I spend the rest of the evening alone. Antonio is gone. I have no doubt that he’s preparing some other vital cog in our engines of war. Readying his troops in case all goes to plan. It’s nice to sit in silence. I wait in the hotel’s restaurant area. Other guests see me and decide to make themselves scarce. The waiter finally takes a hint and stops asking if I’d like a refill.
It allows me a moment to trace back over the map. Rehearse the right rebirths. I’m closer now than ever to starting a war. I’m full of fear and hunger and foreboding. After a few hours of staring through the window and out into the busy Furian streets, I decide to call it a night. I’ll want as much sleep as I can get. It will be scarce during the Races, even scarcer during the war that will follow. The upstairs hallway is empty. I open my door.
A shiver runs down my spine. Something strange is in the air, but as I stare around the room, the details all look the same. I search the shadows and corners. Nothing. I close the door behind me and I’m halfway into the light of the room when I see the man sitting in the corner.
He was not there a second before.
And fear trembles through me, because he is no man.
“Take a seat,” the creature hisses.
He is shirtless. Dirt stains the vessel’s upper body. I try to cling to the truth that this is just a man. He’s flesh and blood. But my eyes trace the disturbing scars that start at the base of the priest’s neck. A scaled mask threads directly into the skin. Those protective scales enclose the human head completely. I note slit nostrils, a single gleaming eye, the reptilian profile. Each feature resembles the iron turtles that live along the coast. Creatures known for their caution and their unbreakable shells. It takes a second to remember the name of this particular god.
“They call you the Dread.”
The priest spreads both hands. “So they do. Go ahead. Sit.”
My heart thunders. It was easy to dismiss the gods—and the role they’d play in the war—from a distance. But seeing one in person has my heart beating faster. I take a steadying breath and it’s like his finger is set on the pulse of all my fears. He smirks. The animalistic features look so alive. Is this priest following his god’s command? Or has the Dread actually entered our world for this rendezvous?
I move to obey his command—taking a seat—but I slide a hand to the knife at my belt as I do. I position myself so that his view of the blade is cut off. I wouldn’t dare face one of their gods without a weapon. Better if it were a sword.
My people have never worshipped the pantheon. Blood sacrifices disgusted my ancestors. So did the idea of depending on anyone or anything. We’ve paid the price for our rebellion over the centuries. Always the Ashlords have had an edge against us. Their gods turn the tides of war with impossible magic. I take a moment to recall all I know of the Dread.
He’s the patient one. The safest of their kind. The one who hides and warns and waits.
“What does the god of caution want from me?” I ask.
The answer comes in a slithering voice. “I wanted to take a long look at my potential warrior. The very symbol of the war to come. We get glimpses, of course. We have eyes and ears in this world, but I have always tended to trust my own eyes above all others.”
I stare back at him. “Your warrior? I never agreed to that.”
The slit eyes narrow. “Not yet. I offered my services to your grandfather long ago. He rejected me. I came to your father before he decided to send you here. I offered my protection. He was hesitant. I thought the son might be wiser than the fathers. Did tonight teach you nothing? You are exposed, Longhand. Do you know why you were sent here?”
My jaw tightens. “I was sent here to win.”
“Ideally,” the god replies. “Win the Races and the Reach will march with a boldness this generation has forgotten. But surely you see what your father sees. Losing will accomplish the same that winning would. They’re going to kill you, Adrian Ford. And when they kill the favorite son of the Reach, it will start a revolution. Victor or martyr, your father gets his war.”
His words wash over me in waves. Briefly, I imagine Daddy sitting at his desk, swirling his drink, accepting my death like the first piece in his great game. It hits so hard and so deep that I realize it’s the only thing I have no defense against. I’ve built walls for every other threat. Everything but him. Then I remember who I’m speaking with.
“A clever lie,” I reply. “Like I’d ever believe one of their gods.”
The Dread smiles. “Am I? The Ashlords grow bold. They reach for the future. The Striving gives them whatever they please. They adore things that move or flash or buzz. The other deities are well attended, but my people neglect caution. Walk by my temple. Note the empty ramparts. My priests in this realm are few. But I assure you that it is not my intention to simply go away. I am not like the Veil. I will not lie down and die. I will not accept defeat.”
My mind races again.
The Dread continues. “I seek new worshippers. Whether you live or die, war is coming. Do you imagine your fight will be against the Ashlords alone? No. You will face all the power the gods can summon across the barriers and into this world. Surely you know this?”
I nod. “We are ready this time.”
The god’s face twists into a smile. “So your father thinks. Let me add my strength to yours. Let us see how ready you are, then.”
“In exchange for blood? Servitude? I haven’t come this far to bow to you.”
“Partnership,” the god corrects. “Between equals.”
That pulls a laugh up my throat. “I don’t trust you. None of our kind do.”
“Allow me to offer the first sign of faith between us. Your father has thrown you into the fire, Adrian. He did not accept my trade. So allow me to offer my protection freely.”
He unfurls his left hand. My grip on the knife tightens, but before I can do more than unlatch it from my belt, he blows powder from his palm. It flashes out like smoke and fills the room in less than a second. I hold my breath, but the substance coats my skin, tingles down my spine. I do everything except pinch my eyes shut. I don’t want to lose sight of him in the haze.
“Calm down,” the god says. “It is a boon. This will help you survive the Races.”
I wave my free hand to clear the air. It slowly starts to thin until I can see him again.
“What did you do to me? What is this?”
“Caution,” he answers simply. “You think they come to bruise and break you. You’re wrong, Adrian. They are coming to kill you. The blessing I just offered will bring swift healing. Sturdier bones. Less bleeding. It will keep you alive. You’re welcome.”
My eyes sharpen. “I didn’t ask for your boon. We have no agreement. Understand?”
“For now.” The god nods a concession. “But you’ll see the truth in a few nights. This is just a fraction of my magic. If you find it is useful, imagine what else might exist between us. I am a patient god, Adrian. You might not want me today. You may not even want me a year from now. But I will wait for that fateful day to arrive, because I know I’m your best chance of winning the war that’s coming.”
He starts to rise. Instinct brings my knife around. He’s already violated me. I have no idea if he’s telling the truth, or if the spell he’s put over me will ruin everything. I’m not about to risk a second mistake. The knife flicks from my hand and shivers through the air. My aim is true. It hits right where the beating heart of his priestly vessel should be. I’m expecting the tear of flesh, the spurt of blood.
Instead, the Dread vanishes. Like he was never there.
The smoke clears. I sit there staring, and it’s like I imagined the whole thing. My eyes turn back to the door. It’s closed. The windows are shut, too. It takes a while to steady my breathing and shake off the effects. I am not here to parley with gods. I am here to start a rebellion. I am here to change the face of the Empire.
I’m here because Daddy sent me.
A shiver runs down my spine. The Dread lied to me. Nothing but lies.
It takes a little muscle to pull the knife free from the upholstered chair. I go through my normal routine before dousing the lamps and crawling into bed. I pretend to be calm—just in case the gods are still watching—but inside, my heart hammers in my chest. It takes hours to finally fall asleep. I drowse with one hand under my pillow, tight around the grip of my knife.
When I finally sleep, I dream of the sea.