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    Gods & Lies Season 2
    Gods & Lies Season 2
    Gods & Lies Season 2
    Ebook151 pages2 hours

    Gods & Lies Season 2

    By Elizabeth Vail

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    About this ebook

    In this contemporary fantasy where humans live at the whims of Gods and Goddesses, accusing one of murder has disastrous consequences. 

     

    Justix Iris Tharro is back again, with another murder to solve?Çö but this time, it?ÇÖs Andy?ÇÖs fate on the line. If she can?ÇÖt prove he?ÇÖs innocent of the crime, the Gods will have their vengeance. 

     

    Andymion Eriki, disgraced demigod, has been blamed for a murder. Actually, make that framed. He escapes from his immortal prison to plead his case to the only person he can trust: Iris. With only three days to find the real culprit before vicious beasts come for their heads, Andy and Iris must figure out which Gods they can trust, or they?ÇÖll both end up dead. 

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRealm
    Release dateMar 24, 2023
    ISBN9781682108161
    Gods & Lies Season 2

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      Book preview

      Gods & Lies Season 2 - Elizabeth Vail

      Gods & Lies

      Book 2

      Elizabeth Vail

      Table of Contents

      Gods & Lies Book 2

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 1

      IRIS

      The way I see it, there’s an easy way and there’s a hard way. I leaned across the table in the interrogation room. The easy way is you tell me where the money is and confess to stealing it in the first place, and I’ll see to it you don’t do more than two years. You don’t want to know what the hard way is.

      The satyr snorted and crossed one hairy goat leg over the other. Lady, I’ve chewed cud older than you. I know a bad deal when it’s put in front of me. He bared his unsettlingly large goat’s teeth in a smug grin. You can’t touch me.

      We found hoofprints at the scene, Garrick.

      He shrugged. Hoofprints just mean it was a satyr. We’re not all alike.

      I nodded pleasantly, and suspicion crept across his shaggy face with my apparent agreement. True, true. Every hoofprint is distinct. The ones we found had a crack in the left hoof, while the right one tilted to the right at a rather unusual angle. Perhaps this satyr had a limp. A distinctive one. I glanced down at Garrick’s shaggy limbs, noting the slightly twisted right one. The rest of his body stiffened as if Aestros Himself had just blown a chill wind down his back.

      Hoofprints don’t lie, I said, peeling the false innocence away from my voice to reveal the steel beneath. We already got you dead to rights, but if you play your cards right— I cut off at a rap on the door.

      The new novice stuck his head into the room before I could wave him off. Gotta minute? The high priest needs you.

      It can wait. I had Garrick right where I wanted him, his cloven hooves rattling nervously against the floor.

      Father Edwin says it can’t. Wait, I mean, the novice added.

      Garrick withdrew into his shell, his smirk returning. Daddy’s calling.

      I fought the urge to curl my hands into fists and chew out the novice in front of my suspect. It was against the goddess of justice’s doctrines, but it was so tempting. I stood up slowly and pasted a confident smirk of my own on my face. Keep laughing, Garrick. This doesn’t change anything.

      I left the smarmy little goat sweating in the Temple of Justice’s interrogation room and followed the novice into the elevator.

      What did I tell you about interrupting me during an interrogation? I asked.

      The novice wouldn’t meet my eye, choosing to pick at an imaginary piece of lint on his formal Justix uniform instead. The high priest said it was important.

      If he thought it was so important, he could have come himself, I groused, but without any teeth behind it. It wasn’t this newbie’s fault that Father Edwin had chosen him as a human shield—I mean, messenger. I sent the novice on his way and stepped into the high priest’s office without knocking.

      I certainly hope this is worth risking Garrick Browntail’s testimony on the east side robbery—

      I skidded to a halt as a water nymph wearing a beryl circlet rose up from an office chair to intercept me, her form encased in shining armor made of interlocking scales of ice. Her right hand melted, then hardened into a frozen spear. A chill ran up my back as behind me—why didn’t I check?—a second war nymph detached herself from the wall, her fingers extending into translucent daggers. The nymphs looked strangely familiar, but then again, it was hard for me to tell some nymphs apart. Their watery faces were hard to read. My hand went to the blessed oak at my hip.

      That won’t be necessary! Father Edwin called from behind his desk. His voice sounded incongruously small and ineffectual against the two aggressive water spirits looming over me, but after exchanging a flat, watery glance between them, they backed off.

      What in the seven hells? I loosened my grip on my oak, but kept it at hand. What were water nymphs doing in Themia’s temple?

      I can handle this, Father Edwin said. He couldn’t quite bring himself to push past the first war nymph, so he sidled around her like a student circling past a teacher to avoid being late to class. Justix Tharro. There’s been an . . . incident. One that requires your attention. He brandished his own blessed oak. It was gnarled and covered in runes, and it stretched to the size of a quarter staff as I watched. This branch is carved from the tree of justice. Place your hands upon it and be judged.

      "Wait—what?" They performed this gesture during trials. When sentencing criminals. Or when investigating justixes who had strayed beyond the bounds of their duties.

      Do you refuse the plea of justice? The high priest placed a noted emphasis on the words—not in a threatening way, more like a director reminding an actor of a forgotten line. Of course. I had neither the right nor a reason to refuse. I placed my hand upon the high priest’s oak. It felt awkward beneath my grip, the balance skewed.

