Page 45 of Jailer to the Death God
I stare at him, blinking.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he says raggedly. “How are you so strong and so helpless all at once? By the dark, I swear you’ll be the end of me.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “You saved me again.”
“Don’t flee into the gardens at night anymore, little Queen,” he hisses. “At least, if you must run, take me with you.”
My stomach dips.Take me with you.
Take me.
Take me…
My mind is drifting to some very forbidden places. To distract myself, I ask, “What were those things?”
“Hounds of the Unlife,” says Arawn. “Part of my pack. I have many of them, all loyal until now. As for these two, their dedication to me was weakened by—by outside influences.”
“Why were they after me?”
His hands drop from my shoulders, and he looks away. “I don’t know.”
“Is someone trying to break our contract?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“There is more happening here than you understand,” he says roughly. “I told you, your summoning of me set certain things in motion—bad things. But they are godly affairs, and they don’t concern you.” He turns, starting to walk away along the path.
“Oh, I think they do.” I hurry after him, grabbing his sleeve. “I think they do concern me, when I’m being chased down by fiery hounds in my own garden.”
He jerks his sleeve away from me and stalks on. “If the other hound appears again, I’ll protect you.”
“You think it will beback? Can’t you destroy it, or something?”
“It’s a creature of my making. I’d rather not have to.”
“Oh my gods.” I halt on the path. “You’re attached to those things? Like they’re your pets?”
“None of your fucking business,” he spits over his shoulder.
We’re heading back to the palace by a different route, one that takes us past Aine’s shrine. When Arawn sees it, he hesitates. “Fuck those bitches,” he mutters. “This is all a joke of theirs, you know. My sister goddesses. At some drunken revel they thought it would be amusing to create a summoning ritual for me, and with their combined power they managed to achieve it. Think of what they could do if they actually put their power to good use. But no, they prefer to torment other gods and get drunk on the stars. They also enjoy turning humans into fucktoys and then pretending their gifted offspring don’t exist.”
“Goddesses can give birth?” I quirk an eyebrow.
“In a manner of speaking. When a male god fucks a human woman, she gives birth to a half-divine, a powerful mortal with nearly uncontrollable magic. For many generations afterward, that mortal’s offspring may receive lesser doses of magic, revealed in the powers you’re familiar with—healing, fire wielding, water wielding, and more. Sometimes a generation is skipped, but the potential is always there, latent, ready to appear. When a goddess fucks a human man, that man’s body is temporarily infused with her power. So the next child he has with a human woman will be a half-divine as well.”
Arawn takes a few steps forward, glowering at the pale columns of the shrine. Its ponderous doors are shut, but never locked, in case a worshiper wants to enter.
The warmth of the wine is beginning to wear off, and the wind has picked up, lashing across the garden in great gusts. I know we should return to the party immediately, but I don’t want to face all those questioning eyes and hungry smiles. I nearly died just now. Don’t I deserve a moment of peace, out of the blast of this wind?
I step past Arawn and push one of the heavy doors open, just enough for me to slip through. By blind instinct I navigate through the dark to the little stand near the door, where the priestess keeps a lamp. A few seconds later the light flares up, illuminating the incense burners, the carved motifs, and the statue of Aine herself.
“She looks nothing like that,” Arawn says disdainfully, closing the door behind him.
“Does she care? About us?” I ask. “Do any of them care, or listen?”
“Sometimes.” He walks forward, head tilted in contemplation of the statue. “The gods are nothing if not fickle. At times they can be very kind—at others, unfathomably cruel. Mostly they are apathetic.”
