The Lost God, page 3
“But I’m not interested in any of the offers I’ve received—”
“You don’t have to be. Cece, I am asking you to trust me. Have I ever led you wrong before? Have I ever made decision for your future without consulting you?”
Cecilia crossed her arms. “Why should I have to consult you about my future?”
Leo sighed heavily. “I don’t make the rules. I’m just an old man trying to navigate them as well as I can for my beautiful, willful daughter. Please, my little storm.” The term of endearment hooked into her heart. “Just for tonight.”
She reluctantly nodded. “Fine. I’ll dance with anyone who asks. I’ll wear whatever dress Aunt Clara has made, and I’ll act like all the other empty-headed ladies at the dance.”
Leo chuckled. “Nothing would make me happier. Now run along and get washed up. Your Aunt Clara is very excited about your dress and mask, so don’t give her a hard time.”
Cecilia kissed him on the cheek and ducked into the manor to get ready.
Cecilia stared into the looking glass as her Aunt Clara fixed her mask in place, tying the golden ribbons into her elaborate coronet braid before weaving in some greens and white flowers.
“It’s perfect. You look so beautiful,” Clara said, stepping back to take in the full look. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears.
Leo’s sister, Clara had helped raise Cecilia, stepping in after Rosalee died. Now she seemed to think it was her personal responsibility to fuss enough to make up for Rosalee’s absence.
“Don’t start,” Cecilia said.
Cecilia frowned at her transformation from muddy huntress to proper lady in an itchy seafoam-green dress with organza flowers at the top of each shoulder. Perhaps it was a good thing she didn’t look like herself—the dress like armor for facing down the assault of courtly judgment.
She ran her fingers over her mask—the same shade of green with golden embroidery of a bow and arrows dotted around the edges to pay homage to Sayla, goddess of the hunt.
Each year, the Godsball masquerade kicked off the Olney summer solstice festival, and all who attended honored the gods by dressing in the likeness of their favorite. Sayla was an easy choice for Cecilia because of the goddess’s talent with a bow. The costume also allowed her to carry her dagger on her thigh and pretend it was part of her costume.
“I think you’ll break some hearts tonight,” Clara said, clapping her hands.
“Here’s hoping,” Cecilia said, morosely following her aunt down the hall to the front door.
“Run along. I’m sure Sylvie will delight that you’re fashionably late,” Clara said, shooing her out the door. “We’ll see you at the ball.”
Cecilia stepped outside and nearly ran into Rainer.
“Cece,” he said breathlessly. Though she’d seen him an hour before, the vision of him in a fine hunter-green tunic with golden embroidery and his hair neatly combed was devastating. “You look nice.”
Her cheeks heated as she took in the detail on his tunic and mask. Stacks of books and map markings dotted his clothing.
“You’re Devlin.” Cecilia laughed. “So bookish.”
Rainer’s outfit honored logical Devlin, god of wisdom and reason, who’d helped the kingdom chart their geography and record their history.
Rainer became obsessed with mythology around the time they started the Gauntlet, taking a particular interest in Devlin’s writings. He never explained his sudden fascination, but Cecilia found it adorable. Sometimes she asked him questions about the gods just to listen to him launch into complex stories about them.
He held out his arm to guide her down the walkway to the Brett family estate to pick up her other best friend, Sylvie.
While Rainer and Cecilia had the natural closeness of their bond, she and Sylvie connected over magic. Like Cecilia, Sylvie was a memory witch and understood the way that trying to complete the Gauntlet and fit in at court felt like switching between two oppositional identities, though Sylvie had always managed it with more ease.
“So, did you get in trouble for being late?” Rainer asked.
Cecilia shook her head. “Nope. Just Dad being Dad.”
Rainer looked at her expectantly, but she took the rest of the walk in silence. Sylvie was waiting in her garden with her younger sister, Vera.
“Gods, Cece, you look gorgeous,” Sylvie said.
“You say it like it’s a surprise.”
Sylvie grinned. “Are we going to act like you didn’t try to wear pants one year?”
