CHAPTER FORTY
‘ S orry I’m late,’ Sparrow drawled.
Betrayal flared hot in Selene’s chest, though she had no idea why; she had never considered Sparrow an ally, had she? But watching him stride into the Cor Cordium , her breath felt tight in her lungs, an ache not entirely attached to her grief. As foolish as it seemed now, she had.
Cesare’s expression melted into something ugly when his eyes landed on Sparrow, a wolfish snarl drawing his lips back from his teeth.
A wicked grin stole across her face as she realized … Sparrow was here for her. His lips pressed into a return smile as he circled away from her, forcing Cesare to split his attention between the two of them.
Cesare drew back his sleeves to reveal his many tattoos. Using the Primus’ ring—with its concealed razor spike—he dashed a cut down one row of sigils and then another, triggering his magic. She could only imagine how many words of power he had drawn on.
Sparrow turned in place, hands pushed into his pockets. ‘Wow, I never got to see in here before. You know, what with the wards and all. Am I the first to come?’ Sparrow indicated the Deathless God with Selene’s sheathed sword, then tugged his hair in an irreverent salute. ‘God, nice to meet ya.’
Cesare made a sound not wholly human. Selene felt a tremor of fear through her blood. Surely— surely —he wasn’t going to unleash? She’d never seen him waver in the mastery of his own power. She’d always found him admirable. And yet … she watched him—wary.
Sparrow closed with Cesare, his only weapon her sheathed sword. The handicap did not slow him, and he struck Cesare a bone-quaking blow across the chest. If it had been a naked blade, her uncle would be dead. But of course she’d locked her blade at the Carnival Masquerade and had not had the opportunity to unlock it since.
‘I take it you’re the one responsible for the wards falling?’
‘In a manner,’ Cesare replied, eyes dark as he swept low to take Sparrow’s feet from under him, snarling in aggravation when the other man effortlessly twisted his body to avoid it. ‘But not entirely.’
‘Why?’
Cesare laughed, straightening up. ‘Why do you think I’d answer your questions, Sparrow? After today you’re nothing.’
Sparrow raised one shoulder. ‘I’ve been nothing before, it’s not that bad.’
‘Then you’ll be dead.’
Sparrow chuckled, not looking the least bit worried. ‘Oh? Show me.’
He was buying her time.
The two clashed with brutal efficiency. After the first few experimental parries, neither one wasted a movement. Sparrow was at a disadvantage with the sheathed blade, but the ring of it against Cesare’s sword filled the echoing chamber.
At last the black around the edges of her vision started to recede and Selene got her feet under her, leaning heavily on a column. Sparrow caught her eye as he slammed his boot into Cesare’s chest and used the moment to throw Selene her sword, so it arced through the air between them.
She lunged, snatching it from the air.
Sparrow grinned. ‘What good it’ll do you. Even I couldn’t draw the damn thing.’
She unsheathed the blade and tossed away the scabbard. ‘Not strong enough, Sparrow.’
‘Where’s Jules?’ She heard the edge of concern in his deep voice.
The question was a gut punch. The ache of her dislocated shoulder. The bruising of her windpipe. All of it paled to the violent hues of grief. She bit her lower lip so it wouldn’t tremble, teeth pressing hard enough to split it.
Cesare was no longer looking at Sparrow. His eyes bored into her.
With the arrival of her sword, she’d become infinitely more dangerous to him. Even broken. Even hopeless.
Finally, softly, ‘Dead.’
Sparrow’s face twisted—a toxic mixture of sorrow and anger. Then he pointed a steady finger at Selene. ‘This is the last time I let you live, exorcist. This was for Jules. Tomorrow we’re enemies.’
With that, he left. And a glimmer of hope left with him. Alone again.
Cesare shifted, circling Selene. ‘I see you’re making friends.’
She levelled her blade. ‘Who needs friends when I have family like you ?’
There would be no more taking Cesare by surprise. Sparrow’s presence in the Cor Cordium meant only one thing: the final ward had fallen. But to get to God, first he’d have to go through her.
Selene felt the temptation to tap her magic—she could feel the dark pull as clearly as the imprint of God’s fingers on her throat. But she resisted, shifting into a fighting stance. To survive she’d need to bring her best.
‘Fight me, uncle .’
She was familiar with Cesare’s every expression and didn’t miss the fleeting pain on his face. When it hardened to determination, she recognized that too.
Cesare was ready for her, his eyes flaring as dark lines extended from his sockets and across his face. The seconds between quiet and violence ignited the air, so by the time they crashed together there was no oxygen left. Only heat and rage.
Selene sliced the air with her sword—intending to bisect him from shoulder to hip—but he folded away with the grace of a dancer. Every one of his smooth movements was bolstered by his magic.
Her blade had belonged to her father once, and it was strong. Which was lucky, because the next flurry of blows would have broken lesser blades, and lesser exorcists, too.
Cesare had forged his own sword and it had inches on hers. Giving him the advantage of reach.
But she was fast.
She delivered a handful of blows that landed. Even though they didn’t cut deep.
His expression tightening with fury, Cesare came back harder, aiming for her knees. A miss. Then he slammed the flat of his blade across her shoulders. Her chin smacked stone and split, dribbling blood down her chest.
She shook off the shock, ignoring the stars that crowded at the edge of her vision.
He was getting faster and the foreign look in his eyes made him a stranger. The thought wormed inside her mind, undermining her next parry. He slipped beneath her guard. She skipped backwards, the blade whistling beside her ear.
