Goddess Rising

Aria found a pen and a sheet of paper in the library. The end table was awkward to write on, but the only writing desk was in the prince’s bedroom. She split the paper into two columns and labeled the first, “Things I know” and the second, “Questions.”

It was a trick from her first year as an acolyte. Putting questions and facts in writing made them visible and uncluttered her brain.

The first fact she wrote was a pillar.

I did not poison Achi.

It was important to keep that before her. His continued insistence and his father’s viciousness were wearing on her. She knew she did not kill him because she was not nearly stupid enough, brave enough, or cunning enough to do so. The only possibility was that she had accidentally poisoned him, but Tivelo did not believe that.

She put down the second fact. Tivelo believes that I did.

He had not struck her as the unintelligent sort. Garo and Evera, gods whose powers were legendary, treated him with caution and respect. He had not won their subservience by being weak or stupid. He had reason to believe in her guilt. That meant that proving her innocence would not be easy. And, given how he had treated Garo for merely being connected to the crime, proving her innocence could be insufficient.

Whoever poisoned Achi wanted to harm Tivelo

She was not entirely certain of that fact, but it was the best motive. Achi was powerless and kind. He was a threat to no one. But Tivelo probably had as many enemies as there were gods. That meant that the real culprit was someone who knew his weakness.

Achi is too kind to me.

That inserted itself before she could stop it. And it was true. He believed that she had poisoned him. He was dying. His father would be made weak and powerless. Yet, he had defied his father to protect her. Kindness had its limits. If he truly felt sympathy for her, he should have executed her, instead of giving her another eighty years of life in a body he had personally made. He was hiding something.

I will not escape Tivelo

She wrote that one with conviction. Achi’s plan was cute. And perhaps it would work. But she could feel the Black God’s eyes on her, remember the blinding terror of being trapped in a returning fire. And she knew that was not safe from him; not in any of the realms, not now, and not in the future. Believing that lie would only see her imprisoned again.

She would only be safe in death. Not normal death, with its new life, but true, final death. Achi had given her a path to it. She could dissipate all the energy he had given her and sleep one final sleep free of the monster coming for her.

Achi had fallen asleep. She could see him through the walls, even feel the heat on his skin. His fever had grown. In his trunk, she found the empty bottles he had drunk from, one labeled ‘fever reducer’ and the other labeled ‘sleep aid’. The remaining, filled, bottles held the same names. Nothing in the box was a cure.

She hurried up the stairs, forgetting to use her new powers, and shook him awake. He moaned, blinked, rubbed his forehead and stared at her in confusion.

“What - what are you doing? Who are you?”

His eyes cleared before Aria’s alarm could grow.

“Aria,” he blinked. “What’s the problem?”

“Your fever is growing. You should take some more medication.”

He felt his forehead, but no look of urgency followed. “Nothing has changed.”

“Yes, it has.” She went over to the shelf and opened the trunk.

“Aria, I take that once a day. Any more right now will be pointless.” He sat up.

“You’ll have to try it, anyway. Your father will come here.”

“Aria, breathe.” The drowsiness was leaving his voice, but he still sounded tired. “I will not be taking any medication. It would only harm me. And my father is still in the upper realm. I can sense him.”

The revelation gave her pause, but she still picked up two bottles and pressed them into his hand. He put them aside and grabbed her hands. Almost immediately, calm filled her.

“You’re panicking,” he said. “I’m fine. My father is far away reading petitions.”

“He can be here quickly.”

“Hush.”

He was stroking the backs of her palms with his thumb. With each stroke her breathing eased and her mind calmed until her previous actions began to look silly.

That lasted several seconds before she snatched her hands back. “I’m not stupid,” she said, feeling stupid but knowing that he was right. “I know he’s not here. But your fever is worse. If it continues, he’ll come here.”

Her panic was rising again. She saw it this time, but felt no need to stop it. She was correct. Achi tried to touch her again, but she danced out of his reach. His power reached her through the air anyway. She fought it back.

This is pointless.

Whether he listened to her or not, she was not safe.

“Achi,” He paused. It was the first time she had spoken his name. “I can’t fight your father. You have a lot of confidence in your plans, but I won’t bet my life. For three years, I fought with every weapon they could put in my hands, against friends and enemies, humans, and monsters. I’ve faced death. I don’t fear it.”

Having walked right into its arms time after time, she could not fear it.

“So, I have a deal for you,” she said. “You want to save my life. So, give me back my memories. If you won’t, I’ll die.”

In Garo’s service, there was no retreat. You fought your enemies until they killed you. You moved forward, never backward. You were permitted to kill yourself to keep secrets from the enemy, but suicide to avoid torture - that was weakness. It was a good thing, then, that she had never been particularly devoted. She held Achi’s eyes, willing him to see all her sincerity. Something told her that he could stop her, but he would have to stop her forever.

Achi sighed and threw off his bedcovers. “Oh, Aria.” He paused to make the bed, fluffing the pillows and smoothing every crease.

When he was done, he held her gaze and spoke slowly and deliberately. “Be certain of this. You can still fight. There’s more fire in you than this.”

She almost spat at him. She knew how much she could take. With her back against the wall, she could fight longer and harder. She simply knew that she did not need to. She was fighting for survival. And sometimes, little victories easily won were better than hard victories after centuries of pain. She was making a deliberate choice for the outcome she wanted. It was not weakness; it was resolve.

“Do you accept?”

He waited a few, heartstopping moments, and then nodded. “Follow me.”

“Where?” She followed, despite his silence.

They went down the stairs again and out through the forest-side door. They went up the hill, past the carriage still sitting in its place, and into the forest’s inadequate canopy.