His broad shoulders and thick, muscular form filled the entireseat and sent a wave of awe through Madoc. The Father God looked like a man but was immortal—stronger, sleeker,morein every way. And when he smiled at the group of men he spoke to, the wisdom in his gaze punctured Madoc’s confidence. He wasn’t sure what he should say, whether he should even look his god in the eyes, or if doing so would turn him to rubble. They’d told stories of that happening when they were children, but now the concept didn’t feel so farfetched.
What if Geoxus sensed he was a fraud?
There was no turning back now.
Lucius led the way, striding across the threshold into the sunlight. On weak legs, Madoc followed, but hesitated when a guard blocked Elias’s path with a spear.
“This is champion business,” Lucius said. “Your servant can wait in the hall.”
Elias’s chin jutted inward, but he had the good sense not to speak.
Without Elias, Madoc felt untethered. He didn’t belong in this place with these people, drinking wine and eating rich food off ruby-studded plates. He was a stonemason. Pigstock, unable to hide behind Elias’s geoeia.
He felt like the boy his father had kicked out all those years ago.
It didn’t matter. He was here for Cassia. Geoxus hadn’t noticed he was Undivine earlier; maybe he wouldn’t now, either.
Madoc gave a quick nod to Elias and followed his sponsor.
Whoever was talking to Geoxus backed away as Lucius approached, tightening the bands of anxiety around Madoc’s lungs. He’d thought they might have to stand in line to wait for the Father God. That he’d have a moment more to prepare what he was going to say.
“There he is now. Quite a show you put on, Madoc. You must be starving, yes?”
Madoc’s knees turned to water. Before today, Geoxus had been a statue in Market Square, a prayer that came easily to Madoc’s tongue. On rare occasions at festivals, Madoc and Elias had seen the Father God from afar, but though they’d clamored for a look like the rest of Deimos had, Geoxus had remained a pinprick at the end of their narrowed gazes, not even close enough to really distinguish from any other citizen. As a child, Madoc had never been permitted to go to the palace with Petros on senate business.
Now Madoc could see every precious stone sewn into the leather bindings of Geoxus’s sandals and feel the god’s power pulsing across the space between them.
Madoc scratched a hand over his skull, then quickly forced it down. He looked around for Ignitus, but the Kulan god was sulking in his seat, surrounded by servants. His hot glare burned in their direction.
Lucius slapped a companionable hand on the back of Madoc’s armor.
Geoxus had spoken. He was now looking at Madoc as if waiting for a response.
“I am. Honorable Geoxus,” he added.
“Well, you must eat. You’ll need your strength in the coming weeks, isn’t that right, Lucius?”
“It certainly is,” Lucius promised with a tight, gleaming smile.
“I... I look forward to the challenge, Honorable Geoxus.”
“Of course you do,” said Geoxus, and the pride in his voice gaveMadoc a small dose of courage. A reckless thought kindled in his mind: If Geoxus favored him enough to include him in the Honored Eight, maybe the god would set Cassia free. Maybe he would listen if Madoc told him about Petros’s unfair taxes, and how no one in the poor districts could make ends meet.
“Madoc is very fortunate to have been chosen,” prompted Lucius.
Madoc was nodding—had he been nodding very long? He made himself stop. “Yes. I’m honored to be here. To be picked for the war.” Had he already said honored? He sounded like a fool. “Thank you.”
He glanced up and saw that Geoxus had leaned forward in his seat. His face was timeless, jaw chiseled to perfection, cheekbones high and proud. Though he’d lived for thousands of years, only a few small wrinkles lined his eyes—from smiling so much, Ilena used to tell them. His black hair, crowned by the circlet of onyx and opals, hung in fine ringlets to his shoulders. It was no wonder that Seneca, the old bat upstairs, had always said he was prettiest of all the gods. Ilena used to say it was dishonorable to speak of him that way, but blushed every time.
“It’s not me you should thank.” Geoxus waved a hand, motioning for someone to join them. “Petros spoke very highly of you. There are few mortals whose opinions I value more.”
The weight of Madoc’s armor nearly dragged him to the stones below his feet.
His father was here. Of course he was. He was a member of the senate, Crixion’s tax collector. The box was filled with people just like him. Any thought of asking Geoxus to free Cassia, or of voicing Petros’s corruption, dried on Madoc’s tongue. How could he explain whathad happened with Petros here to refute him? His father had Geoxus’s trust. All Madoc had was one nearly failed match without geoeia—and once he was forced to use energeia, he’d lose that slim standing as well.
“Ah, Madoc. I’m glad you could join us.” Petros strode up in his fine white toga, cheeks already flushed with too much wine. He smiled at Madoc with yellowed teeth and a glare that said,Defy me in front of Geoxus, and see what I will do to you.
“Excellent work in that match,” Petros continued. “You drew it out nicely, let the crowd get into it before you won.”
