Obviously, I haven’t been Chosen, but I made it as far as the Little Sister dorm. I was the star of the night at the first gala. It was me, and my tiny army of blue butterflies that stole the evening.
I was on my way to… becoming.
But all my plans—like every single freaking plan I ever made—have been a waste of time. Because they were all based on lies.
Which should be my cue to stand up and fight!
And look at me now. Lying in bed, exhausted, dusty, and discarded.
By agod, no less!
I sit up, swing my legs out of bed, and rub my temples with the tips of my fingers, trying to stave off a headache as I fully internalize what the hell is actually happening.
Finn is off making deals with a god, agreeing to who knows what.
I’m pregnant, which makes me feel weak, and hungry, and sick. But more than that, it makes me feel vulnerable.
It’s not good.
This trip has definitely taken a turn. I mean, it was never a party. But the danger level has definitely gone up in the past few hours. And suddenly, I don’t just feel like the odds are against me—because haven’t they always been?—I feel like I’m being smacked down on purpose.
You do not belong here, Jasina Bell—that’s what fate is yelling.
And while it does piss me off—the old me is raging inside, ready with an insult and comeback—but it also makes me sad. Because the only person I have to direct this rage at is Finn.
I don’t want to rage at Finn.
I want to rage at that god.
It’s just… he scares me.
A glow flutters in front of me, and I startle backwards before realizing it’s a glowing, spark butterfly. “OK,” I sigh. “I need to pull myself together.”
Standing up, I stretch, feeling less like myself than ever. More butterflies fill the air, and suddenly there’s a swarm of them. I just shake my head. Annoyed that this is my power. Something so stupid and useless. “I get it,” I tell the spark butterflies. “You’re amazing. And beautiful. But you’re also actually quite useless for anything other than decorating a dress for a gala. Go away now.”
They don’t go away though, they persist. Which has me intrigued. And also jogs my memory of the dream I just woke up from. Parts of it, at least. The feeling I had. Which was one of power.
Spark is power. Like… literally. Everyone knows that. It powers things like lights, and coffee machines, and well, everything in this city as well. Those pods of women. The workers.
The god himself.
But power has another meaning. That’s what the dream was about. I decide that this god does not respect me. He sees me as a thing. As something to have, to own, to possess. Maybe even to covet, but that might be going too far.
And this pregnancy situation is not helping.
Funny, Jasina, inner-me chastises.Just a few hours ago you were buzzing with the mere thought of living in a cave with Finn Scott, birthing his babies and going all domestic.
It’s true. I was dreaming about that.
But everything has changed yet again.
Which means, I must adapt. If I don’t, I’ll get left behind. I’m not going to beat myself up about needing rest. I did need this rest. Badly. Exhaustion is not a good look for anyone, let alone a pregnant woman trying to bolster her self-confidence.
So adjustments must be made. I want to be a mother and now that I’m on my way, I will protect the baby and make sure it’s born healthy. So I will rest when I need rest. And I will eat whatever I need to eat etc., etc., etc.
But now that I’m feeling better, it’s time to make a plan.
