There was no difficulty in finding Fulmus, seeing as the old Deus wasn’t hiding. Although the pantheon had gone their separate ways, Fulmus had at least had the sense to inform them of his location in case of an emergency. Sorin had found a message from him after a few minutes of sifting through his meagre communications log, and a quick call to Lutus confirmed he had the same. He punched in the coordinates given and let his Chariot carry him through the Aether.
There was time to think as he ventured back from the edge of the galaxy, and Sorin’s mind drifted back to old memories. Fulmus, often named as the War God, strong-armed Fulmus, and the patron of warriors. To Sorin, he’d always been Uncle Fulmus, despite sharing no ichor. His titles had been won long before Sorin had been born, when Deus had fought Deus in the Age of Tyrants. However he might have been sung of in songs, the man Sorin had known was pleasant and kind-hearted. Besides Gelia before her heartbreak, Fulmus had been the only Deus to openly challenge Zantir on his decisions, which gave them equal standing in Sorin’s mind. When Father scolded, Uncle Fulmus was there to make young Sorin smile again. There’d been a few times when he and Lutus were children when Fulmus had taken them on rides on his Chariot across a few solar systems, even let them try the controls if they promised not to tell their parents.
Solitude had a way of wearing on the mind, and Sorin had nearly forgotten how much he missed Fulmus. He had severed connections with the rest of the pantheon out of loyalty to Lutus, occupying himself with forging stars, but now he wondered if that had been a mistake. The pantheon was divided, their strength separated, leaving the galaxy vulnerable to intruders. Wasn’t it his and Lutus’ duty, as heirs to Okirazon, to keep the Deus together?
He recalled the last time the pantheon, his family, had been whole in both presence and mind. They had been feasting on Okirazon, the home of the Deus in those days, in the great hall of Gelia’s azure palace. At the head of the table had been the great leader herself, known by titles such as the Wise, the Brave, the Pioneer, but who had simply been Mother to Sorin. Her skin had been pure white, her eyes large and dark, and the emerald dress she wore had seemed to radiate a soft light throughout the hall. Zantir sat beside her, and even with all his eyes intact he had seemed an odd match for the beautiful woman. From there, the Deus lined the table from oldest to youngest. Fulmus sat at the corner by Gelia’s elbow, telling jokes and grinning shamelessly. Xelk, the pantheon’s scribe and Ulenne’s father, was a few seats down from him. Further down the table, silver-voiced Auraphon leaned his chair back, put his feet up on the table, and sang a delightful melody with his newest instrument; a sort of hybrid between a harp and a piano. No feast was complete without his music. Around him sat other Deus of whom Sorin had less distinct memories, among them quick-thinking Frigon, kind but quiet Cleintra, and enigmatic Urdos, totalling about thirty in all. Lutus and Rasha, born on either side of the Firmament and separated by only a few million years, sat across from one another near the end of the table. Lutus ate lightly, his arms folded across his chest for most of the night. He’d seemed to dislike Rasha even before the murder, though he’d never told Sorin why. Sorin, youngest of the Deus, was placed at the end of the table, arm folded around Ulenne beside him. He remembered the comfortable weight of her head against his shoulder, the sound of her breath and her earthy smell. That had been a near-perfect moment, before Zantir’s affair had gotten out, before Mother’s murder, before it all went wrong. He wondered what Ulenne was doing now, then felt his stomach lurch when he began to count up the years. He hadn’t seen her in more than half a millennium. Loyalty to his brother had cost him so much.
It took only a couple of days to reach the blue planet Fulmus now called home. It was called Aegis, the capital world of the Kinship. Its population was primarily human, although there were a fair number of Dwin and Phal as well. The structures that covered much of the planet’s landmasses were beautiful, for artificial things, creating the sense that intelligent life had remade this world as they saw fit. Mother would have been proud. Was that why Fulmus had chosen this planet? But the laws of the Deus forbid interference in mortal affairs, and Aegis seemed a poor place to remain hidden.
