Goddess by Liv Savell (autobiographies to read txt) 📕

“Maybe the Old Gods aren’t what we should be worried about anymore.” Etienne was beyond tired, but the image of the untouchable lava God was too fresh in his mind to ignore.

Delyth rounded on him too. “So you want to abandon Alphonse? A second time?”

That halted Etienne. He wasn’t giving up. He couldn’t. Alphonse would never have given up on him. Still, a nagging part of him worried about that injury. Even if they managed to free Alphonse from Enyo, what would that do to his friend?

“What do you think warning them will even do?” Delyth demanded, turning to Meirin again. “Your people couldn’t even stop Enyo. What do you think they could possibly do against Mascen?”

“I don’t know! But I do know that being blindsided is by far worse than trying to find a solution!—And I could say the same of you! Mascen is out for Enyo and whoever Tristan is to him. Why in all the realms would we chase after that mess?! It’s not as if we can interfere! It seems to me that Mascen wants Enyo and Tristan dead—Are you suggesting we will be able to stop him and free your lover?” Her tone was harsh, her cheeks reddening as fatigue whittled away her patience. “You heard Enyo. She’s dead. Alphonse is dead, and need to—to try and save our people from the same fate. I have family in Mynydd Gwyllt. I have friends too. I don’t want them to die at the hands of that—that monster.”

“Of course, Enyo said Alphonse is dead. She wanted to hurt me, to get vengeance for Thlonandras. You just don’t understand how any of this works. We stood in front of Enyo with you flinging insults at her with no repercussion until I mentioned the mountain. She insulted me by calling me beautiful. Alphonse is still in there, still fighting, and I refuse to let her fight alone. If you want to go, then go. Etienne and I will free Gethin without you.”

Etienne had been standing in silence, but at this last remark, he looked up again. “Look, we’re all tired. Let’s not make any rash decisions.”

༄

The rain had dissipated, leaving the ground soggy and the winds cold. There was a little clearing to the side of the road up ahead, a regular camping spot for travelers. Delyth stretched. She hurt more than she was willing to admit

“Fine. Let’s stop there and clean up.” Meirin finally relented, her voice sharp, strained. Delyth just shouldered past her to find firewood.

A short time later, Etienne managed to get a fire going despite the damp wood, a testament to his new blood magic. Meirin suggested she look at Delyth’s wounds.

Delyth was not sure she wanted to let the clanswoman, especially after their earlier argument, but eventually, practicality won the day. She opened her right wing for inspection. Long scratches marred the thick leather panels where she had struck and slid along the ground. Many of them were deep and oozing, and in a few small places, had been punctured entirely.

It felt strange, letting someone who was not Alphonse see to her wounds. Which was silly, Delyth supposed, seeing as how the menders at Glynfford had stitched her up plenty of times before she met the little healer. Perhaps it was just that she was sitting before a campfire, injured wing outstretched as she had for Alphonse the day of the wildfire.

Etienne watched them, nodding over the tea he clutched in both hands. He looked utterly spent.

Her arguments for pursuing Enyo had been swirling around her head as they made camp, but now she could only wonder when Etienne had become the voice of reason.

“You both were brave today,” she said after a long while. She did not agree with Meirin, not when there was a chance of banishing Enyo, but it felt right to say it nonetheless. Meirin and Etienne had both looked into impossible odds and faced them anyway.

Meirin didn’t speak as she wiped away the dirt and blood from Delyth’s wings, but her hands stilled at Delyth’s compliment. Finally, she resumed working, her touch impersonal and proficient. With salves smeared across the worst of Delyth’s injuries to keep rot at bay, the clan woman settled back with a weary sigh. It wasn’t even midday, and yet the entire group looked ready to fall asleep where they sat.

“I’ve never seen something like that man. You speared him, right in the head—” She sounded impressed. It had been a good throw. “And yet he just melted the sword and stepped out of that rock like nothing happened. I’m not proud to admit it, but I was afraid.”

✶

Etienne had been afraid too, but he did not think he would have admitted it had Meirin not done so first. Not after he froze when the bandits attacked in the mountains. Not after he had abandoned Alphonse.

Now, though…

“Me too,” Etienne said and was surprised to find Delyth nodding.

“I have never fought anything like that. Anything that cared nothing for the blows I could land.”

“What do you think he is? Or rather, who is he? I’ve never heard legends of a God who could hurt other Gods. And his hands… What was he doing to Enyo? Did you see? It seemed as if he was turning her flesh to stone…” Meirin shivered, likely repulsed at the memory.

“He called Enyo and Tristan his parents,” Etienne said slowly. “But Enyo claimed that Delyth has God’s blood, and she is no Mascen. Could he be some more direct descendant?”

Delyth tugged her wings tightly against her back. “If so, then Tristan isn’t who we thought he was.”

The fire cracked and popped, and no one spoke for a long time. Meirin finally straightened up with a heavy sigh. They would solve nothing now.

“If it doesn’t bother you two, I think I will lay down for a time. I need to rest, and I don’t think we’re fit to decide what needs to be done