Goddess Liv Savell (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

Her throat hurt, and she would not waste the breath. It was all very well and good to say that neither could let go their souls, but Alphonse should not have ever had to fight for hers to begin with.

She swallowed hard and clenched her teeth until she could speak without shedding tears. “Do you have any commands?”

❂

Enyo stiffened at the tone but let it go. After all, Delyth had played her part. She had distracted Mascen at the moment when he might have gotten the upper hand, kept him busy for long enough that Enyo might mark him. It was thanks, in part, to the winged warrior that her son was back upon his island where he could neither harm her home nor be harmed by others seeking to destroy him. Enyocould be merciful towards Delyth. This time.

She placed Calamity on the warrior’s empty bed with a pointed look. “Carry my blade and come when I summon. You’ll know when that is. The healers say you won’t be able to fly for some time, so I shall expect you back within range of Thlonandras by the birth of the new year. I have some temples to visit.” 

But first, she would run. She would climb to the highest peak in Rhosan, embrace the singing winds, sleep every night naked before the cosmos, and remember what it was to be free. To be whole.

Then she would return to the valleys and temples, reestablish her link to the mortals and the power their worship would offer. Tied by the oath she had made with the priestess, it would be a longer process to rebuild her power, but she would regain her status long lost. A slave no more.

“I doubt I’ll need you.”

The marks of battle Mascen left on the winged woman’s body reminded Enyo of her own trials. She felt the urge to continue explaining herself, to apologize. That weakling piece of Alphonse still wanted Delyth to be alright.

But Enyo suppressed it.

What did it matter? Delyth was a messenger, a warrior, and a servant. That was all.

Enyo turned. It was time to get out of Caerthleon and these blasted plains. The mountains were calling.

༄

Delyth took the sword and left the room without speaking again. She did not look for Etienne, nor did she stop to talk to any of the menders. She needed to get out of this place. It was heavy with pain and memory.

The house of menders did not face the courtyard, a fact that Delyth was grateful for as she stepped out onto busy streets. Smoke still tainted the air, but groups of carpenters and stonemasons labored industriously, singing rhythmic work songs to the swing of their hammers. Already, they had made progress. The streets again looked like thoroughfares rather than the maze of a dark mind.

Delyth did not make it down the steps of the mender’s ward before Etienne appeared beside her, breathing heavily and leaning on the stone of the doorway.

“I looked for you in your rooms,” he panted, “because the healers said you should not have left. I should not have either, I think. Where are you going, Delyth?”

Delyth swallowed hard, hoping that her voice would hold. “Out,” she said simply. “Away from here.”

Etienne just looked at her. “We did the impossible. Helped vanquish a God and saved Thloegr—possibly both countries. Alphonse would be proud of us.”

“Alphonse is dead.” Delyth’s voice did break then, but she did not pull away from Etienne’s hand on her shoulder.

“And maybe one day, you won’t hate me for keeping you from the same fate.”

It was a more astute comment than Delyth had expected, and she stiffened, feeling too-visible, vulnerable. She didn’t hate him, not really. And the realization stole all of the fire from her chest, leaving her cold and tired. It had been easier to be angry.

“Etienne…” She was not sure what to say, and her throat closed around the words even before she formed them.

“It's alright.” He pulled her into a hug, clumsy and weak but no less earnest. “I know it’ll be some time, but when you feel up to it, come and visit me at Moxous. I’m going to listen to these damned menders and hole up here for a while. I’m still a bit unsteady.”

Delyth stepped back and looked at him. He was certainly ill, deathly pallid but for the blue circles beneath his eyes and damp with sweat. Delyth swallowed again. “I will,” she promised. Even though, moments before, she had been bent on leaving him without a word. He was her last connection to Alphonse and Delyth’s friend as well, though they would never be as close.

It was not a bridge she ought to have wanted to burn.

The same dark-haired mender that had spoken to Delyth earlier rushed from the building, her hair unkempt in her distress. “You should not be up!” she scolded, her gentle voice gone high. “Neither of you!”

Etienne gave her a weak smile. “I think I’m going to need help back up the stairs.” When the mender turned to fuss, he gave Delyth a wink over the top of the girl’s head. A queue for her escape. The warrior didn’t quite smile, but she did soften before losing herself in the crowd.

Chapter XVII

Eleventh Moon, Full: Caerthleon

It was nearing dark before Delyth reached the outskirts of Caerthleon. The city was still smoking in some places here, fires having raged for days after the battle of the Gods. The rubble was yet untouched, and the streets near-deserted but for the gleam of dark eyes in gape-windowed facades.

Delyth moved warily, her ears open for any trouble despite the weakness of her body. She was not going to be caught unaware, but she could not keep herself from watching the city around her.

The closer she got to the wall, the more alive Caerthleon seemed. There were people in the streets, dogs and children playing in doorways. Where before the windows of these same buildings appeared as openings