GRP Chapter 5

The desire to raise her hand and cover her chest came to Mariaeks. Those blue eyes seemed to be reaching through her skin, probing all the way to the small heart beating beneath. Before danger had registered as danger, her body stepped back.

Rhaevydie, too, appeared to move on instinct. The moment Mariaeks retreated, she reached. A hand threaded with raised, heavy veins snatched for Mariaeks's arm.

Then a large snowflake fell on the back of Rhaevydie's hand.

She stopped.

Only her eyes moved. Heavily. Toward whatever was behind Mariaeks.

Mariaeks understood what the gaze was seeking.

The place where the most ancient, the strongest, the most beautiful, and the most perfect being in all the primordial mountain ranges lay sleeping. The true 'god' that reigned above every god. Before the Great God had closed its eyes, it had given Rhaevydie a command: this one is too fragile. Do not let it be harmed. Guard it carefully.

The conflicted gaze moved across the pale-blue lips, then down to the violently trembling body. Rhaevydie released an irritated sigh and broke the heavy silence. She folded the hand that had been reaching for Mariaeks's arm back into her crossed arms and looked down with her usual arrogance. There she was— the usual Rhaevydie. A gaze like watching an insect crawl in the dirt. Mariaeks could not have imagined she would ever be glad to see it.

Ullri and Baen, sensing the change in atmosphere, came running and hastily began dressing Mariaeks. Rhaevydie watched with her lips pressed thin, as though the proceedings displeased her on some fundamental level. Behind that expression, criticism and mockery would ordinarily follow—but not today.

Today, Rhaevydie smiled. A smile that seemed to dissolve as it spread—soft, warm, wrong.

"Still cold?"

"Yes."

"Poor dear." Rhaevydie bent slightly forward, bringing her face level with Mariaeks's. The hand that had looked fierce with its risen veins moved as if it had no memory of having done so, and stroked Mariaeks's cheek with maddening gentleness. "You didn't want to be a half-thing, I imagine. Did you?"

"No."

"Looking at you like this, I just remembered something. For people like you..."

Rhaevydie let her eyes complete the sentence—precisely, without a word to spare.

"...people like you, they say there is actually a way to fill the deficiency. Even a little."

Mariaeks only blinked.

"Eat the heart of a god or divine beast."

Rhaevydie leaned close and whispered it tenderly.

"If you eat it while the heart is still beating, they say you can absorb divine power. We wouldn't need such a thing, of course, but..." Her tone carried the particular warmth of a benefactor explaining how fortunate you were to have them. "Your situation is different, isn't it?"

The we in question referred to the gods of the divine realm Heimdrykze. Mariaeks was, by any accounting, a proper Heimdrykze god—but she was not included in the we.

“Of course, finding a target in Heimdrykze would be difficult for you. The demigods below the mountain are all stronger than you as well, so that avenue’s closed too.” Rhaevydie shook her head with tremendous sympathy. “My goodness, Mariaeks. What would you do without me?”

She thought she probably could do without.

"Here's some good news, then."

Rhaevydie resumed, smooth and ingratiating.

"A human force has settled across the river recently."

Mariaeks listened and pictured the land beyond the frozen river: a quiet expanse of white, indistinguishable from Heimdrykze. Long ago, humans and various species had lived there in groups. For the past century, even those traces had been buried under snow and could no longer be found.

"I'm told a hero famous throughout the continent is at their center. Quite strong, they say—so he'd carry more divine power than an ordinary human. But no matter how strong a human is, he's still human." Rhaevydie spread her hands in gentle reasonableness. "Even as weak as you are, surely you can manage one human?"

When Mariaeks nodded, Rhaevydie brightened.

"Get that human's heart, Mariaeks. It won't make you like me—but at least you'll feel the cold a little less."

Having put a period on her grand tale, Rhaevydie looked at Mariaeks with expectant eyes. Mariaeks's eyes did not light up the way they might for someone receiving great intelligence. She did not bow in thanks. She just blinked. At that flat response, Rhaevydie narrowed her eyes.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, it's not that."

"If it's not that, then what."

"Because you said to eat the heart while it's still alive..."

"So?"

"It sounds rather revolting."

Rhaevydie could not continue the reflexive answer she'd been about to deliver. She was genuinely speechless.

“You, who eat caterpillars crawling in the dirt floor, what do you think you—” She stopped. Pressed the honest impulse back down. Rearranged her pleasant expression back on. She resumed persuading Mariaeks.

