A Priestess for the Blind God (Legends of Rahasia Book 1)

Chapter Thirty-Five

            The gods are there only in spirit, three tall statues that tower over the encampment, present only in art since they so detest each other's presence. The statue of Elio the Elder has him standing on the severed head of a demon, Kane's eyes as two spheres on his belt. He has tattoos like Elio's all over his body and face, not an inch of skin remaining. His eyes are blazing, a flaming scimitar in his grip.

Aziz the Beloved's statue clutches a gold-gilded santur. They sit on a precious bounty of dates, figs, and honey. Their eyes are soft, lined with kohl. Their lips are set in a prim smile, almost shy as their long hair falls in waves over their back and shoulders. They look both man and woman, poet and lover, yet still unmistakably of the divine.

And finally, there's Kane the Blind's statue, a gruesome sight. His eyes are empty sockets, scars running down his face like permanent tears. His statue is fashioned entirely from obsidian, difficult to make out any specific features. His robes are torn as his hands claw at them in rage, or maybe just an outpouring of grief. He's the most flawed out of all of them, dare I say it, almost mortal in his weakness.

First, Elio exits the Champions' tent to raucous applause. His muscles bulge beneath the enchanted armor, his tattoos all aglow, a falling star. Next, Ryu dances out, his toes falling in perfect dancing step in Elio's booted footprints. He falls in a dramatic flourish at Elio's feet, draped in beauty like a second skin. Elio draws him into an embrace, his breath stolen by the performance. Entwined, it's hard to tell them apart. Loveliness embodied and the sun merge as one.

"An alliance," the voices whisper, "between Aziz and Elio."

"Two versus Kane's one. They will crush the witch for sure."

"Brilliant strategy."

Strategy? I would laugh if I was crueler. Strategy has nothing to do with that embrace.

Finally, I leave the tent to silence, broken only by the occasional surprised laugh or angry whisper. Nobody comes to greet me. Elio and Ryu stay locked in each other's arms. I glare at them all, my face flushing. Suddenly, an arm colored like clay wraps around my elbow, covered in multiple bandages. I consider a face that's half-golem and half-human. His shield has shrunk to bracers on his arms, his shorn head gleaming in the firelight, and his eyes warm towards me.

"Sokut, silence." Arno glares at the crowd. "Do you not clap for the lady champion?"

Elio purses his lips, exhales, and makes his face impassive again. He nods, unable to refuse the son of his father's favorite general. The camp erupts into the semblance of applause. Satisfied, Arno smiles crookedly at me. He's not extraordinarily handsome, but his features are strong. I respect strength, though I wonder what sparring against him would be like. I wonder if he'd beat me. Last I checked, my father would always beat General Ibrahim when they sparred, probably from the sheer anger of Ibrahim tearing my father away from his parents at a young age to turn him into a weapon. But, eventually, hatred turned into mutual respect between the two men.

War can make brothers out of enemies when you fight together for so long.

Elio sits amongst his courtiers while Ryu dances, his limbs like water, and his pretty face focused solely on the performance. His feet hardly touch the ground. They breathe in tandem. A bit of cloth slips, revealing the rose-petal brands, but that doesn't deter Elio. He smiles, so happy.

My heart is glad for them, enemy or no. I pray they don't have to hide their true nature. I pray that Cato and Aziz accept this alliance and allow them this, this moment. Aziz, as the agender god though the stubborn priests continue to call Aziz the third "brother", would probably be more accepting of the prince's relationship than Cato. They can hate me as a witch all they want, for choosing the supposedly wrong god.

But I will fight for their future, all the same.

"Ziba..." Arno breathes as the camp turns to dancing. He twirls me, and guides me enough that I don't trip over my own two feet. "You're beautiful, lady champion."

"You look better without blood on your face."

He tugs at my ear teasingly, and it stings. But it also feels strangely good. "You look better with the blood on it." He grins, dipping his head low to my other ear, "like a warrior."

It is then that, when I stop looking for ways to cripple him in battle, I notice that Arno has a very nice build. I can still find ways to incapacitate him, of course, but that's not what I'm looking for. Something shifts.

Curiosity.

When he twirls me again, I splay my palms against his chest. Curiosity heaves inside of me, wondering about other things. Wondering about my mother claiming I'd never have a legacy. Wondering about what it's like.

Having a lover.

I press my palms closer, feeling his heart, the blood coursing through it. I flip my mirror over so the ghouls don't interrupt.

Arno's eyes widen in understanding.

"Beautiful and bold." He beams. "A warrior through and through."

"Silence," I whisper, my voice rough, "that's an order, general's son."

***

Welcome to the party, Champions!

It seems Ode's curiosity won when it came to Arno.

Now what do you think of Arno's character? How does Ode's relationship with Arno differ than that of the Blind God, is there a power dynamic shift?

***Also, darlings, thank you so much for reaching 3k reads and nearly 500 likes! You're all victors in this battlefield.***

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Sophia Whittemore