He checked the message again. It had been sent around ten years ago, so the planet had to have been the mortals’ before Fulmus had moved in. The War God had some explaining to do. It was not a crime to observe, but it was important to keep some distance. Too close and the temptation to meddle might put the mortals at risk. He switched on the communications console and sent a tentative ping down to the surface. It was answered after only a few minutes.
“Who is this?” Fulmus’s gravelly voice demanded.
A giddy shiver danced up Sorin’s spine. “Uncle Fulmus? It’s Sorin.”
“Sorin?” The tone of Fulmus’s voice changed, becoming warmer. “Goodness, how long has it been? What brings you here?”
“It’s a long story, and I’d like to explain in person,” Sorin replied. “Where are you right now?”
“I’ll send you the coordinates,” Fulmus said after a short pause. “Wear a Guise—there are mortals here.”
The coordinates appeared on Sorin’s screen, pinpointing Fulmus’s exact position. Looking from the screen to the planet below, Sorin guessed his destination was in the middle of one of those sprawling cities. What was Fulmus doing?
“Thanks, I’ll see you soon.” He switched off the communicator.
He hadn’t used his Guise in centuries, and had to scour the Chariot for it. He sifted through his closet, pushing aside dusty cloaks and turning out every pocket. When that turned up nothing, he began looking under the furniture, thinking it might have rolled beneath a shelf, but all he found were various trinkets he’d picked up and forgotten about years ago. It turned up, at last, beneath his bed, probably placed there so he wouldn’t forget it.
At first glance, the Guise appeared to be a cape or shawl made from a grey fabric, with horizontal and vertical lines intersecting in square patterns. What appeared to be a clasp dangled from one end, a bronze disc decorated with tiny silver buttons. Sorin checked to make sure there weren’t any holes, then threw it around his shoulders and secured the clasp. It fit him perfectly, as it was designed to. His fingers danced across the silver buttons, inputting the needed data, and he began to change.
The Guise possessed a minuscule computer carrying records of millions of faces across all mortal races. The computer automatically sampled from this pool based on the information given by the wearer, and mixed features to create a new, unique face. Standing before the mirror in his quarters, Sorin fiddled with the settings until he found a look he liked; a tall human male, dark-skinned, with a hairless head. The Guise stretched and reshaped itself to cover Sorin, contriving a black suit that data suggested was in fashion on Aegis to fit his new form. Sorin tried a few poses with the disguise, making sure it looked convincing, before he was satisfied.
He activated the Chariot’s stealth systems, rendering it invisible to mortal sensors, and jumped back into the pilot’s seat as the vessel descended. He touched down in an empty, out of the way lot, and disembarked. The Chariot took off again as he took his first steps on Aegis, the automatic systems guiding it to somewhere more discreet until he summoned it.
He took a deep breath, savouring the fresh air like a fine wine. Artificial oxygen couldn’t compare to a natural atmosphere, and the taste of Aegis’ air convinced him he’d spent too long out in space. There had been a time when he’d used the Guise at every opportunity, walking among the mortals and quietly watching them go about their lives. But being close to others and not being able to really interact with them only made him feel his loneliness more acutely, so he’d given up the hobby and gone to tend to his stars. Now he was keen to walk about again and feel the pull of real gravity on his body.
Things had changed. Sorin had never been on Aegis before, but human settlements tended to mimic each other, so he’d expected this to be the same as any other he had visited. That simply wasn’t the case; whether it was the centuries he’d been away, or because something about Aegis was particularly unique, this world was unlike any he’d visited before. The structures were so much taller, scraping the bellies of the clouds, while the roads intersected and entwined on multiple levels. Sleek wheeled vehicles zipped along these paths, while larger caterpillar-like transports slowly trundled in their midst. Crowds of humans, Dwin, and Phal strolled along the sidewalks, unaware that an ancient being walked among them. Overall, Aegis seemed more permanent than the older settlements, as if it might stand for quite some time.