When Cesare triggered more magic, oppressive silence swallowed her. Her hearing snapped back in time to catch the shred of ligaments as he lengthened, shoulders widening until he was even more snake-hipped than usual.
He had more than two feet on her now.
Breath snagging, she reassessed the odds. She’d be lucky to make a hit. His reach was ridiculous.
‘Come, Selene,’ he taunted. ‘Give me everything you’ve got.’
Everything .
If she triggered her magic this close to God, she’d burn like a moth flown straight for the flame. She could taste blood. Panting, she wiped her chin with her sleeve. Her throat was sticky with it. ‘I don’t need magic to beat you. Just a sword.’
He chuckled, reminding her more of a demon in this moment than the man she had known.
When next he came for her, his blows chipped away at her strength. And his increased reach caged her in. Her muscles trembled with effort each time their blades met. She was covered with as many cuts as she’d given him. Deep slashes on her forearms, shallower ones on her ribs and thighs. She read his intentions and it kept her alive.
He shifted. A low swing. She leapt, and the second she did she knew he had her. She’d fallen for his feint like a novice.
A smile tipped the corner of his mouth and he slammed the pommel of his sword into her gut.
The stone cracked where she landed, and her ribs were in equally bad shape. She slid across the stone floor, gasping for breath. It was nothing compared to the ache of betrayal. Part of her still thought this wasn’t him. But it was—only a side of him she’d never seen.
Or—perhaps—never wanted to.
He killed your father , she reminded herself. And now he’ll kill you .
Cesare strolled closer. ‘Do you give up, Selene?’ He lifted her chin with his blade.
She snarled. Blood was the only taste she could remember. Pain racked her body. Even her heart seemed to stutter and slow.
He slid the blade behind her ear to rest on her neck in an executioner’s pose.
She couldn’t make herself move. The cold stone beneath her numb fingers injected ice into her veins. It was more than just Cesare causing this toxic listlessness to radiate into her limbs, like venom threading through her body. It was the knowledge that she had nothing left . Her world had been built on a foundation of the Deathless God. But it had been a lie.
Now her world tipped on its axis. Without Jules there was no up. During the last few days, he’d made himself vital to her. Like sight or breath. Now, without Dio Immortale , what was left to believe in?
Jules , her mind supplied. And Father.
Jules’s words from her father’s study came back to her. You have control. He believed her power was her own. Cesare had always, always warned her it was not. But who was he to her now?
Her enemy.
And Jules—he was dead. But he was still the most important piece of her heart. She could hear his deep, assured voice as he told her to embrace her power. He knew what the Deathless God was, and still he wanted her to know her power was her own. If there was anyone in all the world she could trust, it was him. He wanted her to own it.
Cesare sighed softly. ‘Goodbye, my darling girl.’
She looked at the Deathless God. He would be the last thing she’d see. Of course he had forsaken her. She’d returned the great spear to its place between his ribs, ensuring he’d never know peace.
She closed her eyes, chest heaving. She was exhausted. Nothing she did now would be enough.
Cesare would kill her, but she couldn’t fight another moment.
As though Sparrow’s grief had taken root inside her, fighting no longer felt worth it.
I’m sorry , Jules . The sudden absence of Cesare’s blade against her neck became her entire world. She pictured him drawing back his arm.
When it bit, she’d die.
All she felt was resigned.
But as the hairs on the back of her neck prickled and the cool air brushed her skin a moment ahead of the blade, her fingers curled against the stone of their own accord. As though mind and body were separate entities, and her body was not done living.
With none of her usual grace her body flung itself away. Only desperate survival remained.
Tumbling violently, Selene’s body screamed with pain that darkened the world around the edges. Dio , death had to be better than this. But she didn’t need God—she had his son.
Frustration twisted Cesare’s face into something ugly as she staggered to her feet. ‘You’re not done yet?’ Cesare sighed indulgently, but a muscle in his jaw twitched.
She smiled a vicious, bloody smile. ‘Not yet.’
Cesare submerged a hand into God’s gold blood and licked it off his fingers.
Sacrilege . ‘Traitor!’ she snarled.
He didn’t seem to hear. Rolling his shoulders, Cesare stretched his arms as though pushing against the world. Muscles corded beneath smooth skin and dark raised veins spiderwebbed over the backs of his hands. More gruesome still, a second pair of arms unfolded from beneath the first. He stretched his fingers experimentally. ‘Now this— this is power.’
His voice sounded wrong. Resonant and deep; even deeper than it usually was when he was tapped into his magic. Selene felt a sudden spike of fear that he’d lose himself.
As their battle resumed, the force of bodies and blades colliding shook the entire chamber. Plaster dust drifted down, settling on her shoulders.
She was bruised and broken, bleeding from a thousand cuts. Enough blood slopped to the floor that she was afraid her magic wouldn’t work if— when —she needed it.
Opposite her, Cesare remained whole. Unbruised. Untouched.
He reached out with a lazy hand, manifesting a shadowy whip which wrapped around one of the alabaster columns, uprooting it like a tree, and flung it across the chamber at Selene.
She threw herself to the floor, sharp chips of marble slicing her cheeks as she pressed herself flat beneath its vast shadow.
But it was too little, too late.
Then there was a flicker of movement and a figure with burning gold eyes caught the column with a crack like thunder, arresting it effortlessly with one hand.