Page 44 of Godbound
Peonica huffs, and Eva rolls her eyes, the weight of Peonica’s audacity apparently still giving her a headache. This time, I can’t help it. A full, unguarded grin spreads across my face.
At seventeen, Peonica possesses an unshakable belief that the world will bend the moment she sets her sights on something. And sometimes, despite everything, I admire her for it.
“We had some food brought up,” Eva says, gesturing toward a small table laid with charred fish and an array of side dishes. It’s thewethat catches me. So casual, as if Peonica had helped arrange everything, as if her word carried weight within these walls.
We both know it doesn’t. But Eva includes her anyway, so she won’t feel small. So she won’t feel less. I love her for that. “And the bath is ready for you,” Eva adds gently. “Whichever you want first.”
The room, bathed in the fireplace’s glow and filled with the comforting presence of my friends, feels like a sanctuary. I’m still stunned, my chest swelling with emotion, at finding the two of them here together, waiting. The sight of their concern and support is almost overwhelming. The tight knot in my chest loosens, replaced by a profound sense of relief. I’m not alone, I have them. And what felt like weight sucking at my feet just moments ago now feels like solid earth beneath me. Maybe that’s what healing is: not scraping the pain away but learning to stand on it.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice trembling as the tears begin to fall.
Before I can bathe, eat, or rest, Peonica insists I put on my glovesso we can properly hug. I don’t argue. I slip them on without a word, but the moment her thin arms wrap around me, more sudden tears come.
In her arms, I remember this isn’t just about what I’ve lost. It’s about what’s still left to fight for. The tears that seemed impossible to stop go dry, because I’ve almost forgotten that the lives of women like Peonica, cast aside and quietly erased, are tethered to mine. Their survival depending on my victory.
If I win, it won’t just be my name that’s cleared. My word in divine matters, in Crimson Tether matters, would be law. And that changes everything. It gives me a reason to fight, not just for myself, but for every woman who’s ever been told she’s unworthy.
The thought still lingers as I sit down to eat, its weight settling beside me like a quiet companion. Eva tells me that Mael departed in a separate carriage from Ryker immediately after the Challenge and still hasn’t arrived at the Palace. Which gives me a perverse hope that maybe Ryker finally snapped and sent him away somewhere where he can be properly punished for what he’s done.
“So… what do you need us to do next?” Peonica asks, once our grim thoughts on what happened have settled into weary acceptance.
I wipe my mouth and lean back in my chair, so full I can hardly move. “I don’t know much about how the magic works, but I’m pretty sure I have to revive Calista’s worship to make it stronger.”
Across from me, Eva perks up. “Finally, you’ll have no choice but to listen to what I’ve learned in my classes,” she says with a grin, her tone light but triumphant, teasing me for all the times I’d yawned through her endless lectures on obscure facts. Eva never misses a chance to share what she’s learned, whether it’s history, herbology, or ancient studies.
If things had gone differently, she would have studied in Maraneethos, the kingdom where the brightest minds gather to invent, challenge, and discover. Instead, she absorbs every lesson here as if knowledge alone could bridge the distance.
She and Mael had once bonded over their love for those distant sandy lands, dreaming about them as children. But only he ever got to visit, when he stole their sacred eels, Sparkfins, which he then cookedand ate.
Eva reaches for a thick block of chocolate and places it atop a small, empty cup. Without preamble, she takes a discarded skewer from my plate, its tip stained from the berries I ate and pierces the chocolate, creating a tiny tunnel.
“Imagine this cup is you,” Eva says. “And this tunnel? It’s your Godbound Thread, the connection through which Calista’s magic flows. It starts small, allowing only a trickle of power.” She lifts a pitcher and pours cold water, letting it drip steadily through. “This is the magic you receive.”
Peonica leans in, brow furrowed. “And the skewer?”
“Your blood offering. It forged the bond, but the connection remains narrow.” Eva sets the pitcher down, reaching for a teapot. “Now, when people pray to Calista…” She pours hot tea over the chocolate, melting the passage slightly. Then, with a fresh stream of cold water, she shows how the liquid now flows faster, unhindered. “As faith grows, so does your power,” she says simply. “More prayers, a wider thread, stronger magic.”
Peonica’s expression darkens. “But how do we make them pray for Ray? After—” She cuts herself off as Eva shoots her a warning glare.
It’s too late. This time I know exactly what she meant.
Images surge up—mangled, rotting bodies—and I draw a sharp breath before the words spill out. “Let’s not pretend it didn’t happen. My magic…Idid something terrible.” I swallow, forcing the images away. “And there’s no going back. No way around it. I have to move forward and somehow convince people it was worth it. ThatI’mworth it.”
The last words come out so low I can barely hear them myself. That’s the truth that hurts the most. No matter what I’ve done, what I’ve become, or the danger I represent, I have to find a way to dress it up like salvation, to convince the innocent people of Calcatra that it’s a gift, and not a damnation.
“We,” I say more firmly now, “remind everyone that Calista is the only one who can remove the curse, and once she becomes the Sovereign Goddess, she’ll have to abolish it. How else could she expect thewhole kingdom to pray to her? She might be cruel, but she’s not delusional.” I draw a breath. “She’ll end the Crimson Tether.”
The conviction sounds almost real, even to me. Deep down, it’s the story I’ve been clinging to all along, that by saving my own future, I might save the kingdom’s as well.
Both my friends watch me with quiet understanding, nodding as if they already share my resolve. They’ll spread the word, I don’t even have to ask.
But the stubborn memory of the temple still clings to me. It isn’t done with me yet. It gnaws at the edges of my mind, demanding more guilt, more shame, feeding on me like the corrupted magic I unleashed on those people.
Peonica must catch something in my face, because her next question matches the one forming on my tongue.
“What happens if people start praying and the magic builds in her, but she holds it back?”
For once, I’m grateful for her relentless curiosity.
