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CHAPTER

THIRTY-EIGHT

Oralia

Ren vanished in the next moment, and I was left trembling in my sodden clothes, staring at the timeless gods as warily as they observed me.

Cato, the blonde god, stepped forward, their face full of understanding. I had not realized before that over their shoulders were gilded wings, tucked tight to their back. The light green robe they wore was gathered at the shoulders, short enough to catch sight of the gold sandals strapped to their feet as they moved closer.

“Peace,” they repeated, hands raised palm out.

Samarah stood beside me, but I shook off her touch. Instead, I nodded once at the god before me.

“I acted rashly…” I began, my voice trailing off with uncertainty. My attention flicked to the gods who were making their way to their feet, brushing off their robes and looking no worse for wear. The words were uncomfortable, sharp as knives as they crawled up my throat. “You have my apologies.”

“And you have ours,” Cato answered, reaching forward to offer their hands.

A muscle ticked in my jaw, but I tentatively placed my hands in theirs. They exhaled, chin dropping a fraction before they squeezed once and let them drop.

“You will have Gunthar’s too before this day is done,” a feminine voice called.

“Perhaps two days,” another answered with a grin, sliding a hand over strawberry-blonde curls a shade or two darker than mine, “if it is true you snapped his neck.”

I rubbed my hands together absently. Caston and Drystan surged forward, the former reaching out and drawing me into his arms, while Aelestor stared up at the storm dissipating from the sky with brows ticked up toward his hairline.

“We were so worried,” Caston breathed.

I took a deep breath, finding the scent of the ocean on his clothes. “How did you get here?”

Caston huffed a laugh, and over his shoulder, Drystan ran a hand over his damp hair. “Those sea monsters carried us.”

He released me a moment later, and Drystan stepped in, cradling the back of my head as he drew me into his embrace. Aelestor’s hand came to rest on my back, offering me his own relief. When we drew away I sighed, careful not to brush their skin with my palms.

Two other gods flanked Cato, the one with dark reddish-blonde curls and the other with pin-straight black hair and coppery feathered wings. They were opposites in every way, from their varying skin tones to their hair to their countenances, but the three of them somehow fit.

“I am Brio,” the one with the strawberry curls murmured, his wide shoulders rolling back. He gestured to the god on the other side of Cato. “And this is Delia. We will take you to what you seek.”

Delia, the god with the pin-straight hair shorn tight on one side, gave me a soft smile, her face pure and innocent in its beauty. The other gods—the ones who had not stepped forward to offer their names—murmured among each other, casting looks in our direction. But it was Cato who moved first, striding toward a door at the opposite end of the room opening to a narrow hall lit by wide-open windows, the same billowing fabric hanging from the edges.

Though they had offered peace, my distrust lingered. I noted the way Brio and Delia took up places at the back of our group, their arms linked with Samarah’s. I wondered for the first time why Samarah had not stayed here with them. Truthfully, I’d been so preoccupied with Ren and the pieces of him I had never thought to ask.

We came to a steep stairway, and I gave Cato some space to climb the first few steps before following, mindful of the robe sliding across the rough stone and their wings flaring with each step. Gunthar had said he kept Ren’s head upon his mantel, and I wondered if that was where Cato was taking us now. But when we reached the top and turned left, it was to find a room shrouded in night despite the day outside the walls, glittering stars hanging below the ceiling.

In many ways, the room reminded me of our bedroom at home with its dark wood and deep blue walls. But this chamber was sparsely furnished. Only a few chairs sat beneath what I assumed was a magically perpetual night sky. The rest of the dark marble was empty, save for an obsidian table atop which Ren’s head had been lovingly placed, shrouded by a piece of shimmering black fabric.

“Gunthar said…”

“He said what he thought would provoke you,” Cato explained in a soft voice as if we were in a place of worship. “Though we abandoned Renwick in his time of need, we do not harbor hate for our God of the Dead. He is one of us.”

I stared at their profile, the slight curve of their nose, and the set of their lips. “Those are pretty words, but they mean nothing while you continue to abandon us to our fate.”

