Anathrasa smiled.
“If you see a desirable tithe here, Madoc,” Geoxus said, motioning to Petros, “by all means, take it.”
Petros’s laugh fell flat. “That wasn’t what we discussed,” he said.
Greed blossomed deep in Madoc’s gut.Take the energeia, his soul whispered, bringing a pang of hunger.
“I don’t need your approval to change plans,” Geoxus told him.
“The boy is harboring a grudge,” Petros said. “He means to see me humiliated. Surely you aren’t actually considering—”
“Think carefully before you question a god,” snapped Anathrasa.
Petros blinked at her in surprise, then dabbed at the sweat beading on his brow. “Madoc’s going togiveme power, not take it. Father God, how am I to lead your charge across the six countries if I’m nothing but pigstock?”
“There will always be others,” Geoxus said, his stare still set on Madoc. “If this is what my champion needs, this is what he shall have.”
Petros glanced at Anathrasa, but she, too, was looking at Madoc expectantly.
The tension in the room thinned, scraping at his resolve. The anger, the frustration, had given way to support and understanding.
Madoc tried to shove it off, but their expectations clung to his skin.
They wanted him to take a tithe. To do what Anathrasa had done to Cassia, and Ash, and Stavos, and countless more. The thought repulsed him. It fueled his hate.
“I don’t need anything from you.” The words scratched his raw throat. “Any of you.”
Petros’s shoulder jerked in a shrug. “See? There you have it.”
“But you do need it,” Anathrasa insisted to Madoc. “You want his energeia. I feel it in you. You are a vessel, thirsting to be filled.”
He shook his head, sweat stinging his eyes. As soon as Anathrasa mentioned it, Madoc felt the deep well inside his chest. The empty cavity that held the memories he didn’t want to keep.
“Let it expand inside you,” she whispered. “Don’t fight it.”
He did fight it. He tried to close his mind to the sudden abscess inside him, but it was already there, waiting. A void, like Cassia’s void, in his own soul.
“There is nothing to be afraid of.” Anathrasa moved closer. “It is assimple as breathing. In and out. That is the way of energeia.”
“Anathrasa!” Petros started toward her, betrayal creasing his face, but was stopped by one of Geoxus’s guards. “Anathrasa, look at me. Please!”
“Stay back,” Madoc warned Anathrasa, but she kept steadily creeping toward him, ignoring Petros, who was now attempting to shove past the guard.
“You sense emotions the way others hear or see. You taste their longing and anger, and it gives you strength. That’s the anathreia in you. It hungers for the souls of others. At first a sip would do, but now you need more to sustain yourself. You’ll need to drink from those with powerful energeia for your anathreia to thrive. Divine, like champions. Like Petros.”
“Let me through!” Petros shouted as a second guard held him back.
Madoc’s hands flexed, then fisted. She was talking in riddles, trying to get into his head. “Everyone’s soul is the same. Energeia doesn’t make a person’s soul stronger.”
“What is a soul but the collective will of the heart? Intention is power, Madoc, whether it be a storm of rage or a whisper of regret. Energeia amplifies that intention, turns it to action.” She pressed her fingers just below her collarbone. “You know what your heart wants, Madoc.”
Energeia listens to the heart, not the mind.Ash had told him that when they were in the temple. He could feel connections forming in his brain—links between his intuition and hunger, between emotions and life. To take a person’s energeia was to open their chest and rip out their beating heart.
It was a good thing Petros didn’t have one.
He shook his head to clear it. He couldn’t listen to Anathrasa. He refused to make himself like her in any way.
But when he breathed in, his veins were tingling. He glanced at the guards who had beaten him, now holding back Petros, awaiting their Father God’s command. At Geoxus, watching him with anticipation.