Sorin moved with the humans, following the coordinates Fulmus had given him. He felt a little nervous, being out of practice with blending in. What if he made a slip-up, revealing himself? He walked rigidly, arms at his sides and legs moving straight ahead, his eyes held above the sea of heads. A few odd glances came his way, particularly from the women, and he wondered what he’d done to draw their attention. Nothing came of it, though, and he reached his destination without incident.
Fulmus had led him to some sort of sporting centre, a circular structure centred in a grass field. Sorin followed a concrete path to the entrance, pausing when he saw a sign that told him the facility was closed. He touched a hand to the door, thinking he’d have to force it, but it swung open with a light nudge. A curious custom, to close a door but leave it unlocked. Some of the human settlements he’d visited in the past had been so cautious that they locked their refrigerators.
He entered the stadium, following the signs and the coordinates up a flight of stairs, emerging back into the sunlight among the empty seats that ringed the field. He looked down into the centre circle, where a pair of humans played with swords and a Phal sat watching from the sidelines. He observed for a moment, perplexed. Why all these seats if no one came to watch? The players didn’t appear to have their heart in it either. They seemed to be waiting for something, or someone, slowing periodically to look over their shoulders.
Sorin shook himself, remembering his purpose. Fulmus was here, for some inscrutable reason. He lifted his head to scan the top seats of the stadium and spotted a figure in the very top row, partially concealed in the shadow of a pillar. His clothes were shabbier than those of the other humans Sorin had encountered so far. Most of what he wore was dirty and tattered, and he had long grey hair and a beard that suggested he was old for a human. If he was human.
Sorin approached cautiously with his hands clasped together to suppress his anxiety. He had to be careful; it would be incredibly stupid of him to reveal himself to some random mortal. The grey human made no move, his wrinkled face looking off into the distance, as if he didn’t even notice Sorin walking his way. Sorin hesitated, wondering if he’d made a mistake, but there were no other candidates. He took a seat beside the old man, expecting a certain stench, but all he smelled was the fresh air.
Sorin licked his lips, preparing to take the leap. “Fulmus?”
The old man gradually turned to face him, his haggard face twitching, changing into a familiar broad smile. “Sorin—you’ve gotten huge! How have you been, my boy? It’s been too long.”
“I’m well, and it has,” he replied.
Fulmus gave him a doubtful look. “Come now, that’s hardly an answer. What have you been doing with yourself?”
Sorin relented and shared his most recent efforts at fostering stars, feeling a little embarrassed. All Deus had an ingrained drive to create, and all Deus expressed that desire in different ways, but Sorin’s method might be seen as a little overdone. At the time, it had simply been a way of passing the time until Lutus next called him, but that seemed silly now. He couched his actions in unnecessary explanations, understating what he’d done.
If Fulmus was bored by Sorin’s work, he didn’t let on. “Sparking lights in the dark, laying the groundwork for new worlds—that’s good work you’re doing, Sorin. Certainly better than I’ve done. Zantir would have been proud.”
Sorin flinched. The way Fulmus talked about Zantir like he was dead touched a nerve. “He isn’t, as far as I can tell. Imprisonment has only made him stranger.”
Fulmus stirred in his seat, turning his eyes back to the humans down in the arena. “Well, he should be. Gelia would’ve insisted. How is your brother?”
Sorin sighed. “Still in his moon.”
“And you’re still running errands for him,” Fulmus said, wearily. “Poor boy doesn’t know when it’s time to stop hiding. Such stubbornness doesn’t become Gelia’s eldest. Damn, I shouldn’t talk—all Deus are stubborn fools.”
“You’ve forgiven him, then?” Sorin cautiously pictured a new future; the pantheon reformed, Okirazon restored and the light of its palace returned.