“Pants?” Vera said, her eyes wide. “Why would you wear pants?”
“To be fair, it was pants with a sheer dress overlay. That dress was a masterpiece that looked like a swirling tempest. I still don’t see why I couldn’t go to the ball as the Storm Prince.”
Rainer sighed. “Not this again.”
Cecilia grinned at Vera. “I was your age, Vera. It was my first Godsball, and I loved the story of the Storm Prince, and while I know he’s not technically one of the gods, some of the stories claim he’s Endros’s son, so I thought I could get away with it. But Rainer, being the fun-sucker that he is, shared my plans with my father, and I was forced to go as Sayla instead.”
Sylvie pursed her lips. “Who you’ve gone as every year since.”
“You’re one to talk. You always go as Desiree,” Cecilia said.
“That’s because I enjoy reminding men that my beauty rivals the goddess of love. Plus, Vera was already going as Adira, and we couldn’t both go as the goddess of the sea. I wouldn’t want to outshine her in her first season,” Sylvie said, ignoring her sister’s eye roll.
While Cecilia thought of marriage as a cage, Sylvie saw it as a chess game. Memory magic was far from Sylvie’s only power. She moved the men of the court around her like pieces in an elaborate game to win her heart. She wasn’t cruel, she just knew how to use the considerable assets the gods had given her, and Cecilia didn’t blame her for using men’s weaknesses against them in a world that provided them such startling advantages.
Sylvie was the master of her own form of combat. It took place not in a training ring but at balls, teas, and other social gatherings. She was stunning—tall and curvy, with shiny blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and a natural elegance that made her very popular at court. Where Cecilia swung between extremes, Sylvie was temperate. Where Sylvie rarely left the dance floor, Cecilia clung to the edges of the ballroom. And while Cecilia couldn’t seem to shake her feelings for the one person she couldn’t have, Sylvie held command of her heart.
“Are we waiting for Cal?” Rainer asked.
“He said he’d meet me at the ball. He knows I prefer to make an entrance on my own,” Sylvie said.
The foursome followed the short trail to town and entered the large white tent in the Olney Castle courtyard. Humidity hung in the air, even as the sun sank low on the horizon. Olney summers were brutally hot and humid, and the evenings brought little relief.
The Godsball kicked off a weeklong festival honoring the gods and the history of Olney.
Inside the tent, Rainer tapped his fingers to his forehead, lips, and heart in respect as they passed shrines to the gods. Cecilia mimicked him, more out of habit than devotion. She had faith, but most of these events felt like a performance rather than true homage.
All of Olney’s living gods died centuries ago in the War of the Gods that divided Olney and Argaria, or shortly thereafter. Though many people claimed to feel their influence in the world, Cecilia had never looked at the raging sea and seen Adira’s anger, or felt Sayla’s steady hand on hers when she was practicing with her bow on the shooting range, and she’d certainly never witnessed Desiree’s inspiration coaxing Rainer to reciprocate her feelings. In Cecilia’s mind, the only true godly magic left in their world was woven through the Gauntlet caves, and the war that the last living gods, Endros and Cato, stirred up along Olney’s northern border with Argaria.
Walking into the tent was like walking into a whole new world: hundreds of colored lanterns scattered hung from the roof of the tent, and each table had large floral centerpieces sprinkled with candles. It was beautiful but over the top.
A servant guided them to three thrones where King Hector Teripin, Queen Elena, and their son, Prince Marcos, waited.
“Lady Cecilia Reznik and Guardian Rainer McKay,” the servant announced.
Cecilia dipped into a curtsey and Rainer bowed.
“Oh, darling, doesn’t Cecilia look so lovely,” Elena said, patting Hector’s arm. “Both of you do. I wish your mothers were here to see. They would be so proud of you two. All grown up and so accomplished.”
Cecilia smiled at the queen. Elena Teripin, Rosalee Reznik, and Rainer’s mother, Maura McKay, had been close friends growing up. Elena had been a fixture in Cecilia’s childhood, though less so since her mother had passed and then hardly at all once Rainer’s mother passed several years later. Still, the queen’s affection was always apparent when she saw them at court events.