      Justix Iris Tharro, did you assist Andymion Eriki in his escape from the Wailing Isle?

      Andy. "What? No."

      Did you arrange his escape through a third party?

      No. My mind whirled back to the last time I’d seen Andy Eriki, the semi-reformed demigod who had helped me bring a sea goddess to justice.

      Were you made aware of his escape or of any potential plans for escape?

      No. Six months ago, he’d helped me solve a murder case. But he’d defied the Seamother to do it, and had been dragged into the sea for punishment. I glanced at the war nymphs out of the corner of my eye. Now I knew why they looked so familiar. The one wearing the circlet was Leona, right hand of the Seamother Herself. She and her sisters had pulled him beneath the waves.

      Have you been in contact with Andy in any way for the last six months?

      No.

      But you requested contact. Several times, in fact.

      And every request was denied. By you, I didn’t add. Every damn time. The goddess-blessed oak remained quiet beneath my hand. I was telling the truth.

      Father Edwin sighed, and his oak shrank down to fit back into his holster. He angled his head at the war nymphs. There. Are you satisfied?

      No. Leona’s expression didn’t change, but she permitted her spear to melt back into a hand. We will not be satisfied until Andymion Eriki is recovered.

      The high priest returned to his desk and gestured for me to sit. I remained standing. I wasn’t going to leave my back exposed to a pair of stab-happy nymphs.

      What’s this about Andy escaping? I asked. And from where?

      I would have preferred to relate the news to you more professionally, but the Seamother’s servants insisted. Due to the nature of your . . . connection with the demigod.

      I glared at the nymphs, but one gave me a blank stare in return, and Leona lifted her chin defiantly. Would you not have done the same, Justix, if our positions were reversed?

      Okay, so there were worse things than stab-happy nymphs—stab-happy nymphs who happened to be right. Will you stab me if I refuse to answer?

      Play nice, Father Edwin chided. The Seamother has volunteered their services to this case. Andy’s escape creates a load of problems that none of us wants to deal with.

      I turned back to the high priest. Then fill me in already. Andy’s escaped from prison? How did that happen?

      At this point, we don’t know. His absence was reported twelve hours ago, and the Seamother is demanding an investigation. Themia has taken up the call.

      The gods want a human on this?

      Father Edwin leaned back in his seat, his gaze sliding toward me, then away. "No, the gods want you on this. The oak test was just to satisfy the Seamother and Her proxies that your priorities hadn’t been compromised."

      "They want me?"

      Yes. Does this surprise you? You’re the natural choice. You know him. You’ve worked with him.

      I miss him.

      And the Seamother holds you in high esteem for your assistance on the matter with the tidal goddess.

      I was sorely tempted to remind the high priest that Andy had provided just as much assistance bringing Tilamon to justice, and look where that had gotten him, but something about Father Edwin’s response struck me as off. And that’s it? That’s why you want me on this case?

      The high priest made as if to answer, glanced at my own blessed oak, and cleared his throat instead. Leona answered for him. Andymion left a note, before he fled. It simply said, ‘Iris Tharro will know what to do.’

      That explained the third degree from the nymphs—but what was Andy thinking? Did he want me to chase him?

      So what happens to him after I bring him back? I asked. Assuming I can. I glanced at the nymphs again, standing sentry by the door.

      Leona lifted her chin. The Seamother extended a grace period of twenty-four hours. If Andymion can be recovered within that time, His mother will forego increasing his sentence.

      I felt my eyebrows lift in surprise. Members of the Pantheon didn’t look kindly on defiance. Twenty-four hours wasn’t a lot of time, but it was more mercy than I’d expected from someone of the Seamother’s power. But if Andy continued to anger the Pantheon, there’s no telling what they’d do to him.

      Where do we start?

      Leona stepped forward. Where it all began––on the Wailing Isle.

      • • •

      The rest happened surprisingly quickly. To preserve the privacy of the Wailing Isle’s location, I was bound, blindfolded, and bundled by the nymphs onto what was either a very quiet speedboat or an extremely patient sea creature. I am going to kill Andy when I find him.

      I must have dozed off at some point, because I woke to the damp touch of a nymph’s hand jostling my shoulder. We have arrived.

      I blinked my watering eyes against the sunset after Leona removed my blindfold. We were standing on a beach of soft, white sand. A line of paving stones marked a path leading into a lush jungle. I turned around. The ship we rode in on was nowhere to be found, sealing my suspicion that we’d ridden some sort of benevolent sea serpent to the Wailing Isle and I’d missed it.

      I sent my sister on ahead to alert the guardians of this Isle to our presence, Leona said. She undid the knots on my bindings with cool, watery fingers. And also so that we might have a chance to talk.

      About what?

      The nymph gave me a frank stare, her face smooth and dark. Deceptively expressionless. I am worried about Andy. He had no reason to escape this place.

      Why not? I asked. Prisons aren’t really designed to be pleasant.

      I suppose for humans, the Wailing Isle would be considered a prison, Leona said stiffly. But this place was conceived with protection in mind—along with, yes, confinement.

      Protection?

      Leona glanced over my shoulder at the rest of the beach, as if to make sure we were still alone. She lowered her voice. "There are places where the Seamother sends unfortunates to be punished with unspeakable devices and torments. The Wailing Isle is not one

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