109: BOOKS AND COINS
(Talea’s story)
Talea pulled herself slowly to her feet, assessing the damage. Khaeriel had knocked aside the majority of blades; she and Therin looked fine. Which made Talea glad, because she was absolutely going to bleed out if they didn’t heal her. Xivan had taken some injuries, but she was tough to hurt permanently.
But Taja …
The Goddess of Luck lay on the ground, with multiple stab wounds from Argas’s razors. Crimson stained the front of her otherwise silver gown.
The God of Knowledge wasn’t smiling as he looked down at the dying goddess. “You spread yourself too thin, Taja. Tried to save too many people on the battlefield. Bet you never saw this outcome.”
Xivan transformed Urthaenriel into a spear and swept it forward through Argas’s spinning wheel. A thousand razors that would have sliced a human—living or dead—into fine strips of flesh instead shattered against Godslayer. The spearpoint punched through Argas’s heart and burst out the other side. In one quick, smooth motion, Xivan pulled the weapon back and returned it to a black sword.
Argas looked surprised. The spinning razors fell to the ground. The halo vanished. The book was apparently just a book; it landed next to Argas with a wet, dull slap as the God of Knowledge collapsed to the ground, dead.
“Actually,” Taja whispered, “I did.”
The whole battlefield fell silent.
Talea didn’t think it was her imagination. All fighting paused. Talea felt certain that each of the other Eight Immortals had felt that death. They knew one of their own had fallen.
“Therin!” Talea screamed. “Help her!” She scrambled over to where the goddess lay on the ground, ignoring her own injuries.
Taja’s breathing was labored. The blades pinned the goddess to the ground; Talea didn’t dare pull them out. They were killing Taja and also the only thing keeping her alive.
Therin knelt beside Taja and raised a hand out over the woman.
“Don’t bother,” Taja whispered. “Argas was … right. I overextended myself. You can’t give me enough tenyé to fix this. Tell Kihrin to remember what I said—don’t play by their rules. He can make his own.” She reached out a hand, blindly, not able to look down for whatever she was trying to find.
Talea grabbed her hand. “What? What do you need?”
Taja’s hand closed on her own. Talea felt something cold and hard slip between her fingers, and she looked down in surprise to see that Taja had palmed a coin into her hand. “Keep it.” A smile lingered ghostly on Taja’s lips. “For luck.”
Talea stared blankly at the coin, her vision going blurry from the tears in her eyes. “No, no, no. Khaeriel, fix this! Therin, fix her!”
Khaeriel had a hand between her teeth. She shook her head, made a wounded, animal sound. “I … I cannot … Her aura—”
Taja’s hand on Talea’s loosened its grip and fell away. Her eyes stared blindly.
The Goddess of Luck died.
Thurvishar stopped his recitation, eyes searching Kihrin’s face. “I can stop if you like. I know—”
Kihrin wiped his eyes. “No, it’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine. It’s nowhere even close to the definition of fine.” He stared off at a far wall for a few seconds, lost. “Do you think she did see it coming at the end?”
“I think she knew the odds,” Thurvishar answered cautiously.
“That’s not really an answer,” Kihrin said.
“But it’s the only one I have.”