Page 9 of Kissed By the Gods
Now, for the first time, there’s a rustling of leaves and the crunch of little branches breaking under boots as whoever tried to kill my brother gives up the need for stealth. As soon as the man steps out from behind a massive oak tree, I launch the arrow. It flies true, and I expect it to stab the stranger in his chest. But he swats the arrow to the side, and it lands solidly in a nearby tree trunk with a loudthwunk.
Then the man leans his shoulder negligently against the same tree.
He’s wearing a simple leather vest and trousers instead of the full, silver metal armor of the Faraengardian soldiers. He’s tall, like Seb, but that’s where their similarities end. He has a leaner, more athletic build, and an obvious lightness to his stance that promises speed. His long blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and a darker beard covers much of his face, making his blue eyeseven more striking. Not blue like a summer day, but deep—the dark blue of the night sky that hugs the stars. A scar cuts down from his forehead, through his right eye and disappears in the beard. He holds his bow in one hand, a quiver full of those black arrows strapped to his back, black daggers lining his vest, and a black sword sheathed at his hip.
I tighten my grip on the scythe, widening my stance. “You need to leave. Now.”
He barks a laugh, deep and amused. “Trust me, I’d love to. But I’ve been sent to track down a couple of rebels—royal orders and all that. I’m Ryot, Altor of the Stormriven Vanguard.” He gives a mocking bow, then quirks an eyebrow. “And you are?”
Rebels. Royal orders. Altor.
This is my worst nightmare come to life.
“Fuck you,” I snap.
A slow grin pulls at his mouth. “Alright, Fuck You. It is now my mission to bring you back to the Synod. I mean you no harm.” He raises both hands in the air, like he’s surrendering. It’s a mockery. Every inch of him radiates confidence and control.
I couldn’t hold back the snort of derision if I wanted to. “You mean, except when you tried to kill my brother?”
“I was sent to execute a Selencian man who killed a contingent of Faraengardian soldiers without provocation,” he says, his eyes flicking to Seb and then to Leo, who is somehow sleeping through this debacle. “But I don’t see a man, I see two boys.”
“Excellent,” I answer. “Then you can leave.”
His eyes track back to me, his gaze turning pensive. “I can’t do that. The existence of an Altor changes everything. The king is no longer the authority, and his orders no longer hold. It is my duty to take you to the Synod, where the Archons will decide your fate.”
Seb hisses out a breath. “Over my dead body,” he barks.
Ryot doesn’t bother to reply.
“And my brothers?” I ask.
He flits his hand, dismissing Seb without even a glance. “They stay here. It’s clear you were the one to kill the soldiers.”
“They’ll be unprotected out here. Vulnerable,” I argue.
“That is not my concern,” Ryot says simply, without malice but with complete sincerity. He would leave both of them here with the untold perils posed by man, beast, and nature itself, without a drop of guilt.
No. I swing my scythe overhead.
“Come and take me, asshole.”
“The Altor are the gods’ chosen—the ones blessed at the cusp of maturity with strength beyond mortal limits. Sharper senses. Swifter reflexes. The gift to feel the hearts of others. No one knows how they are chosen, only that once called, they are bound to the Eternal Wars, holding the line against the darkness beyond the Ebonmere Sea.”
The Annals of the Winged, a canon text in the Synod Reckoning Hall
CHAPTER FOUR
Ryot smirks. “With pleasure, Fuck You.”
He moves so fast I barely see him. I bring the scythe down hard, but he’s already dodged to the side. His hand catches the shaft mid-swing. He twists, and the momentum sends me tumbling to the ground.
Seb lets out a strangled sound and starts toward us.
“Don’t,” I snap, thrusting a hand back without looking at him.
