Chapter 29 Nyssa #2
Aelia skewered him with her dual-toned gaze, not blinking until he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “He is otherwise engaged.” She twisted to face me, dropping the sharpness of her glare. “But I will fight with you, no matter what he decides for my kingdom.”
“A female heir cannot fight!” Galen exclaimed, slamming his hand down on the table.
Aelia reacted faster than I did — so quick I was barely even able to track her movements. Between heartbeats, she’d pulled a dagger hidden from somewhere on her side, flicked it through the air, and impaled the surface of the table — right between Galen’s outstretched first and second fingers.
It took him a moment to react, but when he realised just how close he’d come to losing a precious digit on his dominant hand, he jerked it back with a loud curse — just as the shadow-woven seat he rested his obtuse ass on dissipated beneath him.
“Do you refute the fact that I can fight, or that I shouldn't?” Aelia asked, prowling over to him. “Or is it that my womb is of more service to our kingdoms than my skills with steel and spear?”
Oh, I really like her.
Caelus snorted.
Velira chose that moment to make her presence known, unleashing a resonant shriek as she dove directly downwards.
Several mortals scattered, reaching for weapons they had no idea would be useless against the might of her violet scales, several others cowered beneath the table, fearful of attack.
Vel’s wings flared with a sharp crack and she circled the isle twice before landing with a thunderous, bone-rattling boom. Her lilac leathered wings flared again, extending the entire width of the temple, then she tucked them in against her spine, extending her neck to its full height.
She was magnificent.
Thank you.
And she was glaring.
The mortal cod-liver king has no idea of the mistake he just made.
He’s just a prince.
Even more the fool for such a statement. Kings I cannot kill… Princes, on the other hand…
Galen trembled as she took one enormous step toward him, dwarfing the table and its remaining occupants.
Do you believe I should refrain from fighting as well? she asked him. I am a female — and the last of my kind. Are my claws not sharp enough for your cause? Is my flame too small to burn your enemies?
I relayed her words, ensuring I conveyed her scathing tone to perfection.
Galen trembled, stuttering an incoherent reply.
I see, she said. You only refer to females of your kind — of which there are many.
And being an heir of Poseidon’s land, I’m assuming you’ve already sunk your tiny cock into each of them in your kingdom already.
This one is fierce and beautiful, both. She tipped her maw in Aelia’s direction.
She is everything you are not — and you are not worthy of her.
“She is to be my wife!” he roared, spittle flying out the corners of his mouth.
Aelia’s gaze darkened. “My father has agreed to no such request.”
“But he will,” Galen seethed, clambering to his feet. “My father will not be refused.”
“And is that how you will be as well? As king? As husband?” I cut in. “Not somebody to be refused? Especially not by a wife who couldn’t possibly possess a mind of her own and make decisions regarding her own body?”
Galen’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click.
“Poseidon has raised you all in his image, hasn’t he? That fucking bastard. Snivelling coward of a fish-dick—”
“Nyss,” Caelus whispered, jolting me out of my tirade before I could really get going.
Aros seemed disappointed at that fact, actually.
“Begone, Galen, son of Pelias. I do not have the time to coddle you, nor tear you off of unwilling participants — in either marriage or body. We have bigger fish to fry.”
Begrudging laughter came from several directions, most hearty of which from the centaur named Orion — the wild people of Lunaris’ chosen representative, and close neighbours of Thaldon, Galen’s kingdom.
Galen flushed, his face contorting in unspoken rage as he turned and stomped down to the dock. His guards rushed to escort him, stumbling after him in haste as he waited for their rowboat to dock.
“You’ve made an enemy there,” Orion warned.
“Poseidon was an enemy before I was even born,” I murmured, echoing the Titaness’ words. “His mortals are of no great concern. But that reminds me — Aphrodite?”
The goddess jerked upright, her amused grin dropping into austerity.
“Have you made contact with Nereus yet?”
After a brief pause in which her teeth ground together, she said, “I have.”
“And where does he stand?”
Her chin lifted, eyes uncharacteristically hard. “He will stand with us on one condition.”
“And what condition is that?”
“That his daughter cannot be condemned for her actions.”
“Done.”
“Nyssa, that’s not—”
“I said done. Whatever happens, happens. We need his allegiance. Whatever act she has committed is surely a grain of sand in the desert that is this war.”
