He Who Breaks the Earth (The Gods-Touched Duology)
He Who Breaks the Earth: Chapter 3

Lia sat under a tree with Vivi’s head in her lap. Her veil pressed tight against her nose and chin, the front of it trapped under the auroshe’s pointed snout. The crisp morning air prickled like needles across Lia’s skin despite the thin veil fabric Noa had bought for her in the market. It covered her face, hair, and shoulders, shrouding her to the waist. Gold threads sewn through it teased light into her peripheral vision. Noa’s interpretation of what “plain fabric” meant was different from any other person Lia had ever met.

Her hands worked fast on Vivi’s mane, tying knot after fancy knot.

It didn’t matter. Not the gold thread, not the braids, not anything. Lia could hardly see, her eyes glazed over with the last words she’d gotten from Tual Montanne, a note left on her front gate while her home burned with her parents inside. Your sister misses you.

Please. She thought it toward the sky goddess, stripes of pain across her ungloved hands as she pulled Vivi’s coarse hair tight. Please, I’ve been wearing this veil for weeks. You know what I want.

That was the problem. Oaths weren’t supposed to be about what people wanted but rather what the gods who touched them did. Lia had her aurasight, her first oath to Calsta restored in Chaol—it had been a relief, Calsta’s power flowing through her despite the fact that she’d run away from the Devoted. The power that came from keeping her second oath—to own only things necessary to survive—had returned that morning, letting her see farther and hear better than she was supposed to. But she was still diminished. The goddess had yet to return Lia’s strength, her ability to push against gravity and hide in broad daylight.

It was a difficult oath to keep, the third one. To love only the goddess. And the oaths that a veil and gloves should have brought back—the ability to track auras no matter where she was, and her view into people’s thoughts and feelings—felt even more impossible.

Only you can stop him. You and Anwei and Knox. The memory of Calsta’s voice burned through Lia, the Devoted thinking that for once she and Calsta had the same goal.

As soon as the thought came, Lia sent it away again, batting at it like a pesky bee intent on stinging her. The goddess had never been against her in the first place: that had been the masters. The seclusions. The Warlord, speaking for Calsta as if she had any right. Calsta didn’t require those she touched to make Devoted oaths, didn’t even require Devoted to hold those oaths their whole lives. It was the Warlord who had turned oaths into a prison Lia couldn’t bear.

Choosing to make oaths in exchange for power was easier than being forced to make them. But, deep inside, Lia knew that she was following Tual because she wanted to save Aria, not because the goddess had told her to.

Lia wiped a hand across her forehead, annoyed when her palm met fabric instead of skin, smearing a trickle of sweat dripping down her temple. She’d chosen to wear the veil. Choosing to do as Calsta said was loving the goddess more than anyone else. Calsta had told her to destroy Tual. That was what she was doing. It didn’t matter that Aria would be safe as a result, too. Did it?

She had to believe Calsta would see her sacrifice and reward it. But she’d put on the veil weeks ago, and her powers hadn’t returned. Frustration bubbled in Lia’s gut, her hands shaking because she had to do something or it would boil over.

She couldn’t wear the gloves, too. Couldn’t. The veil was hard enough, surely Calsta could see that. They both wanted the same thing, so why wouldn’t Calsta give her the tools she needed to destroy Tual Montanne and save Aria?

Knox’s aura gave a sleepy churn inside the tent. Lia went absolutely still, focusing on the change. Vivi’s hackles rose, a low growl scratching from his throat. We can’t leave Knox alone, Anwei had whispered to Lia their first day on the road, far from where Altahn might overhear. You saw what happened in the tomb.

Indeed, she had. Lia reached out to touch the sword in the grass next to her, the tightness in her chest loosening only a hair when her fingers found metal. Finally, she had a weapon again. Borrowed, of course. Apparently, Trib clans respected the Warlord’s decree that only Devoted could carry swords in the Commonwealth, but only so far as stashing their weapons where Devoted wouldn’t see them.

Having a proper weapon felt like the beginning of doing something. Knox had come at her with a sword down in Patenga’s tomb, teeth bared, his eyes stretched too wide, trying to fight right through her as if she were a wall between him and Anwei.