Fulmus’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I’ll consider forgiving him when he admits what he did was wrong, and it’ll take more than that for me to accept him as our leader. Lutus must accept that he acted rashly and against our laws. Have you ever considered what he would’ve done if you hadn’t taken Zantir away? The entire pantheon was against him on this—Rasha deserved a trial.”
Sorin knew he should agree on moral grounds, but personally he couldn’t bring himself to mourn a murderer. “I wouldn’t expect an apology, not for her. As he pointed out at the time, he was the only one who gave chase. I’m not saying he was right, but that’s still his opinion. He already apologized for the Rashani.”
“By hiding,” Fulmus snorted derisively. “Would he even leave his moon if I forgave him? On second thought, don’t answer that—I’m in a bad mood as it is. That’s in the past, anyway—we’re all in hiding now, although I can’t fathom from whom. Perhaps we fear our own creations.”
Sorin took the opportunity to push on to other subjects. He wanted this reunion to be a happy one. “Have you heard from any of the others?”
Fulmus scratched his dirt grey head. “Not really. I haven’t seen Auraphon since we departed Okirazon, though I’m certain I’ve heard mortals playing his music. The others have likewise scattered to their dark corners. Xelk is… well, I’m sure you heard what happened with him. I went to console Ulenne when it happened—I was surprised you weren’t there.”
Guilt twisted in Sorin’s gut. “I was, briefly. I’d rather not talk about it.”
Fulmus shrugged. “Fine, but other than her, I haven’t seen much of the Deus. Mostly I stick to mortals for company now.”
Sorin glanced back to the two humans clashing blades below. The man fought distractedly, clearly occupied with the tall woman as more than just an opponent, and she skilfully disarmed him with a quick flurry of swipes.
Fulmus grunted. “Poor fool could be a great fighter if he’d keep his eyes on her sword instead of her tits. You can’t imagine how aggravating it is, seeing these mortals make simple mistakes that a good teacher could easily correct.”
Sorin felt confused. “Then why watch them at all? Why are you even here? This seems rather small-scale for the War God.”
“My interest in war has waned in the past few centuries.” Fulmus’ eyes darted from one fighter to the other as they began the next round. “Seems such a waste now, all those good warriors cutting one another down, not to mention all the poor mortals who had no business on a battlefield to begin with. They don’t kill gladiators in the Kinship, unless something goes very wrong. A defeated warrior survives to learn from his mistakes and gets a chance to fight again. A young one with a warrior’s spirit but lacking in strength has the chance to grow. I find it very… gratifying, seeing these mortals improve.”
Sorin’s spirits sank, the fire in his veins cooling. He had hoped Zantir would be right about Fulmus having the answers he was looking for, but this change in attitude suggested he was equally ignorant. Where would he look now? Or would he have to return to Lutus empty-handed?
Fulmus put a strong hand on Sorin’s shoulder. Even in his human Guise, he seemed to radiate a comforting strength. “What’s bothering you? You came to see me about something important, didn’t you? Why else come to me unannounced?”
Sorin smiled, feeling like a child, with Uncle Fulmus there to cheer him up after an especially bad scolding. He gathered his thoughts and shared the events of the last few weeks, from Lutus’ prophecy of war to the visit with Zantir. Then he outlined his twofold problem: wanting both to find the intruder hinted at in the prophecy, but also wanting to prevent the war between mortals. Fulmus rested his elbows on his knees as Sorin spoke, his hands folded together before his face. It was an old pose of his, which he adopted when thinking or strategizing.
“That is a puzzle,” Fulmus said. “I can’t help you with this outside element you’re chasing—I’ve been out of the loop for the last few decades, so you’d know more than I. But that war is very troublesome. Was Lutus able to identify the sides?”
Sorin shook his head. He saw a spark in Fulmus’ eye, a look of deep concern he’d worn only once before, when Gelia had passed into Nyth’s hall. Sorin had never expected to see that expression in association with the affairs of mortals.