“We hope you’ll save a dance for Marcos,” Hector said, pointedly giving the prince a side eye. Marcos shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hardly meeting Cecilia’s eye.
“I would be honored, Your Grace.”
The king waved a hand, dismissing them, and as they turned to enter the fray, her shoulders relaxed.
“I need a—” Before she could finish her sentence, Rainer placed an ice-cold glass in her hand. She sucked it down in a few desperate sips.
“Slow down, Cece. You’re going to be drunk before the dancing even starts.”
“Not drunk, but hopefully pleasantly buzzed,” Cecilia countered as Sylvie and Vera joined them.
“Are you really nervous about your dance?” Sylvie interrupted.
“What dance?” Vera asked.
“When the dancing starts, the king and queen have the first dance, then Marcos will dance with the Solstice Princess—the lady selected for her poise and grace,” Sylvie explained. “Then, because she’s the esteemed huntmaster’s daughter, Cecilia will dance with whichever hunter from her father’s army won the solstice hunt games.” She looked at Cecilia. “I don’t understand why you’re so nervous. It’s just a hunter.”
“It’s not that. It’s the weight of every eye in the room focused on me.”
“I’m still not seeing the problem.” Sylvie grinned, stepping up behind them.
“Maybe he’ll be handsome,” Vera said dreamily.
“Ugh, Vera. That’s not the point. It’s not as if Cecilia can marry a hunter. She can only marry guardians…or princes,” Sylvie said with a feral grin. “I heard the king.”
Cecilia blanched. “Oh gods, don’t start. Marcos is like a brother to me. I can’t think of him that way.”
“Is Rainer like that too?” Vera asked, looking from Cecilia to Rainer.
“No,” they said in unison.
Rainer looked across the room. “I think I see someone I need to talk to.” With that, he was off to hunt down whichever conquest was topping his list for the week.
As soon as Rainer was out of earshot, Sylvie gave Cecilia a delighted grin. “He’s so bent out of shape about talk of you marrying someone else, he ran away.”
Cecilia crossed her arms. “He is not.”
Sylvie’s grin grew wide and knowing, but the gods were smiling on Cecilia when Sylvie’s guardian, Cal Bennington, saved her with his abrupt entrance.
“Are we talking about McKay?” he asked.
Cecilia shook her head. “Gods, give it a rest, you two.”
Sylvie and Cal grinned at each other. The duo were bonded and had a great relationship. They’d secretly dated when they were teenagers, even though it was against the rules, getting the tension out of their systems. They’d lucked out and weren’t caught, though it seemed the king was selective in enforcing the rules. Now they were the best of friends, with no awkwardness at all. Cecilia marveled at them.
“I think everyone knows Rain is a stickler for the rules and that he spends a lot of time pretending he doesn’t want to break them.” Cal smirked.
Cecilia slapped his arm.
Cal shrugged. “I call it like I see it, Rez.”
“It’s not like that.”
Sylvie elbowed her. “Maybe when Rainer sees the competition tonight, he’ll finally come to his senses and stop sleeping his way through the court.”
Cecilia’s cheeks heated. “Sylvie, we can’t do that.”
“What? There’s not a person in the Olney court who doesn’t know that Cecilia Reznik loves Rainer McKay. And he sure spends a lot of time and energy trying to pretend he’s not in love with you,” Sylvie said.
It might have been true, but a crush didn’t break the rules. An actual relationship with Rainer would.
“He’s not in love with me.”
Playing dumb while making people uncomfortable was one of Sylvie’s most potent court skills. Cecilia loved watching her do it to other people, but she didn’t enjoy being on the receiving end.
A horn blast from the dance floor saved her from Sylvie’s taunting. The king and queen made their way to the center of the floor for their customary first dance, and Cecilia grabbed another glass of bubble wine from a passing servant.
