Vassal Sterling D'Este (top 10 books of all time .TXT) 📖

she explained what had happened, how it happened, why it had happened. She tried her best to describe what it was to share a body with Enyo, what it was like to wake up somewhere new, with no idea how she had gotten there. How it felt to know you were harming your friends and strangers alike without any say on if or why it happened.

Alphonse had filled page after page with the details before she felt some modicum of peace.

It had been cathartic to get it out. To get her story onto paper, even if her lettering was a mess from trying to walk and write simultaneously.

Sighing in relief, she handed the journal over to Etienne, with a briefly explaining what it was. She didn’t trust Enyo not to destroy it whenever she came back, and so thought to have Etienne hide it with his own journal.

When he got back to Moxous, whether she made it or not, Etienne could store the proof of this journey alongside all the other student journals in the School of Magics’ massive library.

Perhaps to never be touched again.

But perhaps, to save someone from making the same mistakes they had made.

⥣          ⥣           ⥣

The next evening, Etienne sat next to the fire, picking thorns out of his clothing. Alphonse had healed the cuts and scratches left behind by Enyo’s pranks but had done little to repair his attitude.

Lately, it seemed as though every time Enyo appeared, he was sent flying or thrown into angry shrubs. The Goddess derived a particular sort of pleasure from harming him that even Delyth, who had stood and told Enyo no to her face, did not warrant.

He suspected this treatment was due to his trapping spell days before. He had proven himself an adversary—a true threat to her power.

But it didn’t make it any easier to bear.

She had just flung him off the path, headfirst into brambles,  laughing as the plants wound around his limbs, digging long thorns into sensitive skin. As though his pain was her favorite sort of entertainment.

Etienne was so angry that when Enyo demanded they watch the moonrise with her, he stayed firmly seated. It didn’t seem to matter. She didn’t protest. In fact, when he looked up at them again, it was just Alphonse standing there, her shoulders held in the small, timid way he was more familiar with. Delyth stood beside her, and while he watched, his long-time friend placed her hand in the warrior’s.

Delyth missed the moonrise over the mountains, but her face was illuminated by it; half surprise, half tenderness.

Etienne’s stomach clenched.

He had noticed the two women getting closer over the weeks since Delyth had joined them, but he didn’t understand it. Couldn’t Alphonse see that she was just making things harder for herself? They would have to betray Delyth and her cause in the end.

He turned away angrily only to find Tristan still seated on the other side of the fire. The man didn’t bother pretending that he had not been watching Etienne. Instead, he smiled slowly, the curve never reaching his eyes.

Chapter XIII

Spring, 100 years after Va'al’s arrival: Rhosan

The roof of Enyo’s temple was finally complete. It had taken her followers three generations to bring the massive slabs of stone up the treacherous trails and then cut away smaller slices to become the roof’s pitch. But it was done now, and her temple was complete. Even the roughly hewn altar was in place. The space was perfect. Open, simple, the crisp air of the highest mountain top making her breath billow out in whisps. Even she felt the need for a shawl about her shoulders, and her priests and priestesses wore heavy woolen cloaks despite it being spring.

Just as it was meant to be.

The isolation and solitude was like no other place in all of Rhosan. A space where she could truly be. A space where her people could understand what it meant to be one with nature. To respect the lands that nourished and housed them.  A space to forget.

“Goddess.” Though he whispered in deference, the older priest's voice echoed, and Enyo turned to cast an ember eye over him. He stooped with a bow, but his body was lean and fit, unlike Esha’s soft handed priests or Tha’et’s fat sky worshipers. She approved.

“Yes?”

“Va'al has come to see you. He wishes us to grant him entrance.” The question was unspoken, but she understood it. Should Va'al be allowed in? Of course, Va'al could appear within the shadows if he pleased, that particular gift all his own. By coming to her door and asking permission, he was being respectful.

He had been after her for many seasons now. Irksome and tireless. He had traveled about Rhosan and Illygad far longer than the others had when they first arrived, and Enyo hadn’t thought much of it. Who wouldn’t adore freedom after a lifetime of servitude and broken backs? She had spent her first seventy-five years merely bathing in every stream, river, and brook she had found and refusing to speak to a single person.

But then he had started sniffing around her and her people. At first, she had thought him merely curious, and then perhaps even stealing a few tactics on how she had gained her loyal worshipers, but week after week, he would reappear. Never content to go off and start his own following, though he had attempted it. A small, dismal thing. Never interested in rituals or festivals. Only her.

It had annoyed Enyo.

As a slave, she hadn’t been granted free choice in a single aspect of her life in the Cursed Realms. When she slept, when she fought, when she fucked. And so she had no interest whatsoever in such things. Not for many many years. Va'al was only a century free.How could he choose to pursue her?

It was some trick. He was prone to them.

Trick or not, it was nothing Enyo was interested