Chapter 3 Caelus
Caelus
Nyssa swore as the portal closed half a second before she could leap through it.
Half a second before she made a very unwise and reckless decision as queen of three realms.
Half a second before my heart fell into my stomach and I lost all control of my mental faculties — and potentially my bowels. Again.
“Aros!” she called, eyes locked on the marble archway.
My nose wrinkled as a sudden pang of envy hit me — until I used my brain and surmised that no, it wasn’t personal, she didn’t want him like that. It was business, and Aros had just been named essentially her second in command, of course she’s going to call on him.
Fucking logic.
She stared at the portal, her fury potent enough to trigger the lightning bolt in Nightbreaker’s hilt. Miniature flashes illuminated the shadows bleeding from her fingertips. I wasn’t even sure she realised she was doing it.
Furies, she’s powerful.
Lykos didn’t respond verbally, but angled his gigantic body slightly between us.
You don’t need to do that. She won’t hurt me.
She has no idea she’s wielding right now, does she? She has no idea what she’s truly capable of, godling, his deep voice rumbled through my mind. And I’m not entirely certain how stable she is right now, given all that has happened…
The wrinkle between my brows deepened.
In the meantime, Aros had snapped to attention, ready to obey his queen no matter what words fell out of her pretty mouth next.
I stared, monitoring her as red-hot anger warred with steely resolve through our linked souls, compressing my lungs.
“How many scouts are part of your father’s warriors?” she asked him.
“Twenty, give or take,” Aros answered, matter-of-fact.
“Send out your best ones,” she ordered. “Actually, send all of them. We have to find Ares before he finds Kronos.”
He nodded sharply. “Send them where, exactly?”
Nyssa paused for a moment, her rosy lips pursed in contemplation. A sharp lance of dread skewered my breastbone — her dread. It was so visceral that even Lykos felt it — responding with a growl low in his throat — thanks to Nyssa’s unease passing through me like a conduit.
Without conscious thought, I reached out to grasp her hand again. I needed some form of physical contact, something to ground me as her emotions overtook mine, and hoped it would offer her a small measure of comfort in return.
Ever since I died, I had no inclination to be alone. I wanted to be with Nyssa every second of every day. And even though she had welcomed me into her bed so our nights weren’t spent isolated and plagued by nightmares, she’d shut me out in almost every other way this past week.
She cried alone, trained alone, walked the palace paths alone. She didn’t eat unless I made her, didn’t sleep unless I was beside her. She didn’t dance anymore, or smile, or laugh, or read. Nothing brought her joy. And heartbreakingly, that extended to me.
Aside from last night, when I was so overcome by the desire to kiss her — I’d stupidly done so before I’d even realised — she hadn’t so much as felt a flicker of want, or need, or desire.
It killed me all over again, feeling how deep her pain delved. Knowing there wasn’t a godsdamned thing I could do to fix it… knowing it was essentially all my fault.
“Everywhere,” she finally answered.
At least she hasn’t pulled away this time, I told my wolf.
Her grief is so poignant I can smell it, godling. Give her time. Let her come to you. And pray that her powers don’t devour her from the inside out in the meantime, Lykos replied.
Hephaestus marched forward on enormous, yet silent, feet and sank to his knees before her. How someone so huge could move so soundlessly, I’d never understand. His head bowed down, chin sinking low to rest on his chest, and his long, black hair fell forward to obscure his sombre face.
“I take full responsibility for the actions of Ares,” he said, his deep, gravelly voice awash with guilt. “It was I who was charged with escorting him to the prison. I who let distraction claim my attention. And I who will gladly take any punishment you wish to dole out for his escape.”
Indecision flitted across Nyssa’s face before she could school her expression.
But I could still feel it fluttering around like tiny butterflies in my chest where all of her emotions lingered.
She extended her free hand, tilting Hephaestus’ chin upwards until his deep brown eyes met her shattered, emerald green. And then the butterflies faded.
“Ares’ choices are not your burden to bear. He alone will face my wrath,” she promised.
Her gaze flicked up to Aros, gauging his reaction. His face portrayed only fury; fury that was mirrored by his normally aloof manticore. Rufus lay at his feet glaring, growling at any who dared look at him for longer than a heartbeat.
I didn’t doubt that Aros would relish his father finally facing consequences for his actions. I just hoped that he wouldn’t have to be the one to dispense them. Ares was still his father, after all.
“I have another task for you to complete,” Nyssa continued, once more looking down at the god of craftsmanship, her hand sliding down to grip his shoulder instead.
“Name it.”
“Fix the gateways to the afterlives. Do whatever it takes. I cannot risk Kronos calling forth more souls for his army from Tartarus’ depths.”
Fuck. I hadn’t even considered that.
“We would not survive it,” she breathed, brows furrowed.
Hephaestus reached up and placed his calloused hand over hers, dwarfing it.
“We will see it done,” he vowed, nodding to his son, Archimedes.
Arch strode forward, stopping level with his father. Their similarities were stark when in such close proximity — the same dark hair, the same strong build, the same determination written in the lines of their faces.
“Whatever it takes,” Arch agreed, inclining his head.
A glimmer of sadness slid across his features.
He knew all too well what this war would cost us; what fixing those arches would likely cost him.
He knew that their repair would likely be paid with what little remained of his life, thanks to the curse on his godly power, caused by his creation of a Titan dagger.
A dagger that killed my father.
A dagger that killed me.
Nyssa seemed to have come to the same realisation because she jolted forward, stopping him before he could back away.
“Arch, wait,” she rasped, swallowing roughly. “I will find you a cure.”
“My queen.” He smiled sadly. “Even you cannot make that promise when you have missing gods, broken gateways, and war brewing. My life should not even factor into your burdens. I will fix the arches for you, even if it’s the last thing I do.”
Shivers skated down my spine, like fate had chosen just now to listen in — Arch’s words rang painfully true.
A tiny voice spoke up confirming it.
“Truth,” Aletheia whispered the word with sombre finality.
“No,” Nyssa swore. “I will not accept that price. There must be a way to fix them without it costing you,” she said, voice dropping into nothing more than a breath.
Arch said nothing back. He just held her gaze, that sad smile still etched upon his face.
Nyssa’s head jerked to the side so fast I automatically reached for my sword. Her alarm gripped my heart in its fist — but nothing happened. There was nothing there. Just empty space and silence.
Arch and I exchanged a glance, both of us concerned and confused about what in Tartarus just happened. What we both, apparently, missed.
She inhaled with a stutter, cloudy confusion overtaking the potency of her alarm, and I reached for her again.
“Nightshade?”
This time, she wrenched her hand from my grip and whirled away abruptly, marching back over to her throne. Unease filtered through the entire Parthenon.
Lykos’ large nose nudged my empty hand but it did nothing to quell the rejection swelling within my soul. When Nyssa finally faced me, her lips parted as though she were about to speak.
But no words fell out.
No explanation came.
Her lips closed again and that mask came down, shutting me out. And if I didn’t already know what a dagger to the heart felt like, I would have explained this feeling just like that.