King Hector stood in the center of the floor, looking regal in his Clastor regalia. “My loyal Olney family, Queen Elena and I are thrilled to hold this ball in honor of the gods. Although it’s been many years since our living gods walked among us, we honor them tonight for the blessings they’ve given. Though the threat from our northern neighbors is ongoing, we hope to have the power to end it soon with the completion of the Gauntlet.”
The crowd erupted into loud cheers, and the king preened in the attention as he signaled the band and he danced with the queen.
Cecilia glanced at the costumed crowd. The masquerade allowed everyone to blend, but they still congregated in classist groups. The masks gave a false illusion of anonymity, since it was easy to pick out status by the quality and extravagance of their dress.
While some dresses gave nods to Goddess Adira of the Sea, most marriageable ladies in the kingdom wore various shades of pink and violet—gowns wrapped in florals and ribbons meant to evoke the spirit of Desiree, goddess of love and beauty. And there was Cecilia dressed in green as the goddess always ready for a fight. She didn’t fault other women for being eager to marry and mother, but she resented the idea that there was only one way to be a lady.
To her right, against lush silk drapery and cushioned seating, sat the ladies of the court, the older nobility, and the guardians—most were sons of the wealthiest Olney families, who could afford swordsmanship tutors and hours of training, but some had earned their way in for their elite fighting skills.
Across the tent, in more modest surroundings, stood the elevated common folk: merchants who were in favor with the Teripins and officers Leo Reznik’s hunter army.
Though hunters were not marriage material for Cecilia, it didn’t keep them from trying to bed her. Her father forbade any of them from coming near her, which only made her more desirable. Hunters thrived on the challenge of conquest, and they knew her well since she trained among them. For the most part, she avoided them, not because she was a snob but because it was difficult to take their intentions seriously, and even socializing with them brought her virtue into question.
She scanned the room for Rainer, wishing he hadn’t left her alone so soon. He had a way of soothing her when she was nervous, and he had to feel her anxiety through their bond. She closed her eyes, trying to remember the movements of the dance she’d need to do in mere moments. While the royal duos would each do slower dances, Cecilia and whichever hunter had won her father’s contest would do a quick and complicated step dance that was a common choice for bars and folk festivals.
The crowd applauded as the king and queen finished, and Marcos and the Solstice Princess made their way to the center of the dance floor.
Cecilia’s heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the music. She frantically searched the crowd for Rainer and spotted him on the far side of the dance floor, next to a beautiful woman in a lilac dress. He bent low and whispered something into her ear, and she laughed daintily.
Cecilia silently begged Rainer to look at her, to close the space between them and comfort her. He knew how nervous this dance made her, and yet he seemed compelled to stay as far from her as possible.
She dried her clammy hands on her dress. She would have rather been in a fighting ring facing off against the biggest burliest hunter than about to step onto that floor.
Her father appeared on the opposite side of the dance floor, just a step away from Rainer, as the crowd applauded Prince Marcos and his partner. Then the huntmaster stepped onto the floor. He looked regal and strong in his blue mask and shirt, which paid tribute to Clastor.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great honor to call my daughter, Cecilia, to the dance floor for her traditional dance with our Solstice Hunter.”
Cecilia’s eyes flicked around the edges of the dance floor. She searched the crowd for a friendly face, but the smiles of the ladies on the edge of the dance floor turned to sneers as they took in her dress. Worse were the appraising glances from the guardians, eyeing her up as a marriage prospect.
What did they see when they looked at her? A hefty dowry? A spirited girl to be broken? She couldn’t imagine any of them would think of her as a partner, and the more they looked her over, the more angry she felt. She clung to her rage like a shield.
It was easier to focus on anger than the fact that some naïve part of her hoped for a love that would sweep her away and rid her of the ache she felt every time she looked at Rainer.
A hunter appeared beside her, dressed in a vibrant scarlet tunic woven through with golden thread. Her father looked momentarily furious as his eyes settled on the hunter, though she noticed nothing unusual about her partner but the fine quality of his clothing.
Leo left the floor, and the musicians lifted their instruments. Cecilia’s heart pounded as the hunter took her hand, and panic set in.
