“What are you scheming, Nymoria?”

The goddess jolted at the unexpected voice and hastily dismissed the small portal window that had allowed her to narrow her spiritual focus to her own servants in Thailen.

Luka smiled as he neared, an obnoxious sneer, like a bully who thought he’d gained some new advantage in the schoolyard. The young god moved upon long legs with a cockish strut, his wavy blond hair swishing over his shoulders.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Nymoria murmured coolly, turning back to the luminescent Board of Realms—an auditorium-spanning topographical map set in three dimensions, populated with thousands of tiny spirit essences that floated to and fro amidst cities, mountains, and seas. The citizens of this particular realm looked like nothing more than ants swarming across distant fields. But even at a distance, she could feel the warmth of her servants’ Glory.

Nymoria ignored Luka, studying the board as though she still had some pressing detail to consider within its borders. Of the dozens of such boards in the halls of Elysium, and all the hundreds of halls he might strut around, why was he here right now?

Luka’s hip brushed against Nymoria’s side as he scooted closer to her. The goddess flinched at his nearness. It was just like a new-blood god. The young ones always mistook haughtiness for self-assurance, and power for charm.

She pushed back from the edge of the board and glared at him.

“No answers, then?” Luka asked in his aggravating drawl. He gave her a playful nudge. “Shall I be more direct in my queries? This is a new realm, and you are an ancient deity. Surely, there’s some other you might vainly attempt to supplant. Why make moves in this realm where you hold so little sway? Is it me?”

She huffed. It was little secret that Nymoria sought to regain her standing in the Elysian Court, and this particular realm was hardly her only scheme. But it annoyed her that it was so clear to Luka that she sought his power specifically.

“Of course, it’s you,” Nymoria said with a coy smile. “You were handed your seat.”

“Not without cause, surely you agree,” Luka said. “I am its founder. And I provided all the gods a fresh supply of Glory.”

“You could have bought your seat on the court by pleasuring the high mistress herself, for all I care. It’s all the same. I earned my seat.”

“And lost it,” Luka jabbed. “In spectacular fashion, I’m told.”

Nymoria crossed her arms over her chest and forced a smile. “I should be going.”

“No need, I’m leaving already.” Luka arched his lean, muscular back and pushed away from the board. A pair of women giggled from the pillared entrance to the hall, and the god grinned expectantly.

“This is all a game to you, isn’t it,” Nymoria said, giving him ample space to move past her. But he paused very near, so she could feel the radiance of his Glory.

“All life is a game, Nymoria. You’re just sour that I’m winning.”

Wrong. I’m sour that I’m losing, she thought.

Outwardly, she huffed. “Don’t fluff your ego. You’re of no consequence to me whatsoever.”

Luka flashed a toothy grin. “Ah, you cut me to the core.”

He gripped her elbow, a little too tight. She tensed, but did not pull away.

“Old money versus new money. It’s a tale old as the universe, isn’t it?”

Nymoria shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

“You see, the problem with you ancients is that you think you deserve something just for having been around for such a long goddamn time. Too full of yourself to see that you are your own worst enemy.”

“And the problem with young gods is that you think I give a shit what you think.”

“Oh, I know you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t be two steps behind me.”

The pompous ass released her and strode away, calling back over his shoulder, “Good luck with your scheming.”