Vassal by Sterling D'Este (ebook reader computer TXT) 📕

Pain sheared through Alphonse’s mind, and she winced, dropping her bowl with a clatter on the cave floor.

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The grey dim of his tent was lighter when Etienne awoke, though the seams did not glow with the press of sunlight. It was early, but the smell of one of the others cooking was thick in the limited space of the cave. The air around him was still damnably frigid.

Etienne lay still in the semi-darkness for a long time. Shame lay with him, ugly and panting.

He’d been too harsh with Alphonse. He still believed that he was right, that she shouldn’t have let herself get so close to Delyth; it could jeopardize everything. Still, it was natural for her to want comfort with all she faced…

He would have to apologize.

Etienne pushed himself up, dressed, and slipped out of his tent to find that Alphonse was the only other awake. She stood at the mouth of the cave, her hands empty despite the smell of porridge still coiling between their tents.

“Alphonse,” he called out in greeting as he approached.

She didn’t react at all. No glance over her shoulder, no flinch of pain at his voice, no response. Instead, she stretched one palm towards the shield keeping the storm out and the cave safe.

The power fluctuated at her touch, started to shiver and flex. A faint hum of energy reverberated through the stone walls and mixed with the other sounds of their little refuge. She pushed harder against the shield, and it groaned, then threw her hand back, rejecting the contact.

Slowly she looked down at her hand, flexing her fingers experimentally before tucking them against her side.

“You’re not entirely useless, mage,” she murmured at last, her voice hollow and unfeeling. Enyo, typically so passionate in her rage or lust, seemed empty as her gaze drifted to Etienne.

He tensed, his heart sinking. There was no telling when he would get to apologize now. And no telling what Enyo would do. He kept back unconsciously, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn’t like the way she looked at him. Cold and dispassionate.

He didn’t immediately answer her. He wasn’t going to preen at her praise like some desperate pet. Instead, he followed her gaze to the blizzard raging outside. “The shield has held well. It’s an unconventional use for it.”

Etienne considered the way Enyo had tested his work… Would it hold her? As well as his containing spell had? It just might, though there would be no testing it. It at least could be managed fairly easily with the supplies he could gather on the way.

“It’s nice to think humans can still bend the rules. When I last saw humans, they were starting to get… bothersome about such things.” Perhaps that had been why they had banded together and banished her and her fellow Gods? They wanted rules and order and laws, and the old Gods were lawless creatures of impulse and chaos?

Etienne didn’t blame them.

Enyo turned towards him fully, studying his face, his hands. Measuring him with that same lifeless gaze.

“Where do your bloodlines hail from, mage?”

Etienne snorted. “The slums of Dailion for all I know,” he said, his tone bitter. “What does it matter?”

“I’ve often contemplated human magic. Slow and tedious. Still, some practitioners are so much more powerful than others, like the old days. It’s in the blood. Magic. That’s why it’s so potent, so powerful. Sacred. Va'al’s children… They brought magic to the humans more than we ever did.”

She shrugged and glanced towards Tristan’s tent, distracted by something there.

Finally, Enyo blinked, and her attention returned to Etienne.

“Perhaps you are one of his descendants. An amusing thought that he would laugh over, certainly. Do you know who I speak of, mage?”

“I don’t know of Va'al,” he said, his curiosity piqued despite himself. “Who was he?”

“My friend,” Enyo answered simply. Was that… sadness, tainting her voice? Her golden eyes drifted to the entrance to the cave once more.

He supposed it would have been lonely, to be the only one left of her kind.

“Go away, mage. You make this mortal’s heart crack and weep. You and the Ba’oto as well. I should thank you because as her heart flutters and fails, I find it easier to take hold, but it is …” She rubbed at her chest as if that could ease the ache in Alphonse’s heart. “Annoying.”

Clearly done with the discussion, Enyo returned to watching the snowstorm, as if the swirling mess of snow and ice and mountain could soothe her loneliness.

Perhaps it could.

Etienne didn’t think there was much he could do to alleviate Alphonse’s pain… He rubbed his chest where Enyo’s palm had left a perfectly visible brand. He only ever seemed to make it worse.

⚄

Tristan left his tent to find Etienne striding away from the entrance to the cave. The boy’s shoulders were tense, his face contorted with anguish. Behind him, Alphonse stood facing the storm, shards of pottery scattered around her booted feet. Tristan raised an eyebrow.

Enyo was back.

Etienne slumped past without meeting Tristan’s eyes, and for once, the rogue ignored him.

Toying with Enyo about Pwll had been a mistake, for all it burned to admit it. Tristan had a goal here. He had to get Enyo to the temple, and any further delays would do him no favors.

He sighed. He’d have to butter her up.

Tristan straightened and swaggered over to the cave entrance. He stood there some feet away from Enyo for a few long minutes before speaking. “The wind is dancing so that even heavy snow cannot help but join her.”

Enyo wasn’t particularly melancholy prone. Not like Tha’et or Maoz. She was fairly stable in her moods, though they could be quite a challenge to be around. However, a few times over her long life, she had come down with fits of despondency that had lasted years.

At one point, she had refused to let any flower bloom and sat in a