Wild ​Reverence

by Rebecca Ross

War only makes love flame brighter, defiant. It seems to bloom from the bloodshed you leave behind, unfurling from the most unlikely places. From the broken seams of the world. From the graves and the anguish and the fear you inspire.”

That vows were binding. Never to offer or accept one unless I was certain it was not a snare. Wedding vows often fell prey to such danger.

I wondered what it would feel like to have a thorn in my side. “Vincent,” I whispered to the fire.

“Do not let the dreams make you too soft,” she said. “Guard your own soul, child.”

“How is the thorn in your side?” I asked with a grin. Bade’s eyes narrowed. “My what?” “The thorn,” I repeated, mirth fading. “You once called her such. Don’t you remember?” “You speak of Adria,” he said, glancing away. “She is…”

But now my heart felt twisted, confused, as I watched him gaze down at Adria. I had never seen such a delicate expression on his angular, ugly face before. As if he was made of feathers, thistledown, sun-warmed sand. Soft.

“If you take her soul now,” he whispered to Orphia, “I will follow her to the mists. I will gladly let a divine strike me down when she breathes her last.”

He was holding on to me like he was an anchor in a storm. A weight to keep me grounded. He held me because he feared I was about to be carried away. And should I be, he was so entwined with me that the beast would have to take us together.

I realized that I could hold such happiness. There was a space for it, hidden within me, and it could grow deeper roots if I let it.

To be a lone goddess surrounded by men devastated from battle was dangerous. For men are like eithrals: they are drawn to shining, quicksilver things, keen to tame them.

Red was not a girl but a goddess. And I knew the stars that belonged to her. I had memorized them. I could close my eyes at night and point in their direction. I could trace them on my palm.

When a god kills a god, the stars remain firm in the sky, but their magic answers to the victor. And when a new constellation emerges—which, in this era, is just as rare as one vanishing—all of us take note of it, because we know it means a divine has been born.

“You are parchment, ink, cloves. You are water dripping down stone, and the smoke of a burning scroll. You are something deeper, darker still. Something I am not sure how to describe, which means you came from the realm far below. The only place I have never been.”

She did not want to hear about restrained living. She wanted to know how much of a mark a soul had left behind.

I had been begging for for years were laid across my bed,

“Swift travels, Matilda,” Hem said with a bow. And then, with a glimmer of pride in his eyes: “Strike true.”

Love amongst immortals is a weakness. I had seen it in Bade. And I saw it in my father at rare moments, when he became quiet at court, watching me move amongst the crowd, flowers woven into my hair.

I glanced at Enva, but her eyes were fixed upon Dacre, studying him for a weakness, a crack in his facade. Little did she know that she was his weakness. No other divine had driven him to such emotion, such madness.

I had never desired to kill, but I felt it then. A dark thread, tangling my insides. Pulling and yanking and knotting my lungs until I could not breathe.

“My wife will have anything she wants.”

“We must convince them,” he said to me, a murmur I almost did not hear. I looked sidelong at him. “Convince whom of what?” “That I have loved you a long time. That we have history.” Vincent paused, but I watched his jaw flex.

“I think,” Vincent began, a waver in his voice, “the most difficult part will be touching.” “You are touching me now.” “Only because I am trying to remember the feel of you.”

“This is my wife,” I said through my teeth. “You have interrupted our wedding feast.”

“You will not speak of my wife in that way,” I said. “You will protect her as you protect me. If she asks for you to raise the gate, you lift it.”

I was a language he only knew how to speak in part; words and letters were still missing, despite the years we had spent together. He could only read me in halves.

I am not here to deceive you or betray you. To steal off into the night. The truth is … I did not think to wake you. But only because I am often alone; I do not report my movements to others in an effort to protect myself.” Something I said bled the fight from Vincent.

His words prodded something in me. A deep, troubling feeling. One that made me look at my fellow divines—my own past decisions—with sharper eyes.

He has his strengths and his powers, but he also has his weaknesses.” “And are you one of them?” Vincent’s eyes held mine. “Does the god of rivers yearn for you?”

