for the better.
Or perhaps the worst.
In some ways, they were the same.
Chapter 16
Perfect Storm
“Suffering is not strong, but strength can come from suffering.”
— Mariska “Risk” Darkova, beast tamer, Mazzulah’s heir
A fire burned in her belly as she took the final step.
This time she did not collapse to her knees, though she wanted to.
She didn’t scream or yell or cry, though she’d done plenty of it in the weeks it took her to ascend the stairway again.
Risk stood there, panting heavily as she tried to finally catch her breath. She wasn’t sure when she’d be able to catch it again. If she’d learned anything in her time in the dark realm, it was that Mazzulah’s mercurialness made her sister appear steady and levelheaded. Something which, Quinn, most definitely was not.
“You were faster that time,” the god mused in their female form. She still wore the strips of clothing that revealed enough skin to make Risk decidedly uncomfortable. That was probably the last thing she should be worried about, given the situation she was in.
When Risk didn’t respond and instead focused on her breathing, all while glaring at the god, Mazzulah continued to say, “Louder too. Some of your curses were quite clever. They’d give Quinn a run for her money—if she had any.” The dark god chuckled as if this were so funny.
“You wanted to prove a point. I chose to be here, and I want to be powerful. Point made,” Risk said briskly.
“No,” Mazzulah mused, tilting her head in a way that Quinn would have. Golden eyes that burned with immortal power focused on Risk. “I don’t think it has been. You focus too much on the wrong things. Too little on the right.”
Risk scowled, hunching her shoulders to pull at the burlap shirt that she still hadn’t been able to replace. Risk didn’t own any other clothes. She hadn’t brought any with her, and it now seemed like an unwise choice given her front was largely on display.
Mazzulah snorted at the action.
“Like I said, you focus on the wrong things. How you look, how little you have covered or not covered—it will not protect you. You wear men’s clothing so that men don’t look at you, but if a man wanted to do those things that they once did to your body—they would. It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing because it’s not about your body. It’s about power,” Mazzulah said, that intense, steady gaze never lifting. It unsettled Risk, but she couldn’t look away as the dark god sighed, “Or lack thereof.”
“I wear men’s clothes because they make me comfortable. I cover myself because I don’t wish to show the world—” Risk stopped short. The words ‘what I am’ stilling on her tongue.
Mazzulah smiled knowingly.
“You’re still running from your past. Hiding in hopes that the world won’t notice you and won’t hurt you. But the world doesn’t pick and choose who to hurt, little bird. Not usually. It just does, and the only one that can stop it is you. You have strength, but you’re only just discovering what it means to have power. To make someone stop when you say stop.”
Risk’s breathing grew slow as her heart calmed. The sweat perspiring on her skin dried in the frigid air. The feeling of her lungs burning as they tried and failed to take in enough subsided. She tasted copper and dark magic on her lips.
“If I am so weak, why did you choose me?” Risk asked. “You have a thousand other children in the raksasa, and they are all stronger and faster than me. Beast tamers are not so uncommon either. Surely you could pick one that’s ascended and has already proven their worth to the gods. So why me? If I am weak and—”
“I never said you were weak,” Mazzulah corrected, her voice sharpening.
Risk swallowed hard, a hint of fear entering her. She might be angry, but she still had enough sense to recognize the god as a threat—and herself as disposable if she pushed too far.
“I’ve said you’re a disappointment, and you are. After having Quinn for so long, you’re so frail by comparison.” Mazzulah waved her hand in a bored manner, as if she hadn’t just used her words like the sharpest knife on Risk’s heart. “I’ve said that you would fail me, but I’m still holding out hope that all my hard work hasn’t gone to waste. In all the years that I’ve been playing this game, never have I been so close to victory.