Page 7 of Godbound
Unease ripples through my chest. Leaving Ryker now feels like pulling a thread that might never be woven back into place.
Every part of me aches to stay by his side. To feel his arms around me again. To believe that whatever storm is coming, we’ll face it together.
Without thinking, my arm lifts and my body shifts forward, toward the space that feels safest.
Ryker’s eyes go wide.
In a breath, his hands shoot out, gripping my shoulders, gently stopping me. “You’re in shock, my love,” he says gently, his voice a quiet anchor against the rising chaos around us. “You need to get to the Palace.”
His touch lingers for a heartbeat, grounding me. Then, slowly, he lets go and offers me the softest smile. One that tries to hide the weight pressing behind it.
“I’ll come to you as soon as I can. Go now.”
I don’t argue. I step away, not wanting to complicate things further, not when chaos yawns wide across the plaza.
The crowd is already pouring in, commoners flooding the square to glimpse the impossible. To confirm what cannot be true: the Archpriest is dead. A death so rare, so mythic, few will see it in their lifetime.
Ryker will have to speak to calm the frenzied tide. And while hisreputation among the people is strong—revered, even—I can’t help but glance back, uneasy.
The plaza is a maelstrom now. Goldspear guards rally near Ryker, some still wiping blood from their faces. Others form a circle around what’s left of the Archpriest, his smoldering corpse still licking flame. But the pole with Brienne still on it has been forgotten in the chaos.
That’s when I spot it. A flash of a familiar long white braid.
Peonica.
Her slender fingers work swiftly over the iron lock binding Brienne’s wrists. She moves like smoke, quiet and quick.
Children of cursed women born within Rust Hollow’s walls, like Peonica, have pure white hair, unmarked by the curse. That purity buys them freedom.
Most are sent away by their mothers the moment they’re old enough to understand what Rust Hollow truly is, because even a life of begging on the streets is better than growing up surrounded by punishment and death.
But not Peonica.
Her mother was lashed to death when she was a child. And instead of leaving like the others, Peonica chose to stay. She made Rust Hollow her home.
Not because she had to, but because someone had to care for those who couldn’t provide for themselves. The ones who are too old, too young, too sick, or broken. She stayed for them.
And now, she’s here, risking everything to free Brienne.
Panic flares in my chest. I search for Zyrel, but he’s nowhere to be seen. And by the time I scan the plaza again, both girls are gone.
“Your little friend is a clever one,” Mael says, watching me closely. I don’t like the glint in his eye. “She waited for therightmoment to play vigilante.” He quirks an eyebrow.
I say nothing. He doesn’t wait for a reply and nudges me again, this time toward the line of carriages behind the dais.
“Get in,” he orders. Then pauses, eyes narrowing as he finally notices the bones still clutched in my hand.
His brows lift, a smirk forming, but I step into the carriagebefore he can say another insufferable remark, sliding into the seat and turning away to stare out the window.
Mael climbs in after me, whistling under his breath. The chaos outside doesn’t touch him. He knocks twice on the ceiling, and the carriage jolts into motion.
“And what exactly is so funny?” I snap.
His grin is all teeth and trouble, like we’ve just fled the scene of a crime we committed together. “Whatever possessed you to protect that girl must’ve pleased Demetria’s divine enemies,” he says smoothly. “For them to smite the Archpriest so publicly, so violently, all in defense of your little act of rebellion? That was…” He twirls his fingers in the air, searching. “Intriguing.”
I stare at him, spine stiffening, pressing my back into the seat.
The gods… protecting me? Enacting divine punishment to defendmychoice?
