Page 59 of Kissed By the Gods
“I will abide no distractions.
“I will hold against the ruin until my dying breath.
“Even if the gods should falter, I will not."
I repeat the vow, though my voice is weak. Fragile. A thread fraying at the edges.
But it’s enough. The candle the Elder holds in his right hand flares to life with fire birthed from my vow alone. My eyes widen in shock, and the Elder nods, satisfied. He turns, placing a candle—my candle—on a shelf with others, the flame dancing brightly.
Faelon grins, giving me two thumbs up from behind the archons. Caius smacks him—silently—on the back of the head. I want to laugh; I want to shake my head at him. But I don’t dare. Because the Elder has come back to me, and the dagger’s edges gleam black and molten amber under the candlelight. He kneels between Ryot and me, taking Ryot’s right hand and my left hand to cradle together, our palms facing up. Mine is smooth, save for callouses. But Ryot’s … His palm is already marked by four jagged, deep cuts that crisscross the full span. His other wards, the ones who died.
His other palm is marked by a single line—when he was made a ward himself.
“Ryot of Stormriven, do you accept Leina as your ward?” The Elder continues.
“I do,” he answers, his voice strong and unwavering. You’d never know that I coerced him into it this morning.
“Do you pledge your blade and your honor to Ward Leina of Stormriven? Vowing to guide and protect her, to teach her the ways of the Altor?”
“I so pledge,” he answers.
“Do you vow to stay by her side, to accept her strength as your boon, her weaknesses as your burden, and her fight as yours? To stand as her sword and shield her from the darkness that will come, until the day she rises beside you, your equal in all things? A warrior born not of privilege, but of blood, tears, and unyielding will?”
He raises his head, and I can’t help but lift my own to stare into his eyes.
“I so vow,” he answers, never breaking eye contact with me, and the utter sincerity of his vow surrounds me like an embrace.
The Elder slashes Ryot’s palm first, making a new scar to cross the others. Then the blade bites into my hand, clean and sharp.
Our blood spills bright red onto the clean stone floor, separate only for that instant, before the Elder presses our palms together. We’re skin to skin, blood to blood. Something takes root in my palm before it unfurls like venom through my veins. My heart stutters, as if it paused to beat in time with Ryot’s. The breath is ripped from my lungs, and I inhale it back in a jagged gasp. Ryot does, too, like our breaths are shared, steeped in each other.
“Rise, Leina of Stormriven,” the Elder says.
I stand on wobbly legs and am dumbfounded to feel unsteadiness from Ryot, too. His grip on my hand lingers as we stand—long enough for me to feel the warmth of it, the hesitation, the ache. When I glance at him, he’s already watching me with a quietly devastated look. It’s gone in an instant—shuttered behind the familiar, guarded calm—but I saw it.
I just don’t know what to do with it.
Archon Robias walks over to us and clasps me on the shoulder, like I’ve seen the men do as they walk the hallways and greet those coming in from missions. My hand falls from Ryot’s.
“Welcome to the Stormriven Vanguard, Leina,” he says, extending his arm around my shoulder and walking me out of the Hall of Vanishing Light.
Footsteps approach from behind me, and I turn as massive arms envelope me in a bear hug that lifts me off the ground. Nyrica flashes me his dimpled grin. “You didn’t pass out! That’s a good omen.” He’s laughing as he sets me down, and then Thalric is there, sharp-eyed.
“Welcome, Leina,” my new commander tells me. “We’ll take good care of you.” He’s more focused on Ryot than me, though.
They surround me—this strange, wild, weirdly loyal group. I should feel overwhelmed. Ishould. But I don’t. Kiernan is blushing, but he gives me an awkward side-hug as he mumbles a “welcome, sister.” Faelon grabs me by the other shoulder, pulling me into his side. “She’s too pretty to be our sister,” he says with a wicked grin.
“At least you didn’t scream,” Caius says with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “That’s more than Faelon can say from his unnaming.”
“I screamed for thedrama,” Faelon says, sweeping a theatrical hand over his heart. Then he winks at me and starts dragging me down the hall. “If you wanted an excuse to hold Ryot’s hand, Leina, you could’ve asked.”
I trip a little on my own feet, sputtering. “What? I—no?—”
Ryot glares at Faelon but then turns to me. “It’s time to train.”
“Training? Now?” Faelon halts suddenly. I stand under his arm, my head spinning, heart pounding, hand bleeding.
“What are you talking about? She’s a ward now. First, we cut her hair and shave her—” Faelon stops and stares awkwardly at my smooth, hairless face and my already short hair. Ryot quirks an eyebrow at him.