Mariaeks, for her part, diligently nodded and performed listening carefully, in order to avoid causing offense.

And then, with comments to the effect of Ullri and Baen once cooked and served me reindeer heart, but it was gamey—and therefore human heart probably isn't to my taste either—she smashed what was left of the pleasant mask.

That half-thing. I might kill it. The thought moved through Rhaevydie's head, and she left with rage filled to the top of her skull.

The clearing was a mess in her wake—

Pitted and gouged in multiple places from her rampage. Ullri and Baen, who loved snow spread out like soft carpet, were distressed.

"Why does her personality keep getting worse as time goes on?"

"She ate up all her nastiness."

Mariaeks finally let out the sigh she'd been holding. Her heart felt strangely unsettled and would not find level ground. Rhaevydie dropping by without warning and causing havoc was hardly a new occurrence. Mariaeks had also seen the thirst flickering through her eyes any number of times before. The problem was that what had always been a vague and dim desire had today become completely undisguised.

Moreover, today Rhaevydie had been sweet. Had smiled. Had come bearing a gift, and had tenderly, warmly persuaded. It wasn't merely a bit strange—

Not one thing about it had been like Rhaevydie. Not a single one.

Rhaevydie had presumably believed she was presenting sweet bait to lure Mariaeks with. But Mariaeks had not been tempted—she had only felt the shape of a threat.

Mariaeks gazed at the place where Rhaevydie had disappeared. Her white breath spread and dissolved. She had no way of knowing what Rhaevydie wanted. Even if she knew, there was nothing she could do. So thinking about it was pointless.

Thinking was therefore meaningless.

The sky had been turning orange while she stood there. Mariaeks took the two boys' hands and walked back to the temple together. It was time to choose a book from the room that served as both study and storeroom.

Evening came. The earth trembled from somewhere far away—

The frost giants, stirring.

Mariaeks lay down on the creaking old bed and closed her eyes. The window was shut, but the snow still reached her—the soft accumulation of it, and then the flakes heavy enough to strike the shutters.

Tap. Tap.

Like sparks off a bonfire.

Listening to that sound, Mariaeks let it all burn away lightly—everything she had heard from Rhaevydie that day. How to become stronger. The hero who had settled in the ruined kingdom's land across the river.

Everything that had no connection to her.

When she opened her eyes, tomorrow would be another identical day. If ten nights passed like that, even this restless, drifting mood would be entirely forgotten.

Exactly ten days had passed since Rhaevydie's rampage.

Mariaeks found herself confronting a shocking reality. The belief she had kept—that each day would arrive identical to the one before it—

Had begun to break.

The meals had changed.

Considering the twins’ cooking—which amounted to throwing every available ingredient into a pot and boiling it—the bowl on the table was deeply suspicious. A clear stew—reindeer and snow. Nothing else. A thin skim of fat on the surface—

And it tasted completely fine.

'Why does it taste fine. Why… why is it good.'

In her fluster, before she’d realized it, she had thought something rather rude.

The twins believed the number of ingredients was the measure of devotion in a dish. By that measure, this was nothing. And Ullri and Baen had never once brought her nothing.

Mariaeks stirred the stew with her bent spoon. Looking more carefully, the quantity was different from before as well. The meat, cut into small pieces, would disappear in approximately four bites. She turned this over in her mind—wondering why she had not noticed sooner—and found herself surprised by the twins' meticulousness.

Yesterday had been five bites. The day before that, six.

They had reduced it in careful steps. One day at a time. Nothing would feel different enough to notice.

There was one more anomaly. The twins, who ordinarily planted themselves beside her through every meal and chirped without stopping, had not come out of the kitchen.

Mariaeks finished her meal in exactly four spoonfuls. Then she went to them.

In the small pantry off the kitchen, Ullri and Baen stood with their round heads pressed together, speaking in low and serious tones.

"Ullri. Baen."

Two pairs of eyes snapped up.

"My lady. What are you doing stepping in here!"

"We told you not to come in."

The sort of thing a sulky teenager would say to his mother—and meant, entirely, for her sake. The twins maintained consistently that a great god had no business entering a kitchen; that eating the meals prepared for her and wearing the clothes prepared for her was precisely what a great god was meant to do.

Sharply chided, Mariaeks stepped back out of the kitchen. The twins followed.

"Don't come looking for us. A great god does not go seeking out those beneath her first."

"We'll come running the moment you call, Master."

"Right. I'll do that."

"But—what is it you needed?"

It was only when they asked that Mariaeks remembered why she had come.

"The portions are too small."