The stone is alive, somehow. It calls to me from across the distance, but I am sure I have never seen it before.
The bottom level depicts male and female Mer. My brows furrow. They are huge, presumably some of the gods I am descended from. On their backs is a large, round shield where another group of gods and goddesses stand. Their forms are significantly smaller. Instead of bearing this group with their backs, they lift them easily with their hands.
Tour guides buzz around us, their tinny microphones projecting their annoying voices throughout the square.
“You there, sir Were, what do you see when you look at the gods?” one of the guides asks. She is a human woman with short black hair.
“Amazing,” he breathes. “They are Were!”
The woman smiles thoughtfully. She says, “Not quite,” just as a dozen other people chime in, swearing that the gods are of their own species.
“Quiet, folks, quiet. It is a magical enchantment. King Hades has left us with reason to believe that the gods are represented through the lens of the onlooker. The Warlock who created this in 104 A.E.D. was made famous by his rendering.”
Their voices soften as I gravitate away from the crowd.
Several moments of my study pass before I realize one of the gods on the top tier has been blown away. The jagged edges of the ruined art jut out in an ugly way.
It is my father. Phelix. The other two take on the forms of different species. Both bear glorious wings, one of an Angel and the other of a Daemon.
I study the features of the Daemon from a distance. He is handsome and far more familiar than Todd. A steadying breath fills my lungs, and I allow my gaze to float back down to eye level. That is when I see the plaques positioned all around.
The first one, written on a golden plate, reads, “Kiara and Dror: The Primordials.” The name is unfamiliar to me. The circumference of such an enormous masterpiece is mind-blowing, and it takes me at least five minutes to see the next one.
“The Primordials begat the Elementals.”
My brow furrows. I am not new to reading, and Daddy paid for extension education, but I have never heard any of these names.
TheseElementalsmust be my paternal grandparents. My father never allowed us to call them anything other than the gods. I knew their hatred was mutual, but I didn’t realize the lengths each side had gone to erase the other.
As I round to complete my circular escapade, I near the final sign.
“Fortuna cursed her children for the sins of their fathers. After the birth of Phelix, she withdrew her golden pen and wrote upon a tapestry with their blood:
One would rule the skies, giving birth to the seraphim,
One would rule the land and all things below it,
One would govern the waters until he lost them.
The price for the power would be a fated queen rivaled to the dark desires of their hearts.
One would love all but his wife,
One would marry well and watch her die,
And one would find himself wed to a woman who could suppress the power of the gods.”
My mind scans what little I know of Raphael and Aidoneus. I barely had any idea who their wives were. I think of my mother, who had died birthing Hallie. Perhaps my father had been a kind, doting partner once when she was alive. That would make the second prophecy about him.
Then, I spot the round collection of columns around the place. Each space creates a circular pantheon. The moon is high in the sky, but I barely notice the people slinking off to their dinner reservations and hotel rooms. This is my family history, and I am ravenous to learn.
Immediately, I spot the water god. I hurry to his statue, taking in the striking features of his face. Like the other Primordials and Elementals, he presents himself as a Mer to me. My breath hitches as I look at his name.Adrian, God of all Water.
Sadness bubbles up inside me as the yearning for family takes hold. I hug myself tighter, trying to gather Erik’s sweater around me for warmth.
I wipe away foolish tears as I look at the others.Terran, God of all Land. Aearan, God of all Air.Their faces are handsome in a cruel, unfeeling way. I cannot tell if that results from how the artist captured their likeness or if I am glimpsing their temperament.
I pause atFortuna, Goddess of Fate.My Grandmother. Her rich, black scales shift colors, just like real ones. Another pang of loneliness resounds in my chest. It feels as though I have been robbed of the truth regarding who I am over some feud my father started long ago. It's almost as if she winks at me as I stare, so I quickly hurry away.