Fulmus took a breath, sitting up straight and revealing a surprising height hidden beneath those rags. “I have a guess—the Aquila Alliance will declare war on the Kinship. That’s how I believe it will start, at least. The Bythos Empire will join the battle eventually, swooping in when both sides have worn each other down. I spent a decade within the Empire, and I have seen their numbers and arms. If they believe they have the advantage, they would be capable of what you describe.”
The straightforward answer startled Sorin; Fulmus sounded so sure of it. “That’s a very specific guess. I’ve never known the Kinship and Alliance to be hostile to one another. How can you be so certain?”
“I spent centuries studying the ways mortals make war, and I found them to be disturbingly like our own. It isn’t hard to understand them, if you take the time.” Fulmus closed his eyes, a hand wandering up to stroke his beard. “I have something of a confession to make, Sorin. I believe I’ve seen how this war begins.”
Sorin nearly jumped from his seat. “You have? Please, tell me.”
“It’s all over their news feeds,” Fulmus said, taking his time to speak. “There was an attack on an Alliance space station during a treaty negotiation with the Kinship. Many were killed, including an Aquila I understand was quite renowned among his people. The other diplomats have simply vanished. The Alliance is accusing the Kinship of foul play, and if the truth isn’t revealed soon, I am sure that conflict will grow between the two powers like a weed, strangling any chance at peace.”
Fulmus fell silent, his eyes suddenly shooting open, looking down upon the arena. The fighters had ceased their play, and all of them looked to a newcomer to the field. A human female, somewhat short for her species, with brown hair tied back in a tail. Sorin could tell she had something on her mind; she seemed to walk without any sort of rhythm, and her eyes were focused on something far away. The other mortals went to her, crowding around in a comforting manner. Something had happened to this woman.
“She’s finally back—good,” Fulmus said, relieved. “She’s been staying home for the last few days—I’d worried she’d given up. But no, she’s a strong one. Worse things have happened to her, though she probably wouldn’t agree.”
Sorin thought he detected admiration in the famed War God’s voice. It was astonishing. “What brings her such sorrow?”
“Her husband was one of the diplomats who disappeared in the attack,” Fulmus explained. “Everyone’s been telling her he’s dead, but she knows better, and that’s why she’s come back. She has to fight, somehow, to show the universe she won’t bow down to its cruelty.”
“You speak highly of her,” Sorin observed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about someone like that before, not since Mother.”
Fulmus put a finger to his lips. “She’s about to fight. Watch her and you may understand.”
Sorin settled in, trying not to be annoyed. Fulmus seemed to grasp the danger that approached, yet he wasted time on this distraction. Still, he supposed there was no harm in humouring him for a short while. It was good to spend time together again, and perhaps he would gain some insight into Fulmus’s new fascination. The gladiators had broken from their huddle and let the newcomer take a place in the arena, a sword hanging limply from her hand. The taller woman stepped up to be her opponent, a forced attempt at a smile crossing her face. It seemed strange to try to comfort someone by fighting them, but as far as Sorin could tell, that was what was about to happen.
The Phal gave a shout, and the women clashed. Despite the newcomer’s apparent fatigue, she matched her opponent’s every blow. The taller woman moved with the same skill as in her previous bout, quickly swinging between thrusts and ducking under hard blows with lightning reflexes, but the newcomer was unfazed, parrying each strike. She demonstrated her own rough skill, landing a light blow against her opponent’s chest plate, which sent the taller woman scurrying backwards.
Sorin leaned forward, his attention caught by an odd tic in the newcomer’s movements. Her body seemed wound tightly, her arms and legs held close even as she fought. Her strikes never extended to the full reach of her arms, as if she feared to do so. Every move she made came with some subtle restraint, unnoticed by the other mortals. It had nearly slipped by Sorin as well, but now he saw how she regulated herself while still matching her opponent. She kept on the defensive, rarely striking unless the taller woman had done so first.
“She appears to be holding something back,” he observed to Fulmus, eyes never leaving the duel. “What, though?”
