The Rise of the Goddess

57 | DO NOT SEEK TO DEFINE ME

Sethi brought the ship down onto the terrace in Perev. In the seat beside him, Aiya watched him work, quiet, subdued. He rose, took her hand, and led her from the ship. Though he hated to do it, he left the jihn behind, locked in the rear of the ship in the bay with the regeneration devices. Her reaction to it had disturbed him. She had paled, horror clawing into her beauty, stealing her from him. He had gone after her, but she had fled, weeping, distraught, her anguish tangible, and would not come near him.

Once he had secreted the weapon and returned to her, it had taken her a long time to recover. When they landed in Itin, he had expected her to make her farewells to the women, but she had remained in the flight deck, silent, broken, as though her very soul had been savaged.

"Ninsunu is Marduk's consort," Sethi said as they walked past the lit braziers, their fuel burning bright, ignited against the rampage of the oncoming night. "I will take you to her first. I am certain she will be pleased to have your companionship."

Aiya nodded, dull. Sethi stopped. He took hold of her shoulders, turned her toward him. "I will not leave you like this. Speak, tell me how to ease your suffering."

She looked up at him, bleak. Shadows touched her eyes. "That weapon you possess, it is saturated with evil. I beg you, relinquish it."

Sethi blinked, taken aback by her soft words. "Relinquish it? Never. It called to me. After a near eternity of silence, it chose me."

Aiya shuddered; tears blotted her lashes. "No. It cannot be. The god of war would never possess such a thing." She pulled herself from his grip, and backed away from him. Dread touched her look. "Tell me, who are you, truly?"

Her question gnawed, caught at something deep within. A whisper, then it was gone. "I am the god of war. The weapon is necessary to defeat those who threaten Elati's future." She retreated deeper into the shadows, eased herself between two pillars. He captured her. She looked down at his fingers encircling her wrist, bleak, resigned. "You must trust me," he continued. "With food, wine, and the pleasant company of a companion, this will pass." He tugged her toward him, and gentled his tone. "Never again will the jihn to be near you, you have my oath."

"It is the jihn," she whispered, her words loaded with realization. She looked up at him, the green of her eyes brilliant in the heat of the firelight. "It has made you into someone you are not. It has blinded you to its darkness, its corruption. It is everything life is not."

Sethi narrowed his eyes. Her words disturbed him. He tightened his hold on her wrist. "I was thus before I found the jihn. I am who I am. Do not seek to define me."

Aiya held his gaze. "It is too late. And yet—" she bit her lower lip and looked down the length of the gilded corridor, unseeing. She cut a look back at him, tears once more blooming in her eyes. "I cannot help but hope you will overcome what is in you so you might return to the god who asked about his son, and whose markings moved over his chest, unencumbered, as they were meant to."

Sethi let go of her. He backed away. Unable to stop himself, he followed her damning gaze to his markings. They stuttered, ragged, broken, ugly. Dissonance slammed into him, visceral, hot. He turned on her, tasting fury, dining on rage. "Lest your deepest desire is to know the fate of your fallen sisters," he said, harsh, uncaring of her startled cry as he caught her arm, rough, and pulled her back to him. "You dare not speak thus to me again."

She nodded, though sorrow tainted the curve of her lips. Provoked, he hauled her the rest of the way to Ninsunu's suite, troubled by her words as they burrowed deep, gnawed at the foundation of his existence. He clenched his jaw. He never had a son. His markings had fallen into their shattered movements when Istara betrayed him, born from the unbearable breach she had carved into his heart when he had learned she loved another. He had nothing to overcome. Nothing.

He reached Ninsunu's suite. It lay cloaked in thick gloom, the braziers cold and devoid of fuel. A faint flicker of lamplight shed a thin path of illumination into Ninsunu's sleeping room. He let go of Aiya, and pulled one of his weapons free, priming it to fire. He eased across her suite and crossed the threshold. Within, the damp, alkaline chill of the sea crept over his flesh, touched his tongue. He cut a look toward the terrace. The doors stood closed and bolted. From further in the room, a single lamp burned on a side table. Close by, a pair of Marduk's guards stood on either side of a full-length, gold-gilt mirror. As he approached, the guards bowed their heads. Of Marduk's consort, there was nothing. Her suite lay shelled of life, rank with desertion.

"Where is Ninsunu?" he asked as Aiya followed after him, her gaze sweeping over the splendor of Ninsunu's shadowed suite, awed.

"Lord Sethi," one of the guards answered, "our lady has been moved to the residence of The Giver of Life, who awaits your return."

"And why are you here?"

"None are to pass either within or without."

Puzzled, Sethi looked around the silenced suite, eyed the barricaded doors to the terrace. "From?"

"The mirror, my lord."

He hadn't expected that. He stepped closer to the mirror, intrigued. His reflection gazed back at him, the cut of his features severe in the faint light of the lamp. So, Perev contained a portal. Anticipation tingled. It appeared much had transpired since he had left the morning before. He turned back to Aiya, and held out his hand. She took it, quiet.

He led her from the darkened suite, his thoughts racing ahead. Perev was full of mirrors, perhaps the entire citadel was nothing more than a hub leading to locations all over Elati. The possibility pleased him.

As he progressed along the corridor, he paused to tilt Aiya's arm toward the heated light of a nearby brazier. Dark purple blotches marked her skin—the ugly silhouette of his fingers, the residue of his anger a stain upon her. Regret slammed into him. This was not who he was. He took hold of her face and cupped it in his hands. "Forgive me, if you can."

She didn't answer. Her bleakness tore through him, shaming him. There was nothing more he could say. He let her be, sensed she needed time. Her hand in his, he led her deeper into the citadel, thinking of the mirror, and of the one who eluded him, of her shrinking world, and he, her conqueror.