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CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

I cough, sure I’ve heard him incorrectly. “Huh? I’m… what?” Maybe the two sentences were unconnected. Maybe the “No, Talon” was a response to me, and then “You are” was the beginning of another sentence. He was going to tell me something else.

That has to be it, because there’s no way he means what it sounded like.

Although, the tragic expression on his face right now would indicate otherwise. And he still hasn’t said anything.

Desperately, I reach out to Leicht. “You’d know if I was godsborn, wouldn’t you? This is just a misunderstanding.”

“What are you rambling about this time?”

Turds, he hasn’t been listening. I shove my memories of the past few minutes toward him and wait for his reaction. I’m expecting it to be loud and indignant.

His silence speaks volumes.

“Leicht?” It’s barely a whisper, but he hears it.

“I need to consider the implications of this.”

That’s not the “it’s impossible” that I was hoping for, so I turn my attention back to Jaimin. “I don’t think you’re right about this, but explain your reasons for believing it. You too, Master,” I add. They both think this, and I can’t convince them otherwise until I know why.

Jaimin sucks in a deep breath. “There’s only one reason, really,” he admits. “One thing that’s convinced me I’m right about this. The people you killed, Talon. That man the night of the first attack, and the archers when we met the bishop.”

“What about them?” We still don’t know how they died. The only thing we—I—know for certain is that my magic was involved.

“They were just dead with no cause. Their brains and bodies were intact, with no explanation for their deaths.”

I nod. “You’ve said that. I can’t expl?—”

“I’m not asking you to explain; I’m telling you. There was no reason for them to be dead. It was as if their souls had just left their bodies. We know your magic killed them, but that’s not something mages can do. Only the gods have the power to move souls on to their next lives.”

I swallow hard.

“When Peiris and Arimen were talking about the godsborn, something clicked in my head. This is the puzzle piece we’ve been missing, Talon. You’re the champion.”

My head is shaking before he even finishes. “No. It can’t be.” He’s wrong. “Master, tell him it’s not true.” Surely I’d know if I was… a god?

It’s too ridiculous for words.

Master Samoine says nothing.

“Gods,” I whisper, suddenly glad I’m sitting down and not still in the tub. “But wait—you said the godsborn are all aware of who they are. So I can’t be one. I didn’t know anything about this—or even that they truly existed! And I don’t have god powers. Just this one thing I can’t control and don’t understand. Maybe I have some sort of brain disorder.” That sounds far more reasonable than the idea that I might be the incarnation of a god.

My mouth is suddenly not my own as Master speaks. “That was my thought, when I realized what Jaimin’s theory must be,” he says. “Not the brain disorder; the part where you have no awareness of godhood nor access to other powers or control of the one we believe you might have.”

We wait; his “but” is heavy in the air, if unspoken.

“You met Master Haftel in Lenledia, didn’t you?”

I glance over at Jaimin, confused. Is Master changing the subject? “Uh… yes. Why?”

“She and I came up through the ranks together as apprentices. Her specialist field of study is telepathy in families. Specifically how telepathy acts in families with multiple Talented siblings.”

I still don’t understand how this is related to the godsborn. “I think I’ve seen one of her papers before. Actually, when we were in Lenledia, she said something to me and Tia about having a theory on Talented twins. But Tia wasn’t a mage, so her theory?—”

“Her theory, which she’s never published because she’d be laughed out of the academy for having a theory about children’s stories, is that twins with different Talents are actually an anomaly—a mistake. They were supposed to be a godsborn, but something went wrong with the incarnation process, and the consciousness of the god was split between multiple fetuses.”

My breath is frozen in my lungs, and my heartbeat is drumming so loudly that, for a moment, I can’t hear anything else. “Don’t you ever call Tia a mistake,” I rasp.

“No,” Master says immediately. “I misspoke—that’s not what I meant, and I apologize. Tia herself wasn’t a mistake; she was an extraordinary person. But the god made a mistake, and instead of one of the children—you—being born with their consciousness, the process… Well, I don’t know what happened. Haftel’s theory is a little vague in this area— possibly because she was never able to speak to an actual godsborn. But she posits that when the process of incarnation doesn’t work as it’s supposed to, instead of the fetus dying, the god’s consciousness is divided between fetuses. Each holds a different portion of the god’s power, hence the reason for different Talents, which doesn’t normally occur in siblings, much less twins.” There’s an edge of frustration in his voice. “I don’t remember much else of her research—it was the kind of project she worked on in free time, and we only talked about it while drinking. I don’t know if it would be safe to ask her for more details.”

I stare at my hands in my lap, my brain blank. I can hear what Master’s saying, even understand it to a degree, but I can’t quite process it.

“That would explain why the bond with Leicht transferred to Talon,” Jaimin comments, and when I glance up, it’s to see him watching me closely. “It’s an ability he was meant to have from the beginning.”

“Wh—” I clear my throat. “What do you mean?”

