country rising to his defense. This needs to be done quickly. You told me he’d be ready. These exercises are becoming a waste of time.”
“This is how divinity works,” she answered calmly. “Your Deimans do not move mountains without first deriving strength from the earth.” She tugged at a white whisker jutting from her chin. “The boy needs a tithe.”
Madoc flinched.
“He needs pressure,” Petros growled. “He is willful. We went through this when he was a child. I tried to force the energeia out of him, but clearly I didn’t push him hard enough.”
“The Kulan girl did not force his anathreia free,” Geoxus mused, his fingers tapping on the arm of his throne. “He gave it willingly.” With a sigh, the god straightened, eyeing Madoc with paper-thin patience. “Very well, Madoc. You want the girl? You can have her. If that’s the cost of giving Petros this power—”
“I will never give Petros anything,” Madoc spat, realizing a moment too late that he should have first secured Ash’s safety. “He doesn’t deserve the power he has.”
He didn’t deserve to live. Madoc saw that clearly now. Petros had tortured innocent people—the Metaxas, Jann’s family, the Undivine in the poor districts. For a while Madoc had thought it would be enough to punish Petros by taking his money, but now he could see that would never hurt him. All Petros did, he did with Geoxus’s approval. As much as Madoc tried to cut him, he would never draw blood.
The only way to stop Petros was to destroy him, and Geoxus, too.
Madoc was starting to sound a lot like Ash.
Petros scoffed. “Defiant to the end.”
Madoc’s glare narrowed on his father. It may have been pride that straightened his back, but it was hate that curled his hands into fists.
Geoxus shifted to the front of his seat, his brows raising as he looked from father to son. His sudden interest felt like needles piercing Madoc’s skin.
“So there is something else you want,” he said quietly.
Madoc’s mouth grew dry.
“We have been applying the wrong methods,” said Geoxus. “It seems a tithe is precisely what he needs.”
Anathrasa smiled.
“If you see a desirable tithe here, Madoc,” Geoxus said, motioning to Petros, “by all means, take it.”
Petros’s laugh fell flat. “That wasn’t what we discussed,” he said.
Greed blossomed deep in Madoc’s gut. Take the energeia, his soul whispered, bringing a pang of hunger.
“I don’t need your approval to change plans,” Geoxus told him.
“The boy is harboring a grudge,” Petros said. “He means to see me humiliated. Surely you aren’t actually considering—”
“Think carefully before you question a god,” snapped Anathrasa.
Petros blinked at her in surprise, then dabbed at the sweat beading on his brow. “Madoc’s going to give me power, not take it. Father God, how am I to lead your charge across the six countries if I’m nothing but pigstock?”
“There will always be others,” Geoxus said, his stare still set on Madoc. “If this is what my champion needs, this is what he shall have.”
Petros glanced at Anathrasa, but she, too, was looking at Madoc expectantly.
The tension in the room thinned, scraping at his resolve. The anger, the frustration, had given way to support and understanding.
Madoc tried to shove it off, but their expectations clung to his skin.
They wanted him to take a tithe. To do what Anathrasa had done to Cassia, and Ash, and Stavos, and countless more. The thought repulsed him. It fueled his hate.
“I don’t need anything from you.” The words scratched his raw throat. “Any of you.”
Petros’s shoulder jerked in a shrug. “See? There you have it.”
“But you do need it,” Anathrasa insisted to Madoc. “You want his energeia. I feel it in you. You are a vessel, thirsting to be filled.”
He shook his head, sweat stinging his eyes. As soon as Anathrasa mentioned it, Madoc felt the deep well inside his chest. The empty cavity that held the memories he didn’t want to keep.
“Let it expand inside you,” she whispered. “Don’t fight it.”
He did fight it. He tried to close his mind to the sudden abscess inside him, but it was already there, waiting. A void, like Cassia’s void, in his own soul.
“There is nothing to be afraid of.” Anathrasa moved closer. “It is as simple as breathing. In and out. That is the way of energeia.”
“Anathrasa!” Petros started toward her, betrayal creasing his face, but was stopped by one of Geoxus’s guards. “Anathrasa, look at me. Please!”
“Stay back,” Madoc warned Anathrasa, but she kept steadily creeping toward him, ignoring Petros, who was now