Page 94 of Kissed By the Gods
He throws back his head and laughs. “I’ll get you drunk, love, if that’s what you’re after. But I don’t drink.”
I raise a brow at him. Godsdamn, I’ve been very distracted by Ryot to have never noticed this. I thought all the men here drank. “Oh? Why not?”
He offers me a sad smile. “I gave it up years ago. We’ll say alcohol doesn’t encourage me to be the person I want to be and leave it at that.”
I twine my arm into his. “Alright, then. You can get me very drunk.”
“Deal, love.”
I smile at the easy affection in Nyrica’s voice. It’s incredibly good to have a friend again, but even that isn’t enough to distract me from thinking about Ryot riding off into battle to fight with demons created by an evil goddess.
I sigh.
Nyrica offers me a quick smile and a side hug.
“Let’s get you that drink,” he says.
I didn’t expect each vanguard to have a soul of its own—but they do. Perhaps it’s the choosing. Wards and masters aren’t assigned; they find each other. And over time, each vanguard has become a mirror of those choices, a reflection of itself.
Atherclad worships strength. Every blade, every breath, every heartbeat is bent toward battle prowess. Fellsworn favors the mind—a place where strategy is sharper than steel. Skyforge endures. Not the brute strength of muscle, but the quiet, stubborn kind. The kind that stands up, again and again, no matter how many times it falls.
And Stormriven … Stormriven is loyal. Not to the Elder, not to the archons—but to each other. Fiercely. Entirely. It might be heresy to even suspect it, but I don’t think they’re loyal to the gods, either.
Letter from a visiting priest of Elandors Veil in Year 756 of the Eternal Wars
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“Tell me about the Kher’zenn,”I demand.
“What do you want to know?” Nyrica asks, his fingers tapping out a pleasant rhythm on the wooden table. I think, if he wasn’t a warrior, he’d be a musician. He’s always humming a tune or clapping out a beat.
“Do you find the Kher’zenn … attractive?”
He hums an affirmative as he cuts into a hunk of venison that’s bigger than his head. “Very, though I don’t think that’s the right word. More like … irresistible.”
Interesting.
“Do the Kher’zenn have any … gifts? From the gods?”
“From Kheris. Yes.”
I stare at him expectantly, but he doesn’t elaborate, just shovels another bite of meat into his mouth. “Nyrica!”
He shoots me a grin but swallows his food before he answers. “They ride a beast straight from the fiery depths of Lako’s hells, they’re fast and strong as hells, and they’re made even stronger by death.”
I lean forward, hands on the table. “And?”
Nyrica’s easy smile twists down. “They ride savage, monstrous creatures that are nothing but sharp teeth and claws—even their godsdamn wings have serrated edges. They are made stronger by every life they take, and they look like something you’d want to fuck while they’re sucking out your soul. What other powers do you want them to have, Leina?”
I growl a little in frustration. “But what does thatmean?”
Nyrica drops his knife and fork, and they clatter as they land on his ceramic plate. He also leans forward, his jovial face going unnaturally somber.
“Ryot’s going to be fine,” Nyrica tells me, his voice set in a low whisper.
