Page 36 of Kissed By the Gods
The archon either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “What weapon will you use?” he asks us.
I think of the weapons I shoved underneath my bed—ones I’m pretty sure were forged by gods. “I’ll use my scythe,” I say.
“No. You’ll need to bond with something else. A weapon made of wood and steel will be as useful as that fork you held on to yesterday in the arena.”
“Am I allowed to improve it?” I ask. “To recast it in adamas?”
He tilts his head, his eyes sharp on me. “You told us yesterday that no Selencians are allowed trades such as this. Are you telling me you’re a metalworker?”
I press my lips closed, loath to tell them about the scythe under my bed, about my interaction with Thayana.
“Am I allowed to improve it?” I ask again.
“You can take it to the metalworker, but I doubt he’ll be able to recast anything before dawn. Even if he could, a scythe is not a practical weapon. You’d be better off bonding with something else.”
“How do you bond with a weapon?”
“Haven’t you bonded with that scythe of yours?”
He knows I have. They know nearly everything about my life after yesterday. I wait for him to answer. When he does, he sighs heavily as if I’ve inconvenienced him. “A bonded weapon is marked by blood, which carries the warrior’s intent and the gods’ blessing. Without the bond, the weapon is a tool, dead metal, unshaped by purpose. Once the weapon is bonded, the weapon attaches itself to your soul. A pulse, your pulse, seeps into it.”
“And you can bond with more than one weapon?”
Lyathin inclines his head. “If the gods bless them, yes. You’ll be bonded to that useless scythe until you die—whether tomorrow or years from now—but a long-range weapon would suit you better. Bows and arrows, a spear, a set of throwing daggers.”
“I choose my scythe,” I say again. Maxim snorts.
Lyathin sighs. “Very well. It is your choice. I suggest you take it to the armorer straightaway.” He turns to Maxim. “Maxim, your weapon?”
“I don’t require a weapon to fight against the girl,” he scoffs, not taking his eyes off me while he cracks his knuckles. “I prefer to feel her treacherous bones crush beneath my own hands.”
“That’s settled, then,” Archon Lyathin says. “Neither of you are to bring any other weapon into the arena, other than what was decided here. Any questions?”
Maxim jerks his head to the side, but I nod. “I have one.”
“Go on.”
“When I win tomorrow?—”
Maxim scoffs, and even Archon Lyathin raises a brow at my audacity, but I continue. “I want an audience with the archons about the conditions in Selencia.”
“The Synod isn’t in the business of managing protectorates,” Archon Lyathin dismisses me.
“No,” I agree. “But the Synod is in the business of training warriors. And if more Altor are going to come from Selencia, then you have a vested interest in making sure those warriors are healthy and able.”
Maxim laughs, as if this is all a joke, but Archon Lyathin pauses, his eyes assessing me—hard.
Archon Lyathin inclines his head. “You need to win first, Leina Haverlyn. We’ll leave you to rest.” His eyes narrow on my ragged appearance like he can’t quite make sense of it. Even with the scar covered by the hood of my robe, I know I look awful. My eyes are haggard, my skin pale. “It appears you’re in great need of it.”
The door slams shut behind him and Maxim, and the room is empty. My hands shake, my knees feel weak, and exhaustion crashes over me. I sink to the cot, pressing my fingers to my aching temple. My head is spinning—too much, too fast. The Altor. The Kher’zenn. The goddess. The Trial of Last Blood.
I’m tempted to lie on the cot, to curl up under the sheets, and rest until the sun rises tomorrow.
Instead, the door opens again. A fresh wave of irritation flares through me, snapping me out of my exhaustion. I focus on the anger—it feels better than the desolation and defeat.
“Oh, what now?” I snap, turning sharply.
Ryot is leaning against the doorframe, watching me. Not with the suspicion of Archon Lyathin or the veiled contempt of Rissa.His eyes drag over me, taking in the quaver in my hands and the way I tuck the hood of the robe further over my face.
