Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
“You’re forgetting something. I’m cursed, Callistina.”
“So? Your curse doesn’t look like too bad of a deal from this vantage point. No wings, but so what? People think you’re a godling. They will respect you no matter where you go.”
“It’s a nice thought, I guess. But I heard that song in the square when I went to get food.”
Callistina’s face falls. “Oh.”
“Yeah. I don’t know what this is, but it’s not real. It’s a trick. It’s Pressia.”
“Why does that little girl hate you so much?”
“Why does everyone think of her as a little girl? Wasn’t everyone a child at one time? Didn’t we all grow up?” I’m sneering these words out. My anger is unexpected and disproportionate. So much so that Callistina’s upper body juts backwards in surprise. “She’s not a little girl, Callistina. She’s a fucking woman. She’s been a woman for thousands of years. Stop calling her a little girl. It implies innocence and she’s not innocent. She’s the one who set me up. She’s the one who is ultimately responsible for taking my power and status as a god. She is a bitch. And given the chance, I will end her.”
I get up, turn my back on Callistina, and go back inside the room. There is nowhere to retreat to except the bedroom. But that feels like a trap. If I go in there and shut myself up it will be difficult to calm down.
I don’t like being angry. I hate it. But just thinking about Pressia brings out the worst in me. Talking about her magnifies this evil. Because I am nothing but anger when her name is flashing through my mind.
I pace the main room, then turn and pace back. Callistina is watching me from the terrace. Backlit by the faded blue glow of the Sphere of Science and Glory buildings off in the distance. Her body a perfectly outlined shadow of curves. Her face hidden in that same shadow, unreadable.
“You don’t understand,” I tell her.
“OK.” Her voice is quiet and gentle. “Well, if you want to tell me about it, you can. I’m listening.”
“I’m not capable of love. All right? That’s all you need to know.”
“All right.” She presses her lips together and nods.
“And it’s not about her. Or her curse. Or the curse of the gods who hated me. It’s just… the way it is with gods. You cannot be all-powerful. You have to have a weakness.”
“And yours is… attachment? Or lack thereof?” She pauses here. “Because love is just… I don’t know. A feeling, I guess. Of joy, or satisfaction, or something like that. But attachment is… loyalty. Attachment is the idea that you will sacrifice for someone. It’s a surrendering. So which is it, Eros? You are incapable of joy with a partner? Or you are incapable of surrendering to them?”
I just stare at her, rolling her words over and over in my head. Making sense of them. Or trying to, at least.
After a moment, Callistina says, “It’s not a test, you know. Take as long as you need. I don’t require an answer. It’s for your benefit only.” Then she crosses the room, stops a pace away, and turns her back to me. “I’m ready to take the chains off now. I would like a bath.” She lifts up her long, golden hair with both hands to give me access to the lock that sits in the middle of her spine, and waits.
I pull myself together, letting the anger simmer down inside me. Then let out a breath and pick up the lock. “It has a keyhole.”
“Do you have the key?”
It makes sense that I would, but I’ve checked the pockets of these pants thoroughly and it’s not there. “Let me check the bags.”
I walk over to where the dog-man set down our saddlebags, pick them up, and set them all on a long counter that separates the main living area of the room from the small cooking space. I already know there are clothes in here. I did a cursory check back on the road. But the interesting thing is that it’s not one set for me, but two for both of us.
I pull out a set of folded clothes that are much too feminine to be mine and set them on the counter. “Look.” I glance over my shoulder to Callistina. “You have garments.”
She shrugs one shoulder, uninterested. Doesn’t even care that I’m carrying clothes for her. Clothes that would get her killed.
Whatever. I find a thick envelope filled with more folding money, then another, thinner and smaller, envelope that looks promising. When I open the flap and dump out the contents, I find the key and ownership cards for my beasts. Plural. One for Ire and one for Callistina.
They are small cards, smaller than my palm. I look at Callistina’s first because there’s a photograph of her face on it. Three shots, actually. Straight on and in profile for both sides. A mug shot, in modern days. But the photo is not modern. It’s an aged sepia color and the thick, paper card is tattered on all the corners. Something familiar from times gone by. Which, of course, we are living in now.