Daybreak: Immortals Descending Book Three by Iris Foxglove

Author:Iris Foxglove [Foxglove, Iris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Belladonna Press
Published: 2023-04-03T16:00:00+00:00

He couldn’t be a god.

How on earth could something like that even be possible? Gods weren’t dancers from Kallistos. They just weren’t.

But they are, a little voice whispered. You believe Astra is a god, and he’s the son of a shepherd. You saw the house he lived in. You saw him in those dreams.

But wouldn’t he know? Wouldn’t he have suspected? The only thing Cillian had ever noticed that was markedly different about himself was his lack of natural alignment, and his mother had told him that wasn’t as strange as he thought.

“Sometimes people don’t have it,” she’d said, so many years ago that the image of her face was a distant memory. But he’d never forgotten her words, when he’d asked why he didn’t want to kneel or to serve dessert when it was his turn, yet he never felt good about bossing people around, even in dance class. “It simply means you have a unique ability to be someone without it. It’s not good or bad, darling boy. It just is.”

That kind of ability was a far cry from being a god. The mere idea made him laugh, but the sound was so wild—reminding him uncomfortably of Pallas—that he shoved his own fist into his mouth. No. Astra couldn’t be right.

Because what the fuck? What use was being a god—potential god, whatever—if he couldn’t save Carys? Couldn’t drag her and all those other people away from that manor? Couldn’t even tell what had been waiting for him up that twisty road, in a manor full of rot?

But you did, that same voice whispered. You saw it that morning in the carriage. You thought you dreamt it: the driver, the moldy chocolates. Maybe if you’d known what you were, you would have realized it was a sign. Danger.

And what did Astra mean about … accepting it? Was that all it took? Cillian tipped his face up, shivering in the cold air—d’Hiver in spring was barely distinguishable from early winter in Kallistos—and stared at the sky, its stars obscured by clouds. “If saying yes makes this stop, then sure, I’m a god.”

He didn’t feel any different than he had a moment ago. Maybe it wasn’t that simple. Maybe he had to say it to someone? But who? Astra? No, that didn’t feel right. Though neither did the idea that he was supposed to be a god. And did it really matter? It didn’t change anything. Pallas wanted to break him, god or mortal, and that was what he needed to deal with. What was the point of some potential godhood if he was too exhausted to do anything but stare off into the middle distance and wish he could take a nap?

Cillian had no idea what to do with any of this. The dreamscape with the puppet and Margaret and her bloody fingers … thinking about it still chilled him to the bone. He’d felt helpless, both in the first dream and the second that felt so real—and if he

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