Stasia glared to hide her worry. So far as she knew, god-whisperers were unique to the nation of Miquo. If he pieced that connection together, the trail to them and their father should be immediately apparent. It seemed he understood her worry, for he held a finger to his lips and shushed as if addressing children.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell. I would be so disappointed if someone stole my fun.”

Mari thrust with the jagged ends of her bone wings, forcing the paragon’s spear into motion. Undeterred by his blocks, she dove, teeth successfully closing around his leg. The platemail held, and the butt of his spear hit her ribs in payment. Her grip lessened, and she rolled across the dirt. The weapon looped up and around, eager for a killing thrust with the bladed end. Stasia swung her ax for the paragon’s neck, forcing him to turn and block instead.

“Fun?” she asked as steel hit steel. “You’re a madman, and I am no demigod, just a very, very pissed-off woman.”

“You don’t know?” Soma asked. “How precious. How quaint. A distant spawn, perhaps? But the blood of gods flows through you, Ax of Lahareed. It is unmistakable.”

Their weapons separated. She struck his stomach with the lower half. He backhanded her across the face. By all accounts, hers should have hurt him worse, yet he remained upright, hardly noticing the hit that would have taken the breath away from any normal foe. Stasia, meanwhile, saw bright lights swim across her vision as blood poured down her face from her nose and split lip.

“I have slain many gods,” he said. “I know how they fight. I know how they bleed.”

It made no sense. What insanity possessed the paragon to call her the daughter of a god? Yet he seemed so confident, so sure of his guess. That he so quickly identified Mari as a Miquoan god-whisperer unnerved her. Who was this blue-armored paragon?

Such thoughts had to wait. If the sisters were to survive, no part of her could be distracted. Whatever game Soma played, let it die with him.

“If you’re right, then you’re dead,” she said. “Even paragons can’t slay a god in a fair fight.”

His grin grew. Disdain and mischief sparkled in his blue eyes.

“A small god, with diluted blood. And you, Lioness, you walk in the skin of a god I have already slain. I fear neither of you, but please, come try. Give me the challenge Thanet has failed to offer since our boats stormed these shores.”