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“Pretty much.” Rivlan nods, and I detect a hint of sympathy in his voice. “I can only do so much. I cannot oppose the entire pantheon alone.”
I pivot away from him, disgust roiling through me at the entire situation. At the gods who play with mortal lives, at my own powerlessness despite my newfound strength, at the impossible decision before me. “I fucking hate the gods.”
I spin on my heel and begin stalking back toward the path that leads down from the cliffs.
“You’re far from the only one,” Rivlan calls after me. For the first time, his voice wavers with uncertainty. “But are you in?”
I pause without deigning to glance back. “I’m in.”
The reply sears my gut like acid, but I force it out anyway. Because while no good options exist yet, the battle isn’t over.
Any good commander knows there’s always another option.
One that the enemy might not see coming until it’s too late.
With a flap of my wings, I launch into the air, leaving Rivlan and the raging sea behind me. The waves begin to calm, responding to my new resolve.
I need to see Lark. Need to hold her. And then I need to figure out how to beat gods at their own game.
Because I’ll be damned if I let them outmaneuver me and decide our fate.
Chapter Forty-Two
I trace meaningless patterns in the dust coating the patio railing, my fingertip crafting swirls that could be fire sigils or nothing at all. I’ve unfurled my wings to stave off the chill and draped them protectively over my shoulders. My feathers’ burgundy streaks nearly match the wine in my cup.
The goblet sits untouched beside me. I should drink from it, numb myself, but even that simple action might be beyond my current capabilities.
Instead, I slump against the cold iron, letting the railing bear my weight as I peer out over Tirene. My kingdom, my responsibility, my home.
An almost imperceptible shift in the air signals that I’m no longer alone.
My body recognizes his presence before my mind does, and despite my rampant despair, my blood warms like embers catching fire after an influx of air.
Sterling’s inherent grace and stealth carries him across the balcony without even disturbing the dust. His wings fold tightly against his back, the elegant silver feathers gleaming beneath the starlight.
He reaches my side, his posture a stark contrast to my own. With his back straight, his shoulders squared, and his hands clasped behind him, he gazes out over the same view I’ve been staring at without really seeing. The distance between us is both infinitesimal and vast.
“How can I fight you?” The raw, desperate question rips itself from my throat. “How can I choose between you and our kingdom? The goddess says if I refuse, Tirene burns. But if I fight you—” My voice breaks, the rest of the sentence impossible to utter.
If I fight you, one of us dies. If I fight you, I lose you or you lose me.
Sterling remains still, his breathing steady and controlled. “I met with Rivlan tonight. At the Storm Cliffs.”
I straighten and face him fully for the first time. “And?”
Despite the threats, I cling to a sliver of hope that this is some sort of misunderstanding, or that the gods will take pity on our situation.
Sterling’s gaze remains fixed on the horizon. That alone indicates the news isn’t good. “He made the situation very clear. If I refuse to fight, he’ll sink Tirene beneath the waves. If I fight and lose, at least some of our people might survive.”
Akin to how Ziva threatened me. Either the pair of them coordinated, or smiting an entire kingdom is business as usual.
My hope extinguishes. “So we’re trapped. Gods playing with our lives like children with toys.” My fingers tremble against the stone railing, anger now mixing with my despair.
“No.” Sterling’s posture shifts, the muscles in his chest rippling. “No, we’re not trapped. We’re just not thinking creatively enough yet.”
A hint of optimism rekindles in my chest. Not in the gods. Not in divine grace or mercy.
Any remaining hope in my body is due to Sterling. More than anything else in the world, I believe in this man and what he’s capable of. “What do you mean?”
