Godkiller (Fallen Gods, #1)

by Hannah Kaner

Osidisen’s face rose from the waves, his eyes as dark as the depths. For a moment, Kissen hoped he would deny it, save her father instead. But gods love martyrs.

The proof was in the scent of rage that clung to Kissen like the static of a dying storm. No matter; small men liked to hold big things.

“Don’t you want to go back? To put the past to rest? Despite our differences, how it ended . . . we were there for each other. We achieved the impossible.”

“Keep your people’s faith in you, and . . . please . . . keep your faith in me. When I took this sword from you, I promised you my life, my blood, my heart. I meant it.”

Gods began as spirits, drawn to places where people travelled and might need them. One day, they might gather enough willpower to blow dust on the road in the right direction for home or cause a thief’s bow to misfire at the perfect moment. Then, someone might give thanks, give offerings, give them shape.

No, it’s too rough a road, said Telle quickly to Yatho. Let alone for a child who has lost everything. My love, signed Yatho, we know what it’s like to lose everything. Has that ever stopped us?

“What are you, pretty-boy?” she said. “Some sort of knight?” The man blinked, his colours rippling. “I am a baker,” he said coldly, finally turning to follow Jon. “Yeah,” said Kissen, “and I’m a grapefruit.”

“Did any of you go? Before the war?” “Never,” said Batseder. “My mother was frightened of it.” “Many small minds were,” said Jon. “I mean no offence, dear.” Batseder raised her eyebrows. “I hope you allow me to take it, all the same.”