Tual Montanne had much to answer for—along with murdering her parents and kidnapping her sister, it was he who had killed Knox’s sister and trapped the girl’s soul inside a shapeshifter sword. Knox had been carrying her ghost around, letting her feed off his energy ever since. And, apparently, sometimes the ghost took him, mind, body, and soul, leaving nothing behind but an appetite for death.

Vivi’s eye slid open, inky black staring up at her with reproach. Lia pulled her hand away from the sword to loosen the strands of hair she’d been tightly knotting and smoothed a hand down his serpentine neck. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He let his eye drift shut, mollified. Lia envied the way Vivi had settled into an unyielding calm, as if tromping through the undersides of the Commonwealth was all he ever could have wanted so long as she was on his back. As if Lia disappearing and Ewan bonding with him had never—

Putting a hand to her head, Lia clenched her eyes shut. Ewan. His blood watered a shapeshifter’s tomb, his body food for scavengers. No matter how many times she thought of him limp on the ground, unable to hurt her anymore, the memory of him alive was twice as strong. His awful leer. His groping hands.

Only now, in her mind, his face had been replaced with Tual’s.

Ewan had only wanted her body. Tual wanted her soul.

Standing, Lia fumbled with shaking hands to tie back her veil, then picked up the sword. Vivi bared his teeth from the ground in what passed for an auroshe laugh as she set her feet into a fighting stance, gripping the sword with both hands. “I’m rusty,” she whispered to him. “They wouldn’t let me touch a weapon while I was under the veil.”

He snaked his head across the grass, rolling onto his back with his forefeet curled to his chest as if he meant to play like a dog.

“You want to put me through my paces?” She slid from the first stance to the second, the sword high over her head. The thought of Aria simmered through her. Her humors burned, each step coming faster and harder, the fan sweep, the lunge and parry, the—

Something in the tent moved.

Vivi gave a low squeal, rolling over abruptly to stare at the tent. Turning slowly to face the heavy flap, Lia let her sword tip drop. Her aurasight circled the tight globe of energy that marked Knox, swirls like mist beginning to roil inside it.

He was waking up.

Brow furrowing, Lia advanced on the tent, her veil blowing back against her face as she walked, the sword heavy in her hand. Knox had only stirred a few times since the night Tual had killed him and Anwei had…

Well. She’d done something. The skin prickled across Lia’s arms as she took another step toward the waving tent flap, thinking of that night, a swirl of Basist power around Anwei like a brazen call to war. But Lia fought to put that thought away. It wasn’t Basist magic itself that was bad. Mateo had shown her that.

An insight that still twitched uncomfortably inside Lia. She’d killed people for their purple gods-touched auras. The fact of it sat deep in her gut like a knife that would cut at the slightest movement. Mateo had made the argument that Basism was no better than Calsta’s touch and that no one kind of magic should be banned. That anyone with power could do evil—it wasn’t the power itself that was wrong. It had made sense when he said it, and then Anwei had proved it, using the nameless god’s touch to save Knox’s life.

But then Mateo had turned out to be a shapeshifter.

Those first few days Lia had wanted to pretend it wasn’t possible. She’d even brought it up with Anwei. He didn’t do it. Whatever you’re so angry about, it had to have been Tual. Mateo didn’t know he was a shapeshifter. He doesn’t remember he’s your brother. I don’t think he remembers you at all.

Anwei had stopped when Lia had said that, a well of pure fury sparking in her eyes. The thief hadn’t said another word for the rest of the day. He doesn’t remember you.

He didn’t remember Lia, either, it seemed. That was a better explanation than the one that was most likely, after weeks of her sister gone and no word.

Lia drew back the tent flap and found Knox sitting up, hand to his head. His aura was a clouded white instead of gold, his bond with Anwei somehow blocking Calsta’s touch from Lia’s aurasight.

Knox swiveled to look at her, his voice croaking. “Lia?” He blinked at the veil. “You’re sparkly.”

Lia dropped her sword, falling to her knees next to Knox on the pallet to wrap her arms around him. The breath whuffed out of him because she was squeezing his ribs too hard, but his arms circled her, pulling her close. Lia’s eyes began to burn, and she couldn’t let go. “I am so, so happy you are awake,” she rasped. If Knox wasn’t some ghost, then maybe Aria wasn’t her only family left. He’d help face down Tual Montanne. Lia pulled back far enough to look Knox up and down, eyes stopping on the bulge of bandaging just under his ribs where Tual had stabbed him. “You sound like yourself. Are you… all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be myself?” Knox’s hand crept up to touch the bandage. He closed his eyes, concentrating. “Where’s Anwei? She’s…” He looked east. Toward Rentara.