“Keep watching,” Fulmus said, smiling from ear to ear.
The taller woman slowed, then came to a halt, her brow furrowed. Sorin could just make out her urgings to the newcomer to try harder. The other woman stood stock still, then gave a weak shrug. The taller woman sighed, lifted her sword, and then suddenly lunged. What happened next must have seemed instant to the mortals, but Sorin saw it all with crystal clarity. The tall woman lunged, and the newcomer swung her blade upwards with what looked like a flick of her wrist. The swing knocked the tall woman’s sword from her hand and a fair distance across the arena. The tall woman toppled and landed on her back, and the newcomer darted forwards to help her up.
He realized he’d been holding his breath, and he let it out slowly. There hadn’t been any restraint in that strike, and the strength in it had surpassed what a human woman of that size should be capable of. He shared this observation with Fulmus, and the War God’s smile broadened. Down in the arena, the two combatants hugged and went to sit with the other gladiators.
“Who is she?” Sorin asked.
Fulmus looked him in the eye at last, and Sorin felt a start when he saw shame in the older Deus’ expression. “Her name is Marissa Rhapsody. She is my daughter.”
Sorin heard his words, considered them, and suddenly felt like he’d been flipped on his head. The stadium spun around him, and he gripped the arms of his seat to keep from being thrown from it as he fought the waves of nausea that passed through him. Fulmus had a daughter. Fulmus had a mortal daughter. He looked to the War God to reassure him, tell him he’d misheard or misunderstood, but there was still shame in that wrinkled face. Realization dawned on Sorin; a half-Deus, a demigod.
His throat felt dry, and his tongue made a harsh click when he tried to speak. “You broke the laws? You,” he swallowed, “you lay with a mortal?” He waited for Fulmus to refute the accusation, to reveal it all as a joke, but the old Deus simply bowed his head, diminishing in the process.
Rage built within Sorin, a burning heat in his core that nearly had him howling. He tried to keep composed, though, not wanting to draw the mortals’ attention. “You helped write those laws!” he hissed. “How could you, of all Deus, commit such a crime? You, who abandoned my brother for a mistake made in grief—what right do you have to criticize, when you do this?” In the end, speech left him, as he could think of no words in any language to express his disappointment.
Fulmus remained calm, watching his daughter talk and try to laugh with her friends. “Her name was Monica. She lived in a settlement on the frontier of Kinship space. Our meeting was a chance encounter, something I hadn’t planned, but it somehow felt… preordained.”
Sorin snorted derisively, folding his arms. A Deus believing in predestination was like a moon thinking the world was flat. Even Lutus’ prophecies were more like educated guesses, and could be changed with suitable action.
Fulmus ignored his input and carried on. “She was strong, but also beautiful. Marissa takes after her in both ways. We speak with mortals so rarely that they can catch you off-guard when you do. They are so much like us, and she was everything I had ever wanted in a partner, only she wasn’t Deus.”
“That should have been the only thing that mattered,” Sorin reminded him.
The wrinkles of Fulmus’ human face grew tight. “I thought you might have understood. You do know solitude, after all—how unbearable it can be sometimes. I was lonely, and Monica was so welcoming. I was no Tyrant—I did only what she asked of me. She knew I wasn’t human, but I never told her about our kind. I don’t think she cared. They may not be able to do what we can, but mortals are no less than us when it comes to feeling. We loved each other.”
Sorin couldn’t listen a moment longer. It was just too much to bear, too great a betrayal of everything the pantheon had fought for. What would Mother have said? He stood shakily, mouth clamped shut to keep from saying something he would regret.
Fulmus grabbed his sleeve. “Sit down, Sorin. Please, hear me out before you judge me.”
Sorin pulled his arm free, Fulmus’s once strong grip giving way with only the slightest resistance. When he looked down, he didn’t see the great Deus he’d known and loved when he was younger. He saw a weak, old mortal, clothed in rags. It set his stomach reeling to see such a fall, and he turned away. “I’ve heard enough. Goodbye, Fulmus.”
