He said nothing, and I figured that whatever change of heart he’d had only went so far. “Never mind,” I said. “I suppose we can resume the awkward watching-over-me-in-silence thing.”
“I was born in the Triton Isles.”
My gaze cut to him, a little surprised that he’d answered. “You belonged to Phanos’s Court?”
“Stayed there until I was about five decades past my Culling and then both Rhahar and I left.”
“Why did you leave?” I couldn’t help but ask. As far as I knew, the gods born to Phanos’s Court drew their power from the lakes, rivers, and seas, and, well, there were no such things in the Shadowlands.
“You really want to know?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
His head tilted to the side, and he rested it against the doorframe. “Have you heard of the Kingdom of Phythe? It existed several hundred years ago—about a hundred years before Eythos made the deal with your ancestor. It was a beautiful kingdom, full of people who lived off the land and the sea. Peaceful people,” he said, and it didn’t pass me by that I now knew that Saion was older than Nyktos. “In the mortal realm, it once stretched along the southern foothills of the Skotos Mountain range, all the way to the sea.”
“The name is vaguely familiar.” I frowned, searching my memories. “Wasn’t it an old kingdom once favored by Phanos until one of the King’s sons did something to one of Phanos’s daughters or something?”
“That’s what has been written. But the only truth in that was that Phythe was once a favorite of Phanos’s—until they fell out of favor.”
I clutched the glass. “I have a terrible suspicion I know where this is going.”
“Yeah, you probably do.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “There was an oil spill off the coast of Lasania, wasn’t there? About a decade ago?”
“I saw it. Phanos came out of the water and destroyed all the ships in the port. Hundreds died,” I said. “What really happened then?”
Saion shook his head. “They used to hold these games in honor of Phanos every year, but they were dangerous. People often died during them, including the King’sonlyson. After that, the King ended the games, believing Phanos to be a benevolent Primal god who wouldn’t want to see his most faithful harming themselves.”
“They were wrong?”
“Fatally wrong,” he confirmed. “Phanos was insulted. Saw the ending of the games as a lack of faith. It enraged him, and he flooded the kingdom.”
“My gods,” I whispered, horrified.
“Yeah.” He let out a heavy breath. “We visited Phythe often. The people there were—they were good. Not all of them were perfect, you know? But none of them deserved that. Phanos just wiped away a kingdom. There was no warning. No one had a chance to escape the waves taller than the Rise that came from the sea and traveled miles inland. Everything and everyone within Phythe were taken into the sea.” He rubbed at his chin, shaking his head. “When Rhahar and I learned what he’d done, we were shocked. Couldn’t believe it. He did that over games that we knew damn well he hadn’t even paid that much attention to. And even if the King’s son had done something to one of his daughters, that doesn’t justify taking the lives of an entire kingdom. We couldn’t serve him after that. We weren’t the only ones who left, but”—he exhaled heavily—“that was why we left.”
“Gods, I don’t know what to say. That’s terrible.” I shuddered, imagining the fear the people of Phythe must’ve felt when they saw the wave coming toward them, knowing there was no way they could escape it.
“It is.”
I swallowed, glancing down at the peacefully unaware Reaver. “Were the Primals ever truly benevolent?”
“I don’t think anyone is truly benevolent through theentirety of their life. Not even mortals,” he said, and I looked up at him. “But we didn’t expect that from Phanos, so it has to mean that he wasn’t always like that.”
“You think it’s simply because he lived too long?”
“I don’t think it’s that—or at least it’s not the sole reason. The Primals are old. Soon, they too will become Ancients. But Eythos, along with Kolis, was older than them all. And he never descended into that kind of heartless existence. A few other Primals haven’t,” he told me, and I thought of Attes. “If you ask Ector and other gods who were alive when Eythos was the true Primal of Life, they will tell you that there was a marked change in many of the Primals when Kolis stole his brother’s essence.”
I set the glass aside. “You think that act impacted their behavior? Caused them to become less benevolent?”
“That’s what Ector thinks.” Saion shrugged. “There’s no way to know for sure, but I think he’s onto something.”
If that were the case, could it mean that we could be successful at swaying at least a few Primals? “So, you ended up here, where there are no lakes or rivers beyond the Black Bay and Red River?”
A wry smile appeared. “Not at first. It was quite some time before we found our way to the Shadowlands or even came face-to-face with Nyktos.”
“How did that happen?”
He was quiet for several moments. “Gods cannot leave the Court they are born into without the permission of the Primal who oversees it. It’s not often that permission is granted. And if a god abandons their Court anyway, it’s considered an act of open rebellion, which is punishable by death—the final kind.”