Aph nodded, refraining from further comment but the pout to her lips and narrowing of her eyes said we’ll discuss this later.
“We have the oceans,” I declared. “We have the skies. Now — what of the lands?”
One by one, the mortal rulers stood, cast their die, and made their allegiances known.
All except one.
“You already know my answer,” Aelia said, shooting a reproachful look Galen’s way as his sailors rowed him back out to their waiting ship.
Queen Idalia spoke next. “Cytheros stands with you.”
Aphrodite glimmered with pride — quite literally radiant.
Her hair shone like the warmest hues of sunset, cerulean eyes sparkling like a glorious summer day, and her skin glittered like Helios himself had blessed her.
Several of the men seated around the table shifted in their seats uncomfortably, resituating the way their attire clung to certain appendages.
Vel snorted a rumbling dragon laugh, the sound catching in the back of her enormous throat — enough to have said appendages returning to a more comfortable size.
“Meloidia stands with you — and you have our sincerest gratitude for providing us aid with those serpent-creatures.” King Lyros bowed, his lithe frame bending gracefully so that his nose almost brushed against the table’s splintered surface.
Princess Isadora spoke next on behalf of her grandmother — frail in the latter stages of her mortal lifespan. “Kardia stands with you.”
Hestia rose with fluid grace, striding over to where the matriarch sat, clutching a simple wooden cane in her timeworn fingers.
The goddess reached for one such hand, holding it gently within her own, and pressed a kiss to Queen Calliope’s knuckles.
A visible tranquility rippled outward, allowing the woman to feel a kind of peace in which she’d likely never known — courtesy of the goddess’ gifts.
Calliope rose slowly, with all the deliberate grace and dignity of one who has ruled longer than some present have been alive — myself included.
Her cane dug into the soft earth of the Isle while Hestia offered a steadying presence.
She winced as weary muscles stretched and aching joints loudly protested the movement, but no complaints ever crossed her lips.
Once fully upright, she relinquished Hestia’s hand after a subtle, grateful squeeze, and the goddess stepped back.
“I am old, that much is obvious,” Calliope said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I will not live to see this war through, my bones tell me so.”
Isadora’s brows furrowed and tears lined the lower rim of her eyes but she did not dispute her grandmother’s words.
“When I go, I leave my grandchildren to you,” she said, dipping her head in our direction. “Princess Isadora will become queen, as is our custom. Her brother, Atticus, is a little aloof when it comes to these things, but he is a prince of the people and they are in good hands with him.
“Kardia stands with you because Isadora had decreed it. I beg you, watch over her—”
“Grandmother,” Isadora hissed.
“Our kingdom has no other heir. And so, I ask you not to shield her, but to equip her with the skill and the knowledge to defend herself and her people.”
“Artemis?” I asked, knowing the goddess would understand and take the princess under her tutelage as well.
“Yes, your grace.”
“I shall retire now,” Calliope declared. “I am weary and the day has been long.” And though age had touched her skin, time had not dulled her spark in her eyes, I decided, as she fixed them on me. “Good luck.”
Two warriors — one male, one female — sprinted out of the gardens to aid the Kardian queen down to the dock.
Isadora remained behind, casting one last sorrow-filled look at her grandmother, before pivoting and transforming before our eyes.
She tucked her heart away, letting fierce determination write its way into every inch of her expression and every one of her bones.
She faced me directly, unwavering under the weight of my gaze. “Thank you, my queen. And you, Lady Artemis. I will not let you down.”
“See that you don’t,” Artemis said. Only the slight tilt to her lips indicated that she was teasing the girl — but Isadora didn’t need to know that.
“She won’t,” Hestia murmured, squinting at the girl. I wasn’t sure exactly what the goddess saw within Isadora, but I knew she would not vouch for her if there was nothing of worth to speak for.
Orion took the pause in conversation as his opportunity to speak. “My lady Artemis is a fierce and loyal huntress. She knows my answer because it is the one she herself has freely given. Lunaris stands with you.”
“As does Caldris,” Icarus avowed. “The Lord Hephaestus is not here because he is actively thwarting Kronos, even now. He and his son openly and quickly pledged their allegiances to you, Queen Nyssa, and it would besmirch their honour to choose any differently. My father would agree: where Hephaestus goes, his people will follow.”
“Thank you, Icarus.”