“Several of your gods bonded dragons while they lived,” Leicht explains. “They were the first to do so and bequeathed the ability to dragon riders.” His pause is heavy. “There is a prophecy among dragons of a mage who becomes a rider.”

My mind reels away from that information—information he withheld when it could have been useful. There’s enough for me to deal with right now.

Jaimin is explaining, and I wait for him to finish before I say, “That’s what Leicht said. So… I’m supposedly one of those gods? Only… not?”

“You were supposed to be one of the gods,” Master corrects. “Your power was divided. I believe it probably would have been left at that, and you would have lived out your life in relative normality if not for the fact that we truly need a god on our side now.”

Ah. Yes. The whole champion thing. I’m not ready to deal with that now—or ever. “But I’m not a god. As you said, my power was divided. Even though I’m now bonded with Leicht, that doesn’t mean I have the powers of a god—or the awareness of one. I don’t even know which god I’m supposedly supposed to have been!” My voice rises on the last few words, and I snap my mouth closed, breathing deeply through my nose. Getting upset isn’t going to help me convince them that I’m right and they’re wrong.

“I believe you may find it’s the opposite,” Leicht says gravely, but I ignore the secret-keeping overgrown lizard. It doesn’t matter that he may have finished thinking over the implications and decided it’s true. If I don’t want it to be true, it won’t be.

Jaimin reaches out and takes my hand, and I resist the urge to pull away. I don’t want to, not really. I’m just… angry. Angry that he brought all this down on me. Scared, too.

Because what does it all mean?

“Talon.” His voice is gentle and low but deadly serious. “We can sit here all night debating whether it’s true and why, and we may never agree on an answer. There’s only one way to find out for certain.”

“I don’t want to.” It falls from my mouth before I can stop it. I don’t believe they’re right, but I’m so afraid they might be. At least now I can be angry and scared. If we ask the stone—which is what he’s hinting at—then I only have a fifty percent chance of everything going back to normal. The uncertainty of denial is safer.

“Talon,” Master chides, but it’s the look on Jaimin’s face that makes me sigh and reach for the pouch. That combination of disappointed understanding might be the death of me one day.

I tip the stone into my hand and look at it. “Well?” I demand. “What do you have to say about this absurdly outlandish suggestion?”

“That’s not helpful,” Jaimin says. I bite back the urge to tell him I’m not trying to be helpful.

“Stone, is Jaimin’s theory true?” I ask bluntly.

~Yes~

A chill races down my spine, and words abandon me.

“Talon is godsborn?” Jaimin confirms.

~Yes~

“And he is the champion we’ve been looking for?”

~Yes/No~

I’m too numb to feel my usual frustration at that answer.

“Let me try,” Master says, and my tongue has never felt so foreign in my mouth. “Will he be the champion when we find out how to restore his power and awareness to him?”

~Yes~

I drop the stone, cut my connection with my master, and walk out.

There’s nowhere for me to go, of course. I’m in a village inn far from home—far from most places. For a wild second, I consider going down to the docks and getting on the first ship that’s leaving. I could just run away from everything.

Then reality sets in. It’s evening, and this isn’t a bustling metropolis. The chances of any vessel leaving before morning are nonexistent, unless I want to hire one for my personal use—which I can’t afford to do. There’s a lot less impact in running away if you have to loiter at the docks for twelve hours first.

And anyway, I can’t abandon my friends and this mission. I made a promise to Tia… and myself. I’ll see this through, one way or another.

So I end up at the stables.

I don’t know why, except it’s nearly dark outside, and even though this far south the first hints of spring are already in the air, it’s still not exactly warm, and I left the room in only my shirt and trousers. I don’t even have boots on, which I’m going to regret so much later. Stables aren’t known for being a great place to go barefoot.

Sweetie doesn’t seem surprised to see me. She doesn’t seem all that pleased either. “Relax,” I tell her, leaning against the outside of her stall door. “We’re not going anywhere. You can stay in the nice, warm stable and eat well for a while longer.” Guilt stabs at me. We haven’t exactly been giving the horses the best of care lately. It wasn’t our fault, but it’s still not right to expect an animal to carry you around if you’re not going to feed and house it properly.

Just one more thing to blame on the stone. Or rather, on the monsters who think raising zombies is a good idea.

Sweetie nickers and nudges me with her nose, and I sigh. “Yeah, I know. I’m in a mood. I just learned something terrible. For me, that is. I don’t know if it will affect you at all.”

She snorts and shoves me, sending me stumbling two steps back. “Hey! What was that for? It’s almost like you want it to?—”

I break off and stare at her as a long-forgotten afternoon of temple stories from my childhood filters through my memory. The local priestess had been trying to interest more of the children in the area in coming to temple, and she’d decided the best way to do that was to tell tales of the gods’ adventures. Most of them were about her goddess, Salella, but a few of the others got their turn as well. They weren’t the usual boring, moralistic stories we heard at temple; instead, these were the stories of Malna challenging the tide, of Salella living amongst the birds, and how she came to name them sacred to her. Of Wasianth whiling away the days racing against the plainsmen in what later became Meswyn on his beloved steed, Frestin. The horse he was so attached to, there are tales to this day of them still being together.