“Not here.” The words came out abruptly, Lia not knowing what to say. His oaths were still intact even as he held Anwei’s name in his mouth as if it belonged to him. Feelings off-limits for a Devoted.

“What happened?” Knox twisted back toward her. “I was in town, and that cranky, awful woman threw my sword at me—”

“Gulya?” The old apothecarist he and Anwei had lived with back in Chaol. Anwei hadn’t been able to understand how Knox had come by the dangerous sword again after she’d hidden it. Apparently, Gulya had found it. “You don’t remember anything else?”

Pressing his lips together, Knox looked down, letting Lia go. He did remember something. “When did you say Anwei was coming back? She’s all right?” He put a hand up to his forehead. “Where are we? Whose tent is this? Why are you wearing a veil? I thought you weren’t going back to the Devoted.”

Lia paused at the sound of footsteps approaching the tent, an aura she recognized from Altahn’s riders approaching. She pulled her veil back down over her face. “That is a lot of questions.”

Knox was already looking toward the flap before a voice called from outside—no, Knox was definitely not diminished. “Miss Lia?”

“In here,” she called. It was Gilesh, the one with calluses from the fiddle he played while others drummed and sang around the campfire. Lia knew him best because he was the only one who didn’t stare at her veil, speaking to her and joking as if she were anyone else. He’d even laughed at her when she’d asked if they played music around the fire every night, only because she’d never heard people playing music except from a distance. Music and dancing, both too trivial for a Devoted. She’d liked the feel of it, those drums beating alongside her heart in her chest. Calsta hadn’t seemed to mind either.

Gilesh’s hand pushed the tent flap in. He froze when he found Knox and Lia both staring in his direction. “I, uh… sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting,” she said coolly, standing to face him. “Did you need something?”

“Your friend is feeling better? Those stories they tell about Beildan healers really are true, aren’t they?” Gilesh’s eyebrows quirked when neither of them responded. “I came over to ask if you might finally let me cross blades with you. I saw you doing forms a moment ago, and Bane said—”

“You don’t want to fight with Lia,” Knox interrupted.

“I mean, I think I do?” He grinned. “It’s not just Beildans I’ve heard stories about, but if I’m honest, the ones about Devoted are a little harder to believe.”

Knox blinked. “Who is this?” he asked carefully.

“I need to oil my cuirass and leathers. I wouldn’t be surprised if we ride out this afternoon.” Lia stood, hoping Gilesh would take it as an invitation to go. “I’ll come by the armorer’s tent in a bit. Once I’m sure Knox is settled.”

“That a yes?” Gilesh leaned forward, a gold-capped tooth flashing in his grin. Anwei had noticed it the same day they’d left Chaol and had stopped the whole caravan to check what was under it… somehow. With her magic? Her sense of smell, perhaps? Trib clans didn’t use house marks, but Anwei didn’t care what people usually did or didn’t do.

“Don’t say anything.” Gilesh was grinning so wide he could hardly talk. “Bane will persuade you—you can’t hide from us all the time. Either one of you. You’re Devoted too, aren’t you?” He looked eagerly toward Knox, though Knox looked nothing of the kind, thinned out and rangy, hollows in his cheeks and shadows under his eyes. “We’ll let you recover before we push you into the training yards. Quite a wound you took, wasn’t it? One of us untouched wouldn’t have lived to see the other side of it.”

Knox’s hand went back to the bandages under his tunic.

“Right.” Gilesh glanced once more between them both. “Well, you’re both being incredibly awkward, so… I’ll see you over there?”

He grinned, waiting for Lia to respond, but she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. Nobody ever spoke to Devoted that way—no one except Mateo, who had almost seemed like he wanted someone to end his life before it ended all on its own. So, she tried smiling back. That’s what Anwei and Noa both did, Anwei’s smile ever charming and helpless, Noa’s cutting like wire. “Sure. I’ll show you which stories about Devoted are true.”

Of course, he couldn’t see her face through the veil, she realized.

It didn’t seem to matter. Gilesh nodded eagerly. “I could show you a thing or two about Trib forms. Different style.” He took a step toward them. “Very aggressive.”

