Page 58 of Flame and Sparrow

Moth was here as well, curled up asleep on the far end of the table, each snore he emitted accompanied by a fluttering of his wings. I stared at him for a long time before forcing my gaze to the impatient middle-god sitting across from me.

The god’s glare was fixed on the cup clutched in my hands. “Do I need to send for a servant to spoon it into your mouth?”

The thought alone was humiliating. I lifted the cup to my lips, a motion fueled mostly by stubbornness and spite. Maybe that was what he’d been going for? Stubbornness was the only thing that kept me from immediately vomiting the substance back up, too, as it tasted beyond awful—like pure alcohol and grass clippings.

Despite the taste, it warmed me from the inside out as it oozed down my throat, chasing away the lingering chill the Death magic had left in my bones. Getting rid of that hollow cold seemed like a fair trade off for a terrible taste, so I kept drinking.

Once I’d managed to down it all, Dravyn left the room and returned with another cup. The contents of this one tasted like plain water, albeit the clearest, most delicious water I’d ever tasted. I sipped it slowly, taking in more of my surroundings as their spinning finally came to a complete stop.

On the far end of the space, the stairs rose directly up into a room that appeared to be filled with colorful glass; I couldn’t make out any distinct objects, but the light shining into the space was being thrown back out, refracted in endless colors and shapes.

Dravyn settled once more into the chair across from mine, head tipping back and eyes narrowing at the light shining from above. Silence stretched tight and thin between us until, without looking at me, he asked, “Feel better?”

“…Yes,” I said, cautiously, finding it difficult to believe he was truly interested in how I felt. The space seemed to rumble with his suppressed power—and anger. He was waiting to make sure I wasn’t going to faint on him, I suspected, and then he’d unleash the true force of that temper Valas had warned me about.

I watched him closely, my body tensing, preparing to guard against whatever attack he launched at me.

He ran a hand through his hair, pulling it loose from the tie binding it. His face was smoother than it had been the last time I saw him, which filled my head with questions that were somewhat silly in the grand scheme of things: Did gods shave? Did they continue to grow and change? How much of their mortal-ness did they keep when they ascended? And what determined the level retained? The God of Death had seemed so…monstrouscompared to this man before me.

I shuddered at the memory of the Death God and took another sip of my drink.

Dravyn cut his gaze briefly toward me, frowning as though he’d sensed the uneasy shudder curling through my body. He mentioned nothing about it, but after a moment he cleared his throat and said, “My servant tells me you haven’t been eating or drinking nearly enough since your arrival. Which partially explains why you nearly fainted from the energies at the Edge. Even a fully acclimated, divine being would not have lasted long in that place. Only the Death Marr and his own creations usually trod there. They’re more or less immune to the draining energies present in it.”

I absently tapped my fingers against my cup, feeling a bit sheepish. Rieta had warned me I wasn’t consuming enough. I’d rationed my food and drink because I didn’t want to trust or take in anything in this realm any more than I had to. It was a constant weighing of risk and reward, and it seemed I’d miscalculated this time.

“The Edgelands are a dangerous place, and the Death God is dangerous company.”

“Aren’tallgods dangerous company?”

I thought I saw the hint of a smile twitch his lips. It disappeared just as quickly. “Yes. But the younger the god, the more volatile their presence and powers. And Zachar is the youngest of us.”

Zachar.

That must have been the Death Marr’s true name.

“But I suppose the bigger concern and question,” Dravyn went on, “is what you were doing in Zachar’s territory to begin with. And in the Tower of Creation before that. Valas informed me that your adventures started early this morning.”

“So the God of Ice is a show-offanda snitch,” I muttered into my cup.

“Which is lucky for you,” the Fire God said drily, “because otherwise I might not have been able to reach you in time.”

I focused on sipping more of my water.

Though I still didn’t look at him, I could practically hear the tight clench of his jaw as he said, “I told you not to stray from the trail the fire led you on, didn’t I?”

I technicallyhadfollowed a trail of fire to the Creation Tower—the trail Moth created—but I didn’t say this, not wanting to incriminate my new winged friend.

Instead, I placed the cup delicately back on the table and said, “I didn’t realize you meant for me to rely on their guidance indefinitely.”

“Then you are not nearly as smart as I’d hoped you’d be.”

I bristled. “I’m smart enough to know when someone is being unnecessarily cryptic with me.”

“Unnecessarily?”

“Yes. And I’m not afraid to call them out on it, either.”

Moth lifted his head, yawning.

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