The Songbird and the Heart of Stone (Crowns of Nyaxia #3)

Interlude

INTERLUDE

I t’s a terrible thing to suffer even a glancing taste of divine rage.

One might think that removing a corpse is a harmless rebellion. The offering, after all, had already been made. But the act was not as important as the disrespect in the girl’s intent. A god can sense dissent. A god can smell rebellion.

Atroxus rarely visited two days in a row. But that next morning, when the girl blinked away restless, nightmare-laden sleep, he was waiting at the foot of her bed.

“I am so very fond of you.” His voice sounded like sparks on a drought-dead plain. “Perhaps my affection has made me blind.”

The girl knew instantly that she had made a terrible mistake. She had long managed to pass off her imperfections as charming flaws. But in her moment of enraged recklessness, she had revealed too much. She had let her improper emotions reach the surface of her skin, where Atroxus could see them like pus-filled blemishes. Now, in the harsh light of morning, her actions seemed ridiculous. The sun had given her everything. She had seen the light bring comfort to countless souls, time and time again. Why would she question any of that over a vampire’s corpse? Even for a moment?

She knew that she could not distract her god with anything as simple as charming chatter or physical offering. She fell to her knees. An avalanche of apologies fell from her lips, frantic as words of devotion tripped over each other.

Atroxus stood there and allowed her to shower him with devotion. And then, after what felt like an eternity, he raised his palm.

“You have served me well all your short life, a’mara, and I can see in your heart your love for the light,” he said. “But I now have reason to doubt you.”

“I’ll prove it to you.” The words tumbled from her mouth. “I’ll—I’ll go on a mission in your name.”

“You have gone on many missions for me.”

“Not like this. This will be greater than all of them. This will be the kind of mission that history remembers. Tell me what I can give you. Test me, and I’ll prove myself.”

She did not breathe as he surveyed her, silent.

Gods had killed wayward followers for lesser slights. But the girl did not fear death as much as she feared her lord’s indifference. If Atroxus cast her out as one of his chosen, she would be forced to leave the Citadel. Perhaps she might still keep her magic, but she would no longer have the ability to spread the light to others as she had. And worst of all, the shame of her sin would spread to her sister, and perhaps even her closest friends, cutting them off from their home as well.

“Please,” she begged.

The sun god acquiesced, his face softening.

“Perhaps,” he said softly, “there is one thing you can offer me.”

The girl’s heart leapt. She straightened, waiting for her command.

“If you so believe that vampires can be saved, then who am I to tell you other-wise?” Atroxus said. “If what you claim is true, it would be a great tide turn in our blessed war against the darkness. It could change the world, a’mara. So this is my mission for you. Go. Go to Obitraes, the land of the damned. Give me a single vampire heart that can be shown the light.”

Perhaps someone else—someone more cynical—might have seen this as an impossible mission. Perhaps someone else might have known that being handed this task was the same as being handed a death sentence.

But the girl was no cynic. Her face broke into a smile. She leapt to her feet. This was not an impossible mission. This was an opportunity. Because she did believe that vampires, like anyone else, could be saved. She did believe that there was goodness in all hearts, even ones that held black blood instead of red.

And so, that silly, naive girl didn’t even hesitate as she said, “Of course, my light. I accept.”