“I’m sure they are.” Vexation simmered out through Lia’s arms to her fingertips. She itched to grab hold of her sword. She did want to fight. Fighting had always dulled the pain. It was hard to remember how unhappy you were when you were sparring in a training yard or fighting for your life on the road, nothing but a saddle, a sword, and a goal to accomplish. Gilesh wouldn’t put up that kind of fight—she’d have to pull her strikes, go slow. Lead him through forms like fighting trainees so new they could still remember the taste of sugar.

Lia swallowed the choking feeling of Aria, trying to replace it with Knox awake. Soon, Anwei would be back with the key to bringing Tual down, she’d said. But it wasn’t enough to feed breath back into Lia’s lungs as she tried to answer Gilesh. “Devoted forms are pretty aggressive, too. I’ve broken more than one opponent’s sword.”

“Sure, sure.” Gilesh leaned toward Knox, lowering his voice. “We replace the Commonwealth’s tiniest Devoted, and somehow she still thinks she can take me.” Turning, he walked out, giving them both a careless wave, though Lia didn’t miss his flinch when Vivi snarled in his direction.

Knox’s mouth hung open. “Where in Calsta’s name are we?”

“A ten-minute ride outside Rentara. Tracking Tual Montanne, Anwei’s snake-tooth man.”

“With a Trib clan?”

“Weren’t you working with Altahn before we went into the tomb? Anwei said he paid you to steal Patenga’s sword.”

“The pineapple?” Knox’s brow creased.

“Pineapple?” Lia crouched next to him, impatience swelling in her chest like pus under a wound. Vivi trilled from outside as if he could feel it too through their bond. Knox didn’t seem to be a danger to anyone, though she wasn’t sure he was in his right mind. “Maybe you should rest. Wait until Anwei gets back to check you over before we get into everything. She should be here soon.”

Shaking his head, Knox pushed the blankets off his legs. “No, if you’re going to go fight some cocky Trib, there’s no way I’m missing it. Are you going to do it in a veil, though?”

Lia looked down at herself, the light travel leathers and comfortable trousers Noa had been absolutely certain were too plain starkly contrasting to the floaty veil. “I need Calsta to be with me,” she whispered.

“Why?” Knox reached out to pick up her sword from the ground but then didn’t touch it, staring at the length of the blade with a grim sort of revulsion. “You aren’t wearing gloves, and you hugged me just now. We both know oaths take time, and you’re still diminished far below that veil. Plus, you hate wearing it.”

“Because Tual has my sister, Knox.” Lia leaned forward to pick up the sword herself. “It doesn’t matter how much I hate wearing a veil. I need Calsta. I’ll need everything she can give me to face him. You were too hurt to see—”

Knox flinched, his hand going to the bandaging again. Maybe he had seen some of it. “You can do whatever you want.” He reached out to touch her arm. “We both know Calsta doesn’t see oaths as penance. She doesn’t exchange pain for power, so torturing yourself isn’t going to make anything go faster.”

Frustration erupted inside Lia like an army of ants. “I have to do something, Knox. I have to fight. Wearing this…” She tugged the end of the veil.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Knox said quietly when she trailed off. He had always been quiet, but it was a different sort of quiet now—one that didn’t wait. He was not quite the boy she’d grown up with. Lia didn’t like the idea of him changing, though she’d changed enough for the both of them. He looked up at her. “You want to fight? Let’s fight.”

“You just woke up.”

“I’m fine.” He held out a hand for her to pull him up. “You’re not fine. Let’s do this, you and me.”

“You and me?” Lia’s insides melted, tears pricking in her eyes because Knox knew her. He knew.

“Like old times.”

It was the wrong thing to do, helping Knox up from the ground. Like Mateo had said that day they looked at the painting of the nameless god and Calsta reaching for each other: it was not who you were or which god chose you, it was what you chose. She knew it was wrong to lead Knox out of the tent toward the dry bit of ground the Trib used to spar. She knew he was sick, knew Anwei was worried something inside him would snap, and then Knox would be gone.

But Anwei wasn’t here.

He seemed normal. Familiar. The one person who knew Lia before she’d followed a shapeshifter and gotten her whole family killed. Lia needed familiar.

She needed her sword.

So, when Knox followed her out of the tent, she didn’t argue.