Fulmus stood as if to stop him, but Sorin was already on his way, and the old hypocrite only followed so far. Sorin left him behind, storming out of the stadium in a huff. Angry thoughts muddled his mind, blurring his return to his ship and the ride back into the upper atmosphere.
He lingered in orbit, brooding on the failure of the Deus species and the end of his mother’s dream of a galaxy where mortals were free. There had always been three pillars of order among the Deus: Gelia, Zantir, and Fulmus. His mother was dead, his father imprisoned and mad, and now Fulmus had fallen as well. He’d always believed that the separation of the pantheon had been a temporary situation, that the Deus cared enough for their creations to come together once again if they were threatened. Now, that illusion was shattered, as Fulmus had shown him how selfish even the best of them could be. It was down to him and Lutus to hold the galaxy on their shoulders. But Lutus had done wrong as well, even if it was accidental, leaving Sorin, a stupid neophyte of a Deus, to do the heavy lifting himself.
He curled up in his chair beneath the dimmed lights of the cockpit and sobbed. He was alone in this, trying to save the mortals from themselves. Lutus only cared about the alien presence, as one might worry over a spot on a good suit. Meanwhile, he hid from his own people, refusing to do as Fulmus had said and admit his mistakes. And the others? Where were they? Minding their own business, staying out of the way of mortals, or maybe not. They would be of no help. They couldn’t be trusted.
It occurred to Sorin that he was still wearing his Guise. He touched the concealed clasp and the human facade faded away. He saw his changing reflection in the dome above him, the face vanishing to reveal one the colour of charcoal, lined with fire. They weren’t so different, those two faces. Mother had said that every species had some speck of Deus ichor in them somewhere, and that alone was reason to care for them as he would any of his kind. Perhaps Fulmus had simply taken the next logical step, to loving them. Maybe it wasn’t wrong, not in the sense of the heart, but it had been irresponsible and dangerous.
He looked around the dark cockpit. Lights blinked across the dashboard, automated systems announcing their condition. Music recorded centuries ago played from speakers around him, a tune he’d heard thousands of times but still couldn’t name. This was solitude, the kind that had driven Fulmus to make his error. Sorin did understand it, painfully so, and he knew he could bear it no longer.
He re-established his connection to the planet below. “Fulmus?”
“Sorin,” Fulmus returned, his voice harsher than before. “If you want an apology, you won’t get one. I have made unforgivable mistakes in the last few decades, but loving Monica was not one of them. Marissa is not a mistake. But I assure you, I have kept limited contact with her over the years—she does not know who I really am, or if I even exist.”
“I don’t approve of what you’ve done, but I’m willing to look past that,” Sorin said. “You clearly love your daughter to watch over her like this, and I hope you might have enough compassion for other mortals to help me save them.”
“I do,” Fulmus replied.
Sorin felt some of the tension leave him, and he managed a small smile. “Good. Now, keep in mind that we are going to do this the way Mother would have wanted. That means breaking the laws as little as possible. In addition, Lutus will hear and see none of this, understand?”
There was a short pause on Fulmus’s part. “Will he hear of Marissa?”
Sorin cringed. He understood Fulmus’ worry well. He liked to believe that Lutus was even-handed when it came to such matters, but he had doubts. To this day, he wondered what would have happened to Zantir if Sorin hadn’t taken matters into his own hands. “I will not speak a word about her.”
“Then we have much to do,” said Fulmus, almost cheerfully. “To start with, neither mortal power knows the truth of the attack. I do—I make a habit of keeping an eye on Marissa’s husband as a favour to her, and I know what’s become of him. I fear to act directly after my transgression, but maybe you can do something with this information.”
And there, like a flash of blinding light, was hope. Sorin leaned towards the receiver, reinvigorated. “Tell me everything.”