“Yes.”
Octavian frowned. “There is no honor in that.”
Arabelle chuckled. “You wish you’d thought of it, don’t you?”
“Of course. There isn’t much honor in the Lords’ Gala either.”
“Enough,” Devlin told us. “The Lords’ Gala is our current assignment, and there’s no use in complaining about it.” He leveled a cool look at Octavian. “Or in trying to scheme your way out of going.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, boss,” Octavian replied with a saintly smile.
“Good.”
“I must say, this isn’t at all how I pictured Heaven’s Army,” I whispered to Stash as the other soldiers packed up.
“Neither did I,” he replied. “The day I came here, it certainly changed everything I’d thought I knew about the gods.”
“They’re so normal.”
“And yet not normal at all. Never forget, Leda, that they are all gods. Because they will never let you forget it.”
“And yet you’ve decided to stay,” I said.
“There is no place for me back on Earth.” Stash shook his head. “I am a demigod, forever caught between worlds.”
“So is the First Angel. She’s made it work for her.”
“Nyx has found her place on Earth, and I’ve found mine here, in Heaven’s Army.”
“And we’re glad to have you.” Octavian winked. “Even though you’re a halfsie.”
“But he makes a heavenly Nectar cocktail,” Arabelle said. “Best I’ve ever had.”
I grinned at Stash. “Nice to hear you’re putting your bartending skills to good use.”
He returned my smile. “Gods need to drink like anyone else. Especially gods in Heaven’s Army.”
“I’ll definitely need something strong to survive tonight,” Punch grunted.
Devlin shut his locker and turned to face us all. “All right. You can braid each other’s hair later, girls. Right now, we have a job to do.”
Magic sparkled in Stash’s eyes, excited and a little devilish. “Try not to blow up anything this time, Leda.”
“I can’t make any promises. Monsters might crash the party. Demons might attack.”
“Dishes might spontaneously combust,” suggested Octavian.
I nodded. “These things do tend to happen when you invite the Angel of Chaos to a party.”
Punch rubbed his hands together. “You know, for the first time, this gala is starting to sound not half-bad.”
2
The Gods' Gala
Travel between the gods’ many worlds was made possible by a vast network of magic mirrors. When asked how many mirrors there were out there, each of my godly companions gave me a different number. And so I’d decided that no one truly knew how many magic mirrors existed in the universe. I suppose the task of summing them all up was akin to counting every grain of sand on a beach.
“Our mission here is straightforward,” Devlin told us as we passed through the iron gates and entered the estate. “The Lords’ Gala is a recurring meeting of the gods’ lower nobility, one tier below the seven gods that sit on the council.”
He was obviously explaining the gods’ political structure for my benefit. The other soldiers on the team already knew it. They looked bored, but I was actually fascinated. I’d always known there were other gods out there, ones who weren’t on the council, but to be honest, I’d never really thought about what they did.
“However, tonight’s gala differs from the usual Lords’ Gala in one very important way,” Devlin said. “It is a Choosing.”
“Are you certain?” Patch asked.
“You’re joking,” said Octavian.
“Yes, I am quite certain, and I don’t joke,” Devlin replied coolly.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Arabelle muttered to Octavian.
He snorted. They were both grinning from ear to ear. Even Punch had perked up at the mention of this Choosing.
“The Choosing happens when one of the seven gods on the council has been displaced,” Stash explained to me.
“Or someone in the lower nobility believes they have the necessary support to make a move and displace one of the Seven.” Patch looked at Devlin. “Seeing as none of us have heard anything about this, my guess is the latter.”
Devlin nodded. “Indeed.”
“So who’s making a play for power?” Arabelle asked. “And whose job are they after?”
“It’s Valora. She’s the one on the way out,” Stash declared to everyone’s surprise.
“How can you know that?” Octavian demanded.
“Is he right?” Arabelle asked Devlin.
“I am right,” Stash said. “And I know because it’s obvious. Due to recent events, Valora has lost many of her pledged supporters among the lower nobility.”
I could have sworn Stash’s gaze flickered to me for a fraction of a second, as though he were crediting me with Valora’s misfortune. True, I’d unwittingly played a part in exposing her secret dirty deeds—and the secrets of all the ruling gods—but it was really Faris who’d masterminded the whole thing to advance his own position.
“Valora has lost face among the Seven as well,” Stash continued. “The Seven voted for Faris to replace Valora as head of the council. Valora’s trajectory is decidedly downward. She’s a falling star.”
The soldiers looked to Devlin for confirmation.
“Stash is correct,” he told them. “The lower nobility is looking to push someone up to take Valora’s place on the council. Valora’s position is weak enough that one of them might succeed if they amass enough support here tonight. There are a few contenders, but the most likely to be chosen tonight is Lady Saphira. It is our mission to observe the Choosing and ensure that things don’t come to blows—or to spells. Faris will be most displeased if anyone is killed tonight.”
“Is the Choosing usually a bloody affair?” I asked.
“It varies, but there really have been so few of them, so it’s hard to say,” Patch said.
“The last one was a bloody good time.” Punch looked up at the starry, moonless night, as though searching for an omen.
“Ironically, that was the night of Valora’s Choosing,” Octavian said. “It was a total shoe-in, of course, as everyone knew she was her father’s choice to replace him. As such, nearly all of Mercer’s supporters had pledged themselves to Valora.”
“If everyone knew it was a shoe-in for Valora, why was it a bloody affair?” I asked.
Arabelle shrugged. “Another god tried to poison her supporters. And Valora retaliated. I heard the battle lasted seven days.”
“Seven days and seven nights,” Punch confirmed, looking way too cheerful about it. “I got to blow up more things in those seven days and nights than I ever have in any other battle in my life.”
“The majority of what you blew up being furniture,” Octavian said drily.
Punch glared at him, his hands compacting into fists. “I’ll have you know that there were enemy combatants hiding behind that furniture.”