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

Tristan turned towards the fire and seated himself across from Enyo. “I think I’m done dancing for the morning.”

Golden eyes widened and then narrowed before she nodded slowly in some form of understanding and released Etienne.

At least she wasn’t in a roaring temper anymore. Nor wallowing.

No. Now, she seemed thoughtful. “Humans are baffling creatures, even to one as old as I. How they can love and cherish one another and yet hurt each other so very badly.” She tapped Alphonse’s heart in explanation. “I never thought I had the same propensity for cruelty.”

Tristan thought that was probably true. She was impulsive and vengeful but not mean for the sake of meanness, unless, of course, she was targeting Etienne. And who could blame her? The mage made an excellent target.

How could an avalanche set out to kill the humans in its path? It was unstoppable, and they were mere dots on the landscape forever to be changed by nature. And yet, how much more powerful might she be if only she took the time to direct that fury?

“You, mage, do you enjoy harming others? What satisfaction do you derive from it?” Enyo asked.

He gritted his teeth. “I do not enjoy hurting others.”

Enyo smiled slowly. “Just those you hold dear then? I suppose there is something satisfying in knowing you can tear one another asunder.” Her gaze flickered to Tristan in silent command.

Tristan grinned up at Delyth as she joined them, seating herself equally distant from himself and Enyo. A few strands of hair had come loose from the new braids and hung limply around her face. She looked ready to slit his throat.

His grin widened.

“I’m not too stuck up to admit that there’s some pleasure in the trick. In fooling someone less clever than you are.”

Enyo’s gaze lingered on his face for far too long. Even he was uncomfortable by the time she blinked and turned to look at Delyth.

“I know you enjoy hurting others, Ba’oto. I think perhaps you are the most vicious of us all, Tristan included. Trickster that he is, he’s not a cunning, cruel creature such as you.” Her smile widened. She looked like a snake.

༄

Delyth’s face paled, and she shook her head. “No—no, I don’t. I fight to protect others from those who’d harm them.”

It was true.

But not entirely.

In her mind, she again stood on the road before Glynfford’s gates, blood-drenched and shaking. Empty eyes stared up at her from corpses shorn of their limbs, painted with open wounds. There were so many of them. And beyond, Tanwen stared in horror. Not at the enemy.

At her.

Some part of her loved the fight itself. Loved to lose herself in the test of her will against another—her power against her opponent’s. Sometimes against the combined might of many.

She was a tool and a dangerous one. Something made for bloodshed.

But if that was true, then she meant only to protect those she cared for.

❀

The wind outside the cave shuddered and then slowed. The snow whipping by seemed to simply stop in midair and then drift to the ground. Enyo shrugged, no longer interested in their company.

She looked at Tristan one more time, smiling, and then closed her eyes.

Alphonse inhaled sharply and opened her eyes. Everywhere she looked, her heart stumbled. Etienne, who had been right about her. Tristan, who had danced so provocatively and somehow, had felt as if he were her only ally.

And Delyth.

Alphonse’s cheeks were painful as they flushed, and she looked away, not wanting to speak to any of them.

Tristan sighed and leaned back, rolling his eyes. “Lucky us. The mouse is back. Did you like our dance?” he teased. “You were most… stimulating.”

Alphonse blushed, as she was certain everyone would have expected. She remembered the dance. But she also remembered how elated Enyo had been, how comfortable she felt in Tristan’s arms.

The way Alphonse felt with Delyth. Most of the time.

She glanced up through thick lashes at Tristan, trying to figure out what it was the rogue had that the Goddess felt so at home with. He was strong, and she could tell he was handsome, even if not to her taste, but he was arrogant and…

Well.

He wasn’t truly afraid of Enyo. And that was something neither Delyth nor Etienne could claim.

“I would say the same of you, but I think Enyo did most of the work,” Alphonse murmured.  The insult came out softly, nearly sounding like a compliment.

Alphonse heard Etienne snort and watched as Tristan let a slow smile spread across his face. “So long as you enjoyed it— So do any of you have any other ideas for entertainment in mind? I’m certainly not going to fight through this snow today.”

Alphonse glanced towards the cave mouth, and the precious shield Enyo had been thinking about destroying. Indeed, the storm seemed to have died down, but now, snow was piled up at the entrance, across the road, weighing down trees…

It would be desperately difficult to get through.

But it was summer, despite Enyo’s tantrum. The sun would come back out, and without further clouds and snow, the ice would melt, and travel would be smoother. Perhaps in a day or two.

She felt her stomach grumble and settled her hand over it, silently commanding it to shush. “I suppose we could continue the storytelling contest.”

Delyth tucked her wings in close and repositioned herself by the fire. Beside her, Tristan nodded. “Of course, we already know who’s won the contest, but I suppose we’ll have to hear from others before it can be made official.”

Etienne rolled his eyes. “Do you ever listen to yourself? It's obnoxious.”

They were going to get into it again if someone didn’t stop them. “Are you ready to tell your story, Alphonse?” Delyth asked.

“I— well. Alright. I know a story.” Her own story. She resettled her skirts and folded her hands in her lap, waiting for the boys to quiet down.

She had thought quite some time about what story to tell when her turn came, and so Alphonse had decided on the story