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“So,” Wren says a few minutes later, “three thousand years.”

I nod.

“That’s a long time to hold a grudge.”

“Some grudges deserve eternity.”

She gives me a look.

“You’re not exactly helping your case.”

I set down my fork.

“Would you prefer I lie?”

“No. Actually, I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Then ask what you wish to know.”

She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand.

“How did you end up in that courtyard?”

The question draws my gaze toward the window.

Beyond it, the world moves without fear of the gods who once ruled it.

“The War of the Forgotten.”

Her expression shifts.

“That sounds cheerful.”

“It was not.”

“What happened?”

“The old gods feared losing their power. Mortals had begun questioning their rule, refusing sacrifices, demanding justice. Some immortals believed fear was the only way to restore obedience.”

“And you?”

“I believed power existed to protect those who could not protect themselves.”

She studies me.

“That doesn’t sound like wrath.”

“Wrath is not always cruelty, Wren.”

“No?”

“No. Sometimes it is what stands between cruelty and the innocent.”

Her smile fades.

I continue.

“Nemesis, Goddess of Retribution, believed punishment belonged to the divine alone. She demanded obedience, even when the gods themselves were unjust.”