"Great High Warlord Vardor," he said between clenched teeth.
Vaelora turned to King Maldrin, "Is a mortal king more than a High Priest?" she demanded.
Maldrin's eyes promised death as he, too, bent his knee in front of Vaelora first, then me. I read the threat in his eyes, but even if an assassin were to kill me tonight, this moment was worth it.
"How dare you kneel before other gods and a mortal," a thunderous voice rang out, and three large men stepped out of the shadows. A quiver moved through me at the sight of The Divine Triumvirate. They were everything their statues proclaimed and more in their flesh and blood.
"Brothers," Vaelora acknowledged the three gods.
"What is your business in my city, sister?" Xyphor demanded, glaring at Vaelora with dark, red eyes.
"Your city?" Vaelora mocked. "Funny, I thought it belonged to all of us."
"We've divided Orasis between the three of us. Nemet-Xy is Xyphor's," Draeven explained.
"Hmm," Vaelora crossed her arms over her chest, "am I not a goddess, too? Am I not your sister? Why wasn't I informed, and which part of Orasis is mine?"
"A goddess without following," Maezharr laughed, raising my ire.
"Without following?" Vaelora's voice was deceptively sweet. She turned toward the stairs, indicating the masses below. "A goddess without following, he says," she cried down. "Is it true? Have you forgotten and forsaken me?"
"Vaelora! Goddess Vaelora," the people took up a chant so loud, the earth underneath the temple seemed to vibrate. The golden shimmer around Vaelora grew, while the shimmer of the three gods ebbed down.
"What are you doing?" Xyphor yelled, stepping threateningly toward his sister. With one large stride, I placed myself in between them.
Xyphor laughed, "Step aside, mortal."
My sword was still in my hand, and I raised it.
"Call your lapdog off, Vaelora, before I kill him," Xyphor warned.
I was under no delusion that I stood a chance fighting a god, but if Vaelora wanted me to die for her here and now, I would.
"Fine, mortal, let's play," Xyphor drew his sword and brought it forward without warning, straight for my head. My reflexes had been honed over many battles, and I met his blade with mine, fully prepared for the impact to force me to my knees. The triumphant expression on Xyphor's face said the same, but it didn't happen. His surprise was enough for me to take advantage of. I detangled our swords, pivoted, and using the momentum of turning back around, brought my sword straight across Xyphor's throat before he had a chance to retaliate or deflect my blow.
Incredulously, I stared at the blood spewing from his wound, spilling down onto the white marble floor, desecrating the temple. As much as I was in disbelief, Xyphor's astonished expression was even more in denial.
"What have you done?" Draeven cried, pointing his finger at Vaelora.
"Oh, didn't I mention I made him a god?" Vaelora feigned demureness. "My mistake then." The smile curving her lips called out her lie. She was enjoying this too much.
"So I suppose Xyphor's part of Orasis is now mine?"
God? Did she say I was a god?
My head swam. I stared at the still-flowing blood, at Raahet's golden shoes as he stepped out of the way, and at my sword, dripping with the blood of a god who I should not have been able to slay.
"Who is next in challenging me?" Vaelora asked. "Is it you, Maezharr? You are looking more silver than gold right now. Or you, Draeven?"
I stiffened and locked myself back into battle position. As much as my head swam with Vaelora's declaration, this was far from over. Two gods still stood, looking thunderously at their sister.
"You killed one of us," Draeven shouted in disgust.
"Not me," Vaelora smiled innocently, sending shivers down my spine. She used me, was still using me—as her pawn. I didn't like it. Not one bit. But that didn't matter right then. No matter if I liked it or not, no matter that she hadn't confided her plans to me, I was in them now. Her enemies were mine; she had made sure of it. Rage boiled inside me, but I couldn't deny my admiration for her. This woman. This goddess. She didn't apologize, not like any god ever should, but she didn't even look apologetic or remorseful.
"He is nothing but your pawn," Draeven shook with abhorrence. "Our father will?—"
"What?" Vaelora challenged. "What will our father do? He hasn't done anything in centuries. We don't even remember his name or know if he is alive. So spare me your idle threats. I claim Orasis as mine, and if you have a problem with that, you can take it on with Vardor, the Arbiter of Battle, the god of War."
