Camulos stood within, the icy wind whipping at his cloak, tossing his hair. Her breath caught at the sight, fear and admiration surging through her. She lowered her bow, unable to help herself.
But he raised his. The breath lodged in her throat like a great boulder, and in her mind’s eye she saw Hafgan cutting down her brothers if she didn’t accomplish her task.
Fear clinging to her back with demon claws, she swung her bow up, sighted, released. The bow twanged, a sound that she would normally find glory in now turned dark and bitter. The arrow cut through the air, dragging with it her guilt and regret and shame until it punched through his flesh.
At the sight, something pierced her heart. Something sharp and so cold that it froze the organ in place.
Oh, gods, what have I done? No, no, no.
She gasped, then ran toward Camulos’ body. The snow dragged at her legs, slowing her until she wanted to scream. Finally, her knees hit the ground in a small puddle of blood that had melted the snow beside him.
“No.” The word tore from her throat as she laid a hand on his chest, his cheek. She’d had to do it to save her brothers, but gods, this was terrible. She’d cared for him. Maybe even loved him.
But now his eyes were closed and his skin was so pale. His cheek was cold against her fingertips, somehow colder than even the snow beneath her.
“Wake!” She shook his shoulder as hot tears froze on her cheeks.
She’d had to do it. She’d had to.
But her arrow protruded obscenely from his chest, straight through his heart, because her aim was too good to be off-target. The sight made bile rise in her throat.
Done. It was done.
Grief and self-loathing crowded her mind. She’d saved her family. Made herself a god. But at what cost? Was this what the glory of being a god felt like?
She clenched her hand in Camulos’ cloak, but she couldn’t get a grip on it. His body had begun to shimmer, going clear in places. She watched, mouth agape, as he disappeared, leaving only the red snow in which she knelt. Desperate for him to return and for the horror of what she’d done to be erased, she gripped handfuls of icy snow.
“You’ve failed.” A harsh voice cut through the wind, tearing her from her stupor.
She looked up. The dark-haired goddess loomed over her.
“What?”
“You’ve killed only his mortal form. Not his godly one.” Anger crackled in the goddess’ eyes.
“But I—” Andrasta held up a handful of bloody snow. She had no idea what she wanted anymore.
“You didn’t use the arrow he gave you. He enabled you to kill him when he gave you one of his own arrows. You, the one mortal with the weapon to kill a god, did not use it. How could you be so stupid?”
“What? I thought—I thought it was my skill that you needed.”
The goddess glowered, her hair whipping in the wind. “It was. But the arrow as well.”
Hope and horror flared within her chest. She hadn’t killed him? She hadn’t killed him.
“You have to finish.”
“What?”
“Kill him, or he will kill your family. Kill you.”
No.
“Or we will kill your family. He’ll know you were sent by other gods. He must be eliminated.”
“But—”
“He must.”