Page 81 of Jailer to the Death God
“No mortal has the right to reject a deity,” Macha spits. “Your very existence is consent enough. It is license for us to perform any act we please upon you. If I want to take male form and fuck your brains out, and then eat them, it is myrightas your god. If I want to ravage a kingdom to soothe my rage, I will. And I have.”
“You’re a fucking bitch,” hisses Vale. “A petulant, selfish, scheming, putrid asshole!”
“I would kill you in an instant if I could,” seethes Macha. “If you survive the year, the moment your contract with Arawn is over, you will die by my hand, you reeking little shit. I vow it.”
My heart clenches with horror. Macha will fulfill that vow. She never forgives or forgets.
But Vale stands tall, gowned in my shadows, her white hair giving her the ethereal beauty of a star. The hand wound with the gold marriage ribbons is clenched. Her voice rings out, silver and steel, a musical madness echoing through the hall.
“And I swear to you now, Macha, goddess of war, that if a deity can be killed, I will take your life in vengeance for my people. Justice will be done upon you, whatever it may cost me.”
The queen and the goddess glare at each other while I stand by, grappling with the tempest in my heart.
“And you.” Macha whirls on me suddenly. “You will die with her before the year is up, or you will live to see your throne lost and your mortal fucktoy lying dead at your feet.”
“Your throne lost?” Vale looks at me, confused.
“Didn’t he tell you?” Macha bares her teeth in a rictus grin. “If he falls in love with anyone during his incarnation, he loses Annwn at the end of your contract. Which means I get his throne either way, mortal scum, whether you survive the year or not. Because he has already fallen in love.”
Vale’s fingers press over her heart. Her face goes still as marble.
“I haven’t fallen in love, I swear.” My voice is a hoarse scrape of darkness over bone.
“Still in denial then? Poor, foolish, naïve, vulnerable, virginal Arawn,” croons Macha, circling me, stroking my shoulders. I shudder away from her touch. “You fell so much faster than I anticipated. So hungry for love, after all those centuries of cold, lonely existence. Maybe if you’d fucked once in a while, you wouldn’t have been so susceptible to the first oozing mortal pussy you found.”
Macha gives me a final pinch. “I’ll be going now. I simply wanted to wish you well on your wedding day, and to remind you of certain realities. I truly didn’t mean to tease you quite so much, but it has been fun. Oh, and you may have survived the hounds, but I’ve found an entirely different dog to send after you. Stay alert, Arawn darling. You might be able to keep your new cock-glove alive for another week or two. But I doubt it.”
And then she vanishes.
35
Stricken, I gaze at the spot where the goddess of war stood a moment ago.
“You knew,” I whisper to Arawn. “You knew she was responsible for the plague, and you didn’t tell me.”
“I wasn’t sure,” Arawn says quietly. “Until we came to Allenaye, I did not realize that Beirgid began the plague. But when I saw how she has protected her temple and her worshipers, I remembered her antimagic.”
“So we’re at the gods’ mercy, all of us,” I breathe. “They could wipe us out anytime they please. Do anything to us, just like Macha said.”
“Not exactly. We do check and balance each other, just as your Council checks and balances the Crown. The gods generally take little pleasure in human death—they are more amused by live mortals, when they bother with this plane at all. Macha is the only one who truly revels in destruction and death. Beirgid is occasionally cruel, but I’ve never known her to concoct a plague so virulent. Macha must have bargained with her, convinced her to make it happen, and since Cerato is an isolated location, she agreed. If the location had been different, I doubt Beirgid would have conceded. The plague could have run rampant over the globe, and gods generally don’t like losing significant amounts of their worshipers. Hurts their vanity. And… there is another effect, as well.”
“What effect?” I bite out.
“Losing our worshipers drains our energy and makes us weary, more prone to sleep or disembodiment. I have never had many worshipers, so I am not as active or lively as the gods who enjoy throngs of devotees. Before you called me, I had rested on my throne for a long time, allowing my consciousness to expand and wander throughout my realm, doing very little but existing in a vague, dreamlike state.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“It was peaceful.”
“Yet you’re still angry with me for summoning and binding you,” I say, lacing my fingers together to still their trembling. “That’s why you didn’t tell me your suspicions about the plague. Or about the other condition Macha added to the ritual—the one where you lose Annwn if you fall in love.”
He winces. Looks away.
He’s still naked except for his gold marriage ribbons and a wisp of shadow. His skin is jade-colored satin, while his wavy black hair tumbles around his antlers and cascades down his back. I can’t imagine anything more stunning than the statuesque beauty of his body as he stands there in the dark hall of the temple, unconsciously posed, his elegant profile turned aside and his lips curved downward with guilty unrest.
“My stepmother dallied with a goddess in her youth,” I murmur. “I never would have guessed. I’m not surprised it didn’t end well. I’m sure such connections never do. Not for the human, anyway.”
Arawn exhales, but he still won’t look at me.
