Page 27 of Kissed By the Gods
I incline my head. They’ve made that very clear.
“So you can see why we are so curious about your past, about your powers. It may hold answers that are vital in this war against the Kher’zenn, in understanding what the gods want from the Altor.”
I clench my jaw. “Maybe the gods want the Altor to fucking care about Selencia, instead of abandoning millions of people to the Faraengardian monarchy to rape, pillage, and starve at will.”
The tension rises from King Agis and Princess Rissa, but they don’t speak. I’ve come to understand that they hold no power here. They’re here to observe, and even that is a courtesy.
Archon Nile scoffs, but Archon Robias nods.
“Perhaps,” Robias answers. He smiles, and it’s surprisingly charming coming from such an ugly face. “The Altor have only ever defended Faraengard and Selencia from the horrors of the Kher’zenn. That has been our sole focus, our only purpose, to such an extent that Ryot is possibly the first Altor to have entered the protectorate. He went as a courtesy, a favor granted to the king. If the gods expect our focus to change …” He trails off.
“Then we need you to answer our questions,” snaps Archon Hilian.
“I’ve answered your questions. Over and over. I’ve told you when it started, what I did, how it happened. About my family, about Selencia, about how my mother prayed, what she ate when she was pregnant with me.” I pause, trying to let some of the absurdity of their questions sink in. “That day doesn’t matter.”
Lyathin tilts his head, considering me. “But it does. It’s when your power manifested, and you were younger than most. And yet, when you think of it, you feel anger.” He starts ticking the emotions off with his fingers. “Guilt. Loss. Why?”
I glance around the table, at all of them, judging me. Analyzing me. I refuse to hand them the day my world, my family, shattered, so they can dissect that, too.
My throat tightens. My nails bite into my arms. “No.”
Ryot leans forward on the bench, and I swear there’s a flash of approval in his gaze.
“Then we’ll ask again,” Lyathin says. “And again. And again. Until you answer.”
For the first time in hours the Elder opens those cloudy eyes, and they look straight at me. “No,” he says, his voice firm. “Let that day be.”
I jolt. Honestly, I thought he’d fallen asleep.
Slowly, the Elder leans forward, as he finally engages in the conversation. “Here’s what I want to know, Leina Haverlyn.” His voice is quieter than the others, yet it carries far more weight. Underneath the warmth of Ryot’s coat, a chill creeps over my skin.
“We cannot speak for the gods; we do not know their will, and this line of questioning will not reveal it. So, perhaps it is time that we ask what you want, Leina Haverlyn.”
What I want?What I want? Gods, there’s not enough breath in this room to express the impossibility of what I want.
“The Synod has always been the home of the Faraengardian boys when they present as Altor. But you are not Faraengardian. We must decide what to do with you. What is it you want, Leina Haverlyn of Selencia?”
My throat works, and I fight back tears. Not of grief or sadness, but of rage, a rage that burns so hot and so wild. I stand, unable to sit in that chair with it boiling inside me. “I want the Faraengardian royal family gone. I want their soldiers and overlords out of Selencia. I want the king and his heirs to suffer the same fate as the tens of thousands of Selencian boys he’s sent to die in the mines at Valespire. I want justice for my brothers,my parents, my people.” I lift my chin, meeting the Elder’s gaze with every scrap of defiance I can muster. “Can you give me that?”
For a heartbeat, no one breathes. My rage sucked all the air from the chamber. Ryot is completely motionless, every muscle in his body taut, lined with tension. The council members shift uneasily—staunch Lyathin, impatient Hilian, charming Robias, nasty Nile—all suddenly discomforted.
A sharp, bitter laugh rises in my chest. “Oh, I’m sorry—has the suffering of my people inconvenienced you?”
Flushes rise on their faces, all except the Elder. He’s unruffled. “The Altor do not govern,” the Elder answers. “It is not what the gods have demanded of us. We do not concern ourselves with the laws of men. We are warriors, forged for one purpose—to stop the tide of Kher’zenn from consuming Aesgroth. We don’t even do this for humanity, but to stop Kheris and her Kher’zenn from upsetting the divine balance of power.”
He nods toward the king. “Fortunately for you, the one who does govern, who makes and enforces laws, who commands soldiers and overlords, stands in this very room. Your grievances belong to him.”
“You dare impugn my honor?” This voice comes from behind me. It’s deep, almost guttural. It sends shivers down my spine, not only because of the power in it, but because there’s something familiar about it. “You, a peasant girl? What do you know of the ways of the world?”
I turn slowly to face that voice, King Agis. He rises—tall, imperious, and deeply offended.
“The Mines of Valespire, which you so easily disdain, provide the adamas the Altor require to fight the Kher’zenn,” he continues. “Year after year, decade after decade, Faraengardian boys are called to serve the gods, to become Altor warriors. Most of them die young in battle. All of them sacrifice everything—their past loyalties, their families, any hopes of a peaceful future. Yet they accept this as their duty, their honored sacrifice, to protect the continent—including Selencia—from annihilation.”
He lowers his voice, but the quieter tone emphasizes his outrage. “Is it not fair to expect the Selencian boys to uphold their duty with the same diligence, the same reverence, the same honor?”
He pauses. The archons are leaning forward, at the edges of their seats. They nod in solemn agreement. To them, the king’s words are just. Princess Rissa exhales in quiet relief, finding validation in his reasoning. Heat climbs up my throat—rage or revulsion or even embarrassment, I can’t tell. He’s so persuasive, masterful at warping the truth into something dangerous. They’re lies. They may seem right, sound right, feel right, but in the depths of my soul, I know they’re not.
Because nothing this cruel can be right.
