Page 16 of Kissed By the Gods
“Fucking Maxim,” Ryot mutters from behind me.
From all around the fortress, men emerge, running for the nearest square tower. Each has a flat top and no guardrails.
Then a new sound reaches me, one so deep it reverberates through my very bones. I turn my head, searching for the source of the rhythmic beating sound—almost like drums, but not quite. I lift my eyes toward the summit of Godswatch Peak as a swarm of black bats emerge from the mist that hides the peak. I narrow my eyes, trying to focus my wavering vision for the distance yet again.
My mouth drops open. Not bats. Faravars.
The beasts fly for the Synod in a synchronized dance, the beat of their massive wings creating a gust of wind that ruffles my hair, even from this distance. They land in a clearly well-choreographed formation, from tower to tower, and most are immediately mounted by a waiting Altor. The hardened gazes of the men scan the horizon for a threat but clearly find none. And then all those eyes fall on us.
Ryot leans slightly forward, and whispers again in my ear. “Brace yourself, rebel girl, and offer your prayers to the gods.” This time, the warmth from earlier in the ride is gone. He’s not even taunting like he was in the forest. He’s grim. I twist behind me to get a glance at his face. Tension lines his mouth, and his eyes are stormy in a way I haven’t seen yet. He nods forward, toward the Synod. “This is where the ride is going to get rough.”
I turn back, taking in the now dozens of men staring at me, mouths agape. I reach for my powers, but find they’re muted. I’m too drained to do something as simple as focus my eyes.
I do my best to shutter my emotions, square my shoulders, and brace for what’s ahead.
Because I don’t think Ryot is talking about our landing.
“Kheris, goddess of chaos, made the Kher’zenn in her own image—souls twisted by rage and ruin. They are the devourers, the unmakers, the storm she set loose to shatter the mortal world and tear the gods from their thrones.”
The Annals of the Winged, a canon text in the Synod Reckoning Hall
CHAPTER SEVEN
We land hard.The force of the impact wrenches my spine and causes a gnawing ache to spread through bone and sinew. I roll my neck, trying to release the tension gathered there. My thighs are chafed and sore, burning from the hours spent on Einarr’s wide back. I’m ready to get down, even if I think my legs will give out underneath me, but Ryot tightens his arm around my waist, and he yanks me back into his chest as Einarr rears into the sky, kicking his legs out in a frenzy, screaming angrily. The world tilts violently, and I cling to Ryot’s arm, and lock my exhausted, quivering legs tight around Einarr’s body to try to keep my seat.
The half dozen men gathered on the tower leap back. The other beasts, too, stay back until Einarr’s hooves slam back onto the tower. He prances around, snorting angrily, daring anyone to challenge him.
No one does.
“Control your beast, Ryot,” one of the men shouts. It’s the man who sounded the alarm. Maxim. He’s burly, with a red-tinted beard and long hair that’s matted. Strange, black marks trail down the veins of his right arm, perhaps some odd tattoo.But even as he speaks, he keeps himself back, out of Einarr’s path.
“Einarr is his own beast,” Ryot answers. “He makes his own decisions.”
“Was it Einarr’s decision to bring a grounded back to the Synod?” Maxim sneers, raking his gaze down my body in a way I’ve seen before, from the soldiers. It’s derisive, but there’s also a spark of interest that I never want to see. My stomach twists and I fight back a wave of nausea.
Ryot cocks his head to the side. His voice reeks of sarcasm. “Tell me, Maxim, if that’s all you see when you look at her—why bother raising the alarm and wasting everyone’s time and effort?”
Maxim bristles and raises himself to appear taller. “It’s my duty to sound the alarm when there’s an intruder.” His gaze lands on me. “And that’s what she is here, even if she is a slip of a thing.”
The men gathered on the tower laugh, and Ryot’s arm holding me against his chest tightens again, like he’s trying to protect me from their cruel words. He shouldn’t bother since cruel words mean nothing to me.
No more of this. I jerk loose of Ryot’s hold. “Let me go!” I tell him and he drops his arm.
“Oh, she’s a feisty one!” one of the men says. This one is younger, maybe close to my age. Unlike the other men on the tower who all have long hair and beards, his hair is short and his face is smooth. “Do we get to play with her?”
Ryot’s full body tenses at my back, but before he can respond, Einarr makes that screaming noise again, as if he understands the conversation taking place around us. He rears again, and this time he strikes the younger man, his hooves scraping from his forehead to his nose, peeling the flesh from his skull. The man falls back, clutching at his face, blood quickly pooling at his feet.
The violence should bother me. The gore should make me sick. But it doesn’t, and I’m not.
There’s something viciously satisfying about it, about being defended.
“Mind your tongue,WardTyrston, before I rip it out of your mouth or Einarr rips your head off altogether.” Ryot looks at him, emphasizing ward as if it’s an insult. I take in Tyrston’s smooth-shaved face and short hair with new eyes—he’s a lower rank.
The other men exchange uneasy glances, some shifting their weight, suddenly less entertained by the spectacle. They eye Ryot and Einarr warily. Their fury lends me strength, and I sit taller on Einarr’s back, knowing that showing weakness in a group like this one is as good as showing your neck to a pack of rabid dogs.