Sweetie stares back at me, and I swallow. “Frestin?” I whisper, then shake my head and chuckle. “I’m being ridiculous. The stone might have confirmed the stupid theory, but that doesn’t mean you’re a god’s reincarnated horse.”

She blinks, her stupidly long eyelashes sweeping down and up, and impulse makes me say, “But just to cover all possibilities, if you are Frestin, nudge my shoulder three times fast.” I absolutely don’t hold my breath.

Sweetie just blinks at me again, and I exhale on another laugh, surprised by how disappointed I am. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I better get back upstairs. There’s still a lot to talk about.” Like how we’re going to break this news to Arimen. I’m not sure if he’s going to be thrilled he knows a godsborn or devastated that it’s me, the least godly person he’s ever met. “You get some rest, hey? We won’t be here too long.” Not now that we know where “the birthplace” is, and yay for going back to the home I couldn’t wait to get away from. Maybe my father will be there to tell me all the ways I’m a disappointment.

I turn to leave and nearly go flying when Sweetie shoves my shoulder—one, two, three times.

Catching myself on the stall opposite hers, I prudently move just out of her reach, then spin around to meet her gaze.

If a horse could laugh, she would be.

“This has to be a joke,” I mumble, but if she were capable of joking, that would mean that she probably was some kind of god-horse. Or… whatever Frestin was. Is. Oh, holy gods’ turds.

Wait… can I still say that if I am one of the gods? Am I now invoking my own waste to curse with?

This is too confusing.

“So… Frestin, huh?” I say, more because I have no idea what else to say. “I guess that must mean I’m Wasianth.” The words seem to hang in the air, and I shudder lightly. “Shouldn’t I have known that?”

Sweetie—Frestin—stretches her nose toward me, and I move closer to stroke it. “Damn, what am I supposed to call you now?” I ask. “And also, why didn’t you maim the person who decided to name you ‘Sweetie’?” You’d think a god-horse waiting for her partner in adventure to remember who he was would be more assertive when it came to accepting a name.

She pulls away from my hand and snaps her teeth at me.

“Wow. Were you this mean in past lives too? Fine, if you like being called Sweetie so much, I’ll keep calling you that.” I wait, just in case she actually wants to be called Frestin instead, then realize I’m waiting for a horse to communicate with me about her name.

My life has changed so much, I don’t even know what normal is anymore.

“I’m going back up to tell Jaimin that you’re not a sweet horsey like he thinks. Maybe this will finally convince him, though, after all the times you— Hey! Were you trying to matchmake me and Jaimin?” My jaw hangs open. I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth, but it makes sense. She’s not an ordinary horse—the fact that she understood my request for her to confirm her identity proves that. And she did “coincidentally” shove me, throw me, and trip me in Jaimin’s direction a lot of times.

If a horse can look smug, that’s what Sweetie’s doing right now. I sigh. “At least I won’t have to worry about you disapproving of our relationship,” I mutter, then cringe. Apparently, I now worry what my horse thinks of my romantic partners. I’ve become one of those people. “I’ll see you tomorrow. It would be helpful if you could learn to talk before then so you can fill me in on some details.”

Her exasperated snort follows me out of the stable.

The inside of the inn is much warmer than outside, and I can hear the murmur of voices from the dining room as I pass, plus the more raucous sounds from the taproom down the hall. My stomach rumbles a reminder that it’s dinnertime and I haven’t been treating it kindly lately.

Apologize to Jaimin first, then gather the others for food.

Outside our room, I hesitate. Nothing’s changed, really. I’m still angry and confused about everything, and I still don’t know what happens next, except I’m fairly certain I’m not going to like it. The last few months have been full of that.

Squaring my shoulders, I knock softly, then let myself in. Jaimin looks up from where he’s still sitting on the bed, his posture tense.

“Why did you knock?” he asks as I close the door.

I shrug. “I don’t know. It was an extra two seconds of procrastination.” I’m hoping the comment will elicit a smile from him, but it doesn’t. His face is drawn into solemn, worried lines. I hate it. I especially hate that I’m partly responsible for it.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I shouldn’t have left like that. I shouldn’t… I don’t blame you for this. I just don’t know how to deal with it all, and we don’t seem to have any answers.”

He sags, and I cross to climb onto the bed beside him and take his hand. “You’ve been so worried about this, and I didn’t exactly take it well.”

The half-snort, half-laugh that comes from him is deeply reassuring. “I didn’t expect you to take it well, Talon. It’s… it’s not the kind of thing anyone ever thinks they’ll hear. You actually reacted a lot more mildly than I thought you would.” His fingers play with mine. “Have you talked to Samoine?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. I will—but he knows I needed time to cool off.”

“Where did you go?”

“To the stables. Oh—I’m Wasianth, by the way.”

His hand stills. “You remember?”

“No.” I explain my strange encounter of the equine variety, and his whole face lights up.

“I knew she was a special horse.”

Special. Sure.