Cato turned, a golden brow raised, and I thought amusement might have flashed in their eyes. Behind us, the low murmur of conversation between Delia and Samarah was merely a hum, but it was Drystan who stepped to one side of me, Caston to the other.

“You are not abandoned,” Cato answered, gesturing with an open palm between us.

I scoffed, shook my head, and turned to gaze instead at the plinth housing the final piece of my mate.

“You do not ask why we left?” Brio murmured, stepping closer to slide a hand over Cato’s arm and resting his cheek on their shoulder.

Rather than answer, I strode forward to remove the final piece of Ren from the table, only to find the circumference blocked by a powerful ward. Panic prickled through my veins, my heart picking up a faster beat, and I whirled to stare at the gods.

“Tell me the meaning of this,” I demanded.

“Not until you are ready,” Cato said. “Not until you understand.”

Caston stopped me with a hand on my shoulder before I could rush the gods, a snarl ripping through my teeth. But he could not stop my shadows as they spun outward only to make contact with empty air—the space around the gods as solid as stone.

“Ah, so this is it,” a new voice murmured, footsteps ringing through my ears.

The god who entered looked vaguely familiar with her hooded eyes and waving hair. Her frame was willowy, fluid as she moved, the deep blue of her robes as rippling as the blue-black sheen of her hair, as dark as her skin. This was the god I had seen etched in stone, surrounded by others, her arms stretched high into the air.

With a confidence I could not fathom, she strode forward and took my hands. “I admit I was hoping for another time, one in which we could embrace and meet as friends.”

I grit my teeth. “Who—”

“Yes, of course. I always forget you hate to be kept in the dark. I am Harleena.”

My brows furrowed at her words. “We have met before?”

She tilted her head from side to side. “Yes and no… We have met many times, but not yet.”

Samarah stepped forward, wrapping a hand over Harleena’s shoulder. “She is the God of Time.”

I blinked, taking a step back. No one had ever spoken of a God of Time . In fact, I had been told that Typhon and his father had been the ones to create it. Ren had alluded to the Great Mothers, but he had not had an opportunity to explain such things when preparing for war had been more important.

“I am much like you, Oralia. Created by the power of the universe to make great change. Though I daresay my task was much less weighty than yours.”

These words were said with kindness, and I softened toward her even as I fought it. She spoke as if we were friends. As if we knew each other’s secrets and shared a trust forged through centuries.

“There were other options? Other ways in which we might have met?” I could not help but ask.

Harleena’s full mouth pursed, strange flecks of gold and silver in her irises dancing across my face as if reading a page of a book. “Too many to count, but I had hoped for one in which your soul was not so mangled. Perhaps in which you brought our long-lost king to us. But this is what has come to pass, and now, the path is set.”

I reeled, wondering in what world Ren and I would have traveled to Iapetos together, and I found myself longing for such a timeline. But then I thought of the final piece of him over my shoulder, barred from me by this god.

“I am the reason we left,” Harleena continued, spreading her hands as if to encompass all of her fellows. “Because if we had stayed, the battle between us would have ripped the world in two. I saw it as easily as I saw my next breath. Leaving was the only way to avoid such a fate.”

Any piece of me softening toward this god hardened. “And so you consigned Ren to his fate. Did you do the same for Asteria?”

At this, Harleena’s face crumpled, eyes growing glassy in the twinkling starlight. “Time is a burden, and sometimes, sacrifices must be made.”

“But you could have saved her,” I pressed.

The God of Time sniffed, lifting her chin as a tear slipped down her cheek. “And in doing so, I would have sacrificed your mate and half his court. Gunthar might have said you were merely a product of circumstances, but nevertheless you were meant —one of many possibilities upon the horizon. I chose not to stop Daeymon then in favor of you someday coming into this world and obtaining your power. That would not have happened if Ren had been destroyed.”

I shook my head, clenching my hands into fists. “Ren cannot be destroyed.”

She clicked her tongue, attention flicking over my shoulder. “His resurrection is a cycle, Oralia, like the moon or the seasons, but it can be halted as anything can. As one thing is created, another can be destroyed.”

Ice dropped into my stomach. “And that is a power you possess.”

With a slow nod, she stepped forward.

“As do you.”