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She wanted to see the state of his kitchen, if he ever bothered to eat, or if he had a fireplace. All the things she had dreamed about while stuck in her bedchamber, a place that was a never-ending abyss of solitude and desolation.

Seconds passed, and Finnian did not show himself.

Theon’s elbow nudged her side. “Why don’t you insist on talking first? You are siblings. He might?—”

Luckily, Naia knew how to draw her brother out. She pulled her fist back, prepared to bring the structure they stood within to shambles.

“Or not,” Theon mumbled when she brought her arm down to punch a crater into the glossy stone.

A hand caught her by the crook of her elbow. “Don’t you dare.”

She brought her head up to meet her brother’s stern glare.

His long black hair was pulled back behind his shoulders. The sight of his profile, with his angular face shape and sunken cheekbones, reminded her of their father. Pain ruptured behind her ribcage, and she glared at the flawless patch of skin above his right jawline. He had hidden his scar with glamor.

Ghouls surrounded them in all forms—men, women, children, animals. All brought back from the dead. Finnian never knew when to leave things alone.

Theon’s arms came up to attack, but all it took was a strategic cut of Finnian’s eyes onto the middle god for him to be forced aside like a feather caught in a windstorm.

Theon landed across the room and the ghouls moved like a pack of lions, throwing themselves onto him.

Naia screamed, “No!”

Finnian wrenched her arm, drawing her closer to him. “You don’t want to play with me, Sister.”

Naia glowered up at him. “Be careful, Brother. Mother’s arrogance is showing in you.”

Before he could get out another word, Naia snatched her arm, freeing it from his grasp, and threw her leg out to land a kick on his ribcage. There was a satisfying crunch against the sole of her feet as his bones fractured.

With a grunt, Finnian disappeared into a haze of smoke, the particles glittering like tiny crimson stars.

The satisfaction of one hit was exactly what Naia needed. Never mind his cold acknowledgement and failure to apologize. She’d lied before to Theon. She had absolutely no desire to engage in any type of conversation with Finnian. All she wanted was an opportunity to vent her anger; to let Finnian know firsthand the immense damage he had inflicted upon her. Perhaps, then, the weight of his actions would finally settle in his conscience.

A frigid air cut across her cheeks. She whipped her head towards it to find Theon, arms extended and palms together. The translucent spears of ice shimmered and sparkled under the warm amber lights as they struck the ghouls.

Theon was a middle god of winter.

Across the room, a blinding silver orb collected above Finnian’s open palm and arranged into the form of an ethereal skull. With a frightening force of magic, it shot towards her.

The skull’s mouth stretched open. Her pulse hammered in her throat. The intensity of the roar was so strong, a burst of wind rushed across Naia’s face and through her hair.

With unwavering focus, she tracked the magic’s path, the anticipation building as it neared closer and closer to her, before swiftly dodging it at the last possible moment.

Its intense energy surged past her, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

Inches below the ceiling, smoky globes of power rotated, casting an otherworldly glow. Finnian’s open palm lifted in the air, and he clenched it into a fist. The globes spit out magical projectiles like rain.

Naia dove to dodge them, feeling their gust as they whizzed past her. One gouged into her bicep. Another into her left thigh. The wispy, ghostlike droplets moved through her.

Naia growled out in response to the pain.

She hated sorcery.

Gritting her teeth, she lifted herself up from her crouched position and charged Finnian.

He met her halfway.

She launched her fist forward, aimed at his face, but he swerved his head and his firm grip constricted around her neck. She drove her elbow up and connected with his cheekbone. The impact threw his head back.