Page 109 of Kissed By the Gods
And I mean it. At least she’s not pretending to care. Not the way others do, with pitying eyes and honeyed lies. Without another word, Rissa spins on her heel. She opens the door with such calm grace you’d never have guessed the fury that hides under the surface.
She steps into the corridor but pauses in the doorway, shoulders stiff, chin high.
Over her shoulder, she says, voice cool and cutting, “Don’t die, Leina. Not because I care, but because if Ryot loses another ward, I’m afraid he’ll never come back from it. And frankly, I’d rather deal with your attitude than watch him carry another ghost.”
Then she’s gone, her boots striking hard against the stone as the silence folds in behind her.
Elowen doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to stop me. She watches me with sad eyes, like I’m already dead.
But I was born with death looming over me like a noose. Death doesn’t scare me.
Something’s waiting for me in the Veil. And I’m from Selencia—we don’t run from the Veil. We crawl into it, on our hands and knees, if we’re called.
So that’s what I’ll do.
On my godsdamn hands and knees.
I turn to leave, but Elowen stops me, grabbing with gentle fingers on my elbow.
“I’m sorry, Leina.”
“For what—” I start to ask, but I cut off with a shriek as Elowen’s fingers dig into my flesh and ice floods my veins, followed by a heat that races through from my blood, through my bones, down to my very marrow. It’s the shock of it that makes me stagger, but I still catch Elowen before she falls backwards.
Her skin is so pale it’s translucent. I can see the blue of her veins as if they’re little blue rivers. There’s a listlessness in her eyes that terrifies, and dark circles, like bruises, bloom down her arms.
The dark circles under her eyes are so deep she looks … dead.
And I’m … whole. Healed. But furious.
“Why? Why would you do that, Elowen?”
“Because people need you to live, Leina. And sometimes… refusing help is the most selfish thing you can do.”
The Gifted are not truly human. Nor are they gods. They are somethingother—woven of strength and fragility, of divinity and death. They are a paradox given form. At times, even I fear them. For there is power—raw, wild, unknowable, unpredictable—in the mingling of the eternal and the ephemeral.
Mortals call it good fortune when they’re born gifted, as if I’ve smiled upon them. They’re wrong. To be envied by the gods is no blessing.
On that note, I’ve found another. You’ll want to see this one.
Letter from Serephelle, Goddess of Luck and Fortune, to Thayana, Goddess of War
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Snowlike I’ve never seen continues to blanket everything, creating an unnatural quiet. A frozen waterfall cascades down Elandors Veil, with one terraced section leading into the next, beginning at the highest reaches of the mountain.
The temple at the base of the mountain is stunning—and wholly, completely impossible. It sits in the center of the frozen waterfall, situated on an icy terrace. The columns that make up the temple wind upward and outward, like swirling water that froze as it moved. Everything is covered in a coating of ice so thick, I almost wonder if the temple itself is made of the stuff. Priests wrapped in white furs watch me from the frosted windows, their faces pressed up against the fogged-up glass in morbid curiosity.
But I don’t stop at the temple.
It’s not for me.
When I step forward, there’s a faint pull. The mountain feels my presence, and it’s waiting—waiting to see if I belong in the sky.
Or if I’ll be thrown from it.
