Page 48 of Godbound
“What is the meaning of this?” I ask the guards, forcing myself to keep my chin high.
“We’re to follow you at all times,” one of them answers.
I wait for more, but nothing comes. So they’re not here to take me away. Ryker’s finally come up with an appropriate containment plan for my unpredictable magic. For me.
I take a closer look at the group. Their armor is intentional: no exposed skin, mostly solid, lifeless stone, immune to my Decay. Technically, there’s no rule against Champions imbuing objects with magic before the Sovereign God or Goddess is named, as long as no one is harmed.
But Ryker’s choice to use Zyrel’s magic, to place his touch between me and the world, cracks something in me. Like a fracture in the glass through which I’d always seen him. And now, no matter how I look, his reflection will always carry that break.
“So be it,” I say, making it sound like an order, as if I’m the one choosing this. “But I suggest you stay far enough away—” I glance at Kaelzar, who finally releases my friend, earning himself a heated curse from her, “—because I should warn you, this beastie bites.”
After a series of coaxing,bribing, and finally, threats to have Kaelzar carry her home over his shoulder, Peonica at last relented andleft me to my training, muttering something about sparing the poor Godbeast the indignity of having to try.
Once she’s gone, Kaelzar leads me toward the southern edge of the Birch Forest that stretches for miles along the borders of Viele. The guards follow until the tree line, stating flatly that since I’m moving farther from the population, their orders end here. They’ll wait until I return, and this is where I’m to exit when my training is done.
What they’d do if my magic spiraled out of control, I don’t know. But something tells me those peculiar suits of armor hold more than just decorative enchantments.
Kaelzar moves through the trees with the certainty of someone who already has a destination in mind, and I can’t help but wonder if this is where he disappeared to earlier, scouting for a place where my magic wouldn’t cause too much damage should another accident occur. I follow him quietly for a while before deciding to make use of the time and press for details about the Spectra Judicium.
His replies are measured and spare, each word clipped clean of anything unnecessary. The Spectra Judicium, he tells me, takes place two weeks after the first challenge. Every Champion is required to display their magic before the city, a performance meant to win public favor and prove their divine worth.
The more they believe, the stronger I become.
The event is set to take place in the Grand Plaza, the same place where everything began. The same stone courtyard where the noble women cursed by the Crimson Tether are punished. Where my mother was lashed.
I still don’t know who delivered her punishment. Who held the whip. Who watched. Who stood idle. I don’t even know where her body was laid to rest.
The thought of showcasing my magic before those same people—those who watched her suffer and did nothing—sends a slow, simmering rage through my veins. They’ll watch me too, just as they watched her. But they won’t see a helpless woman this time.
They’ll see someone far stronger.
They’ll see someone worth praying for.
If my magic feeds on faith, I need belief, not fear. In the Plaza, I’ll have to make them choose Calista.
Because only with their prayers behind me will I be able to stand against Champions like Zyrel and Seraphina. Only with their trust can I rise high enough to end this cycle, to become the next Archpriestess and stop the lashings for good.
Kaelzar guides me into a quiet meadow hidden deep within the forest, then gestures for me to go ahead. But the moment I step forward, a sudden rush of air brushes past.
When I turn, he’s gone. Again.
I stand there for a moment, mouth half-open in disbelieving outrage that he’s managed to disappear without a single word yet again. When it becomes clear he’s truly gone—off doing whatever it is he does—I shake my head and let out a breath of irritation.
The meadow around me is impossibly still, the air warm and fragrant. The field is blanketed with the same red, fiery flowers that tangled around the animal’s rib cage I so brazenly picked on my way to Brienne’s lashing. And it strikes me how beautiful they are, how the color itself, so despised in Calcatra for what it represents, is actually alive with warmth and vigor.
It feels suddenly unfair that the world has learned to fear its brilliance, simply because it shares the shade of our sin.
A soft clink of chains cuts through the hum of the forest. Kaelzar steps from between the trees, his cloak shifting with the movement. A white rabbit cradled in his hands.
“Take off your gloves,” he says. When I do, he sets the rabbit down at my feet. “Decay it.”
My breath hitches. “You want me to rot it?” The rabbit settles at my feet, calm, unaware. My eyes widen. “Have you no heart?”
Kaelzar doesn’t flinch. “Such is the nature of your magic.”
The name of my Goddess—of Blood and Decay—echoes in my mind. I remember what my magic did to the guards and courtiers at the temple.
A wave of nausea rolls over me. I clench my fists and look up at him.
