Page 17 of Mortal Things

He nods. “Naturally. I was the youngest Regent ever to be confirmed, and the gods get prickly about things like that. Your patron god objected. So I was tested by his Regent.”

“Raven objected to you?” I look at him in surprise.

He nods. “If the confirmation is not unanimous, then a Regent-Elect must pass three tests to prove their worthiness as a future god.”

I imagine Raven stepping forward before the gods, defying the god of Lies, refusing to confirm Étienne. “Terran was the one who tested you?” I ask.

“He did. A gruff old bastard, your former Regent. But a good man.”

I swallow at the memory of Terran. “What sort of tests?”

“How well I can represent the god of Lies. Whether I would be worthy to succeed him.”

“Were they difficult?”

When he smiles at me this time, the expression seems bitter. His voice is smooth, though, honed by a lifetime of lies. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t do them again,” he says. “But maybe you’ll be lucky. No god will object, and you won’t have to go through tests at all.”

The music around us has started to fade, and the crowds of gods and Regents have pulled out of their dancing circles. I forget what I’m going to say back to Étienne, and as I look around, I realize with a surge of fear and anticipation that it must be time.

Étienne nods at me. “Congratulations, Regent-Elect,” he says, “and good luck.”

“Thanks,” I say tightly.

As he bows in return, he leans so close that his lips brush the edge of my ear. My breath catches. “A confession—I wasn’t here first. You looked so lovely that I followed you across the dance floor. I apologize for interrupting you earlier.”

I stare at him, my mouth open, unsure whether he’s teasing me again or being serious. But before I can think of what to say, he’s already stepped away with his hands tucked in his pockets.

A general hush seems to be settling across the crowd. Now I see Raven reappear, making his way to stand before the Eternal Tree and facing his audience. My audience. With a dizzying lurch, I look out to see all eyes in my direction. Other gods turn their gazes on me, while their Regents consider me as if wondering whether I will become one of their peers.

My feet carry me in Raven’s direction. As I approach him near the base of the Eternal Tree, I tear my gaze away from my divine audience and look up at the curving branches. The magnificent sight calms me. Again, I find myself revisiting the feeling of those billions of souls sparking against my hand, calling for my attention.

At last, I reach Raven. Silence now hangs in the air as I face my patron god and wait with bated breath for him to announce me.

Raven meets my gaze once, then turns to address the gods. “The single truth that defines us all,” he says, his voice ringing out across the atrium, “is that we are born from the first light of the universe, the source of power that gave life to everything. It is what binds you to us. Every mortal has a thread of that energy in their soul, a fragment of sacred light. That energy marks you as worthy of serving the gods, as capable of becoming a god in our place.”

I put my hands together to keep them from trembling. Staring into the eyes of my patron, to observe immortality so directly like this, is so overwhelming that I’m afraid I might collapse.

“Tonight,” Raven says, “I nominate you as Regent, she who will command my Harbingers, who will act as my link to the mortal world, who will succeed me when the time comes.” He nods at me again. “The bond between a god and his Regent is a divine contract. Unbreakable. In accordance with the laws of the immortal world, I present her before you, the full council of gods, to receive your unanimous blessing. Any god may step forward to challenge this nomination.”

I hold my breath and wait, listening for silence, for confirmation, for approval. My gaze wanders across the audience until, inexplicably, it finds Étienne.

His eyes lock on mine. He doesn’t react, but he seems to nod in the smallest gesture of encouragement.

The silence holds. And for a moment, I think I am confirmed, I am to become a new Regent.

Then, whispers stir.

Raven turns as the sound of footsteps echoes against the stone floor. A ripple of murmurs goes through the crowd. I turn to see the gods and their Regents parting, leaving a path open for the tall, bony figure that now strides to the front, stopping before the edge of the Eternal Tree. The gleam of his dark hair ripples under the light.

“I challenge this confirmation,” says the god of Lies.

6

Lies, the Thorn, the god of Deceit.

Like the other immortals, Thorn is frozen in time—a lanky, older man, with a trim white beard and a narrow face, brown eyes that glimmer with mirth under full brows. Once upon a time, in his human form, I imagine he must have been charming.

But Thorn has a coldness about his gaze that makes me shrink back toward Raven. When he smiles, there is only cunning instead of joy, cruelty instead of generosity. Étienne’s patron god. What kind of human had he been, when alive? Was he wicked? Was he deceptive? Perhaps it doesn’t matter, because so many centuries have passed that the light of mortality is entirely gone from his eyes.