“If the god of spring and iron and rivers lost you”—Vincent’s voice was a rumble, close to my ear—“then he is more foolish than I thought possible.”

“Did he hurt you?” Vincent whispered. “No.” “Look at me.” The urgency in his voice broke my resolve to stay aloof. My eyes lifted to his. “No gate will be barred from you again,” he said. “If you command them to rise, they will rise. If you need sanctuary, my people will grant it.

I will hold myself to you, at your side; I will not abandon you or steal off into the night or betray you. I will grant you an answer, although I hope we are victorious. And if I must leave, you may rest knowing that I will return to you, as soon as I am able.”

“Is there anything else you need from me?” “No,” Vincent said, striding from the hall. But he glanced over his shoulder to add, “I will see you soon. Wife.” I watched him leave, that word—wife—fading in the air between us like the note of a lyre.

I pray that my days will be long at your side. Let me fill and satisfy every longing in your soul. May your hand be in mine, by sun and by night. Let our breaths twine and our blood become one, until our bones return to dust. Even then, may I find your soul still sworn to mine.

Upon first glance, it looked like a random collection of stars, but as I leaned in closer, I saw that they were a perfect reflection of my stars, as if two parts had come together to make a whole. Twelve points, she had written beneath them, counting the stars above as well as the ones below. And then, soul-bearer.

She glanced up and saw me, our gazes locking over the sway of meadow grass. She had an uncanny way of making one feel like he was the only one in the world, as if she saw the deeper layers of a soul that no one else could see.

thought it was lost. Where did you find it?” “The river.” She held my gaze, expectant, almost mirthful. “And yes,” I said. “I came after you.”

“If I found someone else who had the same desire, I would ask her to stay with me. And we could grow old together. They could bury me at her side when I die, and I would be content in the afterlife.” “Then I hope that happens for you,” Matilda whispered. “I hope that you find her.”

I stared up at the sky, naming the constellations, until I found hers—a bright six points. Herald of the gods. A kestrel in flight. I willed those stars to burn always, because I could not bear to imagine them ever going dark.

“He chose me first,” I replied. “He dreamt of me before I knew of him. His soul found mine before I even knew how to look for his.” “Perhaps they will one day sing a ballad of the two of you. If so, remember that I said it first here.”

She was not mine by spoken vow but something deeper. Something that felt older, stronger, darker, like a language that had been sung centuries ago but had now been forgotten. Something that simmered in the blood, calling to me, calling to her.

“If it takes you,” I said, “then let it also take me. Don’t leave me behind like this, Red.”

“Although now I understand why you would be here, waging war. I understand why you would bring down a tower. If it was for love.”

I did not want someone helping me out of duty. I was weary of such things, of a world of debts and vows. I would prefer to face the terror alone than to have someone in my shadow who was only there out of obligation.

It hurt to desire two things at once. To want to be in two different places. And I knew that once the numbness wore away, Vincent would look for me. His eyes would search for mine in the crowd, and he would not find them.

I decided I could dwell ten years here, but it needed to be after he was gone. After his mortal end had come, and I had seen him safely to the mists.

And if this chamber was a pool, she was a pebble tossed within its quiet waters. Her presence had weight; the very air seemed to gather around her. I would know she was near, even in the darkness.

And I had never desired to be a god, to wield power as one, but in that moment, I longed to halt time. I would have made an interlude for us, a space when the hour lost its bite and the sun stood still. We could simply breathe and let ourselves unravel this knot between us, slowly.

“He is irreverent,” I was quick to say, but my palms had grown slick. “This is not a prayer.” “He may be irreverent toward all of us, save for you. I think he desires to worship you.”

Rowena smiled. “Oh child, you are still quite young, aren’t you? He longs to worship you, but not in the way you think.”

I do not know when this happened, when the current rose and when I let it take me, willingly, but there came a moment when I looked at you and could not breathe. There was a moment when I watched you depart, and I wanted to fall to my knees.