Page 10 of Godbound
“To family,” he says, taking another sip, eyes glinting. “The next few days will be utter mayhem, and as you can imagine, my brother is in a delightful mood. Besides,” he says as he swirls his wine again with lazy amusement, “since we’ve already crossed the line of propriety, we might as well enjoy the view from this side.”
The prince has come prepared. In addition to the cask of wine, a platter of bread and meats sit before us. He picks up a skewer from the platter and offers me a small piece of white meat. “You look famished. The chef made the eel at my request today.”
I eye the bite with distaste.
“The Sparkfins?” Surely, he didn’t cook his beloved pets. The long, slimy fish send shocks of power through anyone foolish enough to touch them.
Mael shrugs and pops one into his mouth. “Their properties could be used for some interesting applications, but sadly the eels have outlived their novelty. And they were far too expensive to simply let go to waste.”
He really is too ridiculous to take seriously. Just over a year ago, he vanished into the sandstorm-blown kingdom of Maraneethos for three months, stole their sacred eels, and nearly started a war.
Yet he still returned to applause, welcomed by both the crown and the crowd, all because the Consul of Trade and Commerce had been forced to reduce import taxes, among other concessions, to appease the aggrieved kingdom.
I used to think that if they could forgivehim, then maybe, one day, they’d forgive the stain clinging to my family name too. But now, watching him devour one of his beloved eels, I wonder if maybe they never needed to forgive him at all, because he never asked for their forgiveness in the first place.
It should disturb me. I’m too tired to care. My limbs ache. Mythoughts drag like silt through water.
“How are things in Rust Hollow?” I say, mimicking his air of ease as I blink, the warmth of the wine tingling through my body. “I’ve heard you frequent the place on occasion.”
Everyone knows that some of the cursed women survive by taking men into their beds, careful to use every precaution, like the silken gloves issued by the Church, to keep their touch from rotting a man’s flesh. And that Mael has been seen there more than once.
“Rust Hollow? It’s a dump, of course.” He grins. “I prefer to keep my eyes closed when I visit.”
I shake my head, feeling sleepier with every moment, and wondering when he might leave. “So you use women, support the Church, and criticize the system all the same?”
“Defying the Church is a fool’s game, Ray.” He leans back, wine in hand. “If not for the Archpriest’s untimely, but oh-so-convenient death, what do you think would’ve happened? To you? To your future?” He pauses, watching me closely as the images flicker behind my eyes—Ryker turning away, the court’s scorn, the Archpriest’s punishing magic.
Whatever flashes across my face seems to satisfy him. His lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. “I prefer to let things play out,” he says. “They usually end in my favor anyway.”
He doesn’t even flinch at my glare. Sharp words sit on my tongue, ready to order him back to his quarters and give me some rest. Instead, I’m startled by his sudden laughter.
“You should see your face, Ray,” he chuckles. “Lighten up. A sense of humor is vital these days, especially at a time like this.”
I drain the rest of my wine and slam the glass down on the table.
“I’d rather sleep than sit through your jokes.”
“Ouch,” Mael says with a grin, reaching for the bottle. “You hurt my pride.” He leans in to refill both our glasses.
I lift my hands to stop him, but he swats them away. As much as Mael disgusts me, I can’t remember the last time I relaxed and had an honest conversation with someone—talk that wasn’t couched by propriety and privy to a small audience of duennas. It’s weirdlyliberating—and intoxicating.
I grab the glass and settle back into my chair. “To your pride, then. May it suffer quietly.”
I take a gulp and my body sinks into the soft cushions as if ready to disappear into them.
“Do you know anything about the last Trial of the Bound?” I ask.
I’d intended to ask Eva. Her husband is a general in Calcatra’s army, and anything he knows, she makes her business to know, but she hasn’t come to see me yet. “All I remember is that there are four Challenges among the six Champions, and?—”
“Five Champions,” Mael interrupts. “The Church of the Goddess of Blood and Decay hasn’t had devotees since she cast the curse over Calcatra. No Church, no Champion. Same as it was with Azrakel’s faith after he fell.”
A drop of wine slips down my lip. I catch it with my tongue, and when I blink, Mael’s dark eyes flick back on his plate.
“Which one will you be supporting?” he asks, and the question catches me off guard.
“I—” I tap a finger against my glass, faltering.
For so long, prayer to Demetria had been a repetitive and automatic daily ritual. It takes me a moment to remember I no longer have to say them. Not with the Archpriest gone.
