Rogue Soul (The Mythean Arcana 3) - Page 12

He removed another arrow from his quiver, held it tightly. She eyed it, debating what he was offering. With only one, she’d have it to show her family, to prove herself. They’d probably take it from her to confirm with their Druid priestess that it was from Camulos. If she had two, she could keep one for herself. She weighed her secrets against her desire.

But her brothers were expecting her home soon, and she wanted to see Camulos again. She said, “Give me the second arrow and return here tomorrow. I’ll tell you then.”

“If I give it to you now, how will I know you’ll return?”

Because I wouldn’t miss it for all the arrows in your quiver. Even if he did scare her. But she wanted to see him again more than she wanted the arrow. “Fine. I’ll meet you here tomorrow.”

His brow wrinkled, as if he were debating something of great import. “All right. Tomorrow.”

She ignored the reluctance in his tone and had to stifle her grin.

He nodded, his expression still torn between two things she couldn’t identify, then turned to go.

“Wait.” He couldn’t leave. Not quite yet. She just wanted a minute more.

But he disappeared.

The next day, Camulos waited for Andrasta in the silent, snow-covered forest. He cursed himself for agreeing to return, but he’d lacked the will to resist.

She stepped into the clearing and guilt tugged at him. He had a duty to complete where she was concerned. Force of will made him raise his bow. The bowstring pulled taut beneath his fingers as he sighted the arrow at her.

Let go. When he did, the arrow would pierce Andrasta’s skull and this would all be over. Let go. He removed one finger. One step closer to killing her. Let go.

All he had to do was release the string and his problems would be over. The other gods would be off his back about the upstart mortal who could threaten to take his place with her skill. If she could do it, others might get ideas, and the other gods wouldn’t have that.

Let go. The string of the bow cut into his fingers as he watched her practice in the clearing. She used his arrow. Did she realize that he’d given her the ability to kill him? Human arrows couldn’t, but his own could. Why had he done it?

He couldn’t explain why. Just as he couldn’t explain how being on earth, watching her, made him feel. He had no context for the emotions rushing through him. No way to identify them, if that’s what they were.

The best he could do was sort the way he felt into good and bad. The closest thing he had to the feeling of good was eating. Or killing. Bad was like a nebulous, emotion-ridden version of being stabbed by a sword. The idea of shooting Ana was most closely associated with bad. The bow felt like it burned his hands.

“Do it, Camulos. You have to.” The voice from behind nearly made his fingers slip from the string.

He lowered the bow and spun to face the other god. “Cernowain. And your boar.”

The beast rooted in the snow at the base of the brown cloak of the god of animals.

“Were you sent by the others?” Camulos asked.

“No. I come because I am your friend. I heard the others grumbling, and I wanted to warn you.”

Camulos grunted. Cernowain was the closest thing to a friend he had in Otherworld, for whatever it was worth.

“You have to do it. She’s a threat.” Cernowain nodded to Andrasta.

“No, she’s not.” She was good, but a threat? No.

“Hafgan was once mortal. His skill with a pike rivaled hers with the bow. If he could replace a god, she could do it too. She could replace you.”

“I’d think the other gods would prefer that.”

Cernowain inclined his head. “They might, if they weren’t so opposed to the idea in the first place.”

That was the crux of it. The other gods didn’t care if Camulos was replaced. They’d prefer it. He’d grown too powerful. When the mortal kingdom of the Trinovantes had built the city Camulodunum in his honor, he’d gained yet more influence from the power of their worship.

The other gods didn’t like that. But then, the other gods could hang. Otherworld could hang, for all he cared. He hated the damned place now. Cold and dead and dull. Everything there, no matter how perfect, was in shades of gray. Earth, with emotion and feeling, was vibrant with color. How could Otherworld be so different? So wrong?

“If you don’t want to kill her to protect yourself, do it for her. The other gods might take it into their own hands, and there’s every chance she’ll end up with a far worse fate than if you had killed her yourself.”

Tags: Linsey Hall The Mythean Arcana Paranormal
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