Chapter 60
I spun and bolted.
“Geluthyma.”
The word slipped from his lips, soft as breath, and every muscle in my body locked. My lungs fought for air, my limbs screaming to move, but I was frozen, caught, pinned by the weight of that single sound.
Prowling footsteps followed, ringing against the tunnel stone until they circled me. I couldn’t see him, but I felt him, each step winding tighter around me like a snare. Then he was there, in front of me, sigils faintly aglow, his gaze laced with amusement and something darker.
“A little piece of advice,” he said as his smile curved into something knowing … and predatory. “You should never give a monster a drop of your blood. You never know what he’ll do with it.”
Horror gripped me. I had done that. Willingly. If he was a monster, then I had handed him the weapon myself.
He plucked the torch from my frozen grip as if taking it from a statue.
Flamelight swung with him as he turned, striding deeper into the tunnel as he twirled the bone in his hand like it was some kind of baton.
My body betrayed me, every step wrenched forward in his wake as though tethered on an invisible leash.
My lungs still worked, ragged and fast, but my limbs obeyed only him.
Somewhere behind me came the rumble of a growl. I couldn’t move my head to look, but I assumed Roz was also being hauled along.
I tried to move—anything. To jerk my arm, to twist a wrist, to turn my head. Nothing. My body remained locked, trapped in invisible chains that weren’t mine to break. Each step answered only to him, dragging me forward like a hound on a leash.
The tunnel sloped until a narrow stone door yawned open ahead. Theron didn’t even touch it; the hinges shuddered as if eager to obey him.
Light spilled through.
In the next breath, we stepped out, rough stone giving way to marble, and I realized where he had brought me.
We were in the throne room, and it was strangely empty for once.
Theron’s torchlight flickered across the gilded pillars, the mosaics, the marble thrones that loomed at the far end. His violet eyes glimmered as he surveyed it all.
“Ah,” he murmured, glancing sidelong at me. “The memories you must have of this place.”
My body stayed locked, every muscle a prisoner to his spell, but my eyes were still mine. I fixed them on him, pouring every ounce of hatred I had left into that stare. I tried to make him feel it, the fury, the loathing, the promise that if I ever broke free, I’d slash his smirk from his face.
He laughed, the sound rolling out of him with unmistakable satisfaction. “Gods, you’re actually glaring daggers at me,” he said, his eyes glinting with delight. “Don’t look so murderous, my queen. I’m giving you a present to make it all better.”
Then, as if the joke had soured, his grin faded into a frown. “Though it’s not nearly as fun when I can’t hear your reaction to it.”
The sigils along his hand shimmered, light rippling over his skin. My throat loosened at once. I gasped, the first sound I’d been able to force out since the word that bound me.
“Ahh—” The sound broke into a frayed cry.
Theron only smiled and snapped his fingers.
The flames came instantly.
Fire roared to life as if it had been crouched in the shadows, waiting. It raced up the crimson columns … licking hungrily at the ceiling. The air thickened with smoke, acrid and choking, carrying the stench of charred stone. Heat slammed into me like a wall, but I couldn’t stagger away from it.
Theron’s gaze found me through the haze, his voice cutting through the crackle of burning wood and the groan of collapsing beams as he strolled out of the throne room.
“This palace? It’s nothing but a cage they’ve kept you in.
You’ve served them, sacrificed for them …
suffered for them, and they dared call it honor.
” The firelight caught his eyes, turning them molten.
“No more. I’ll burn it all down for you.
Every stone. Every chain. Until nothing remains of what they used to hurt you. ”
A shocked cry burst from my throat as flames devoured the walls. Horror rattled in my chest at the sight of it, at the enormity of what he’d unleashed.
I tried to ignore the part buried deep inside me, where something else stirred. Something hot and treacherous and answering. A part of me that had longed to see the halls brought low, to see the cage broken, even if it meant ruin.
“Glorious, isn’t it? Fire and destruction … it suits Sparta far better than marble ever did.” His grin flashed over his shoulder as the smoke swirled around us. “And don’t worry, Your Majesty. I’m still bringing your familiar along for the ride.”
Familiar?
Roz growled in answer like it knew what Theron meant, but I didn’t understand at all. I wasn’t some kind of powerful being like he’d told me about … like he was.
I forced my eyes sideways as far as they would go so that I could see Roz drifting a hand’s breadth above the ground.
Before I could give Roz a reassuring glance, the leash of Theron’s spell pulled us forward. The fire followed too, slithering along the walls, racing toward the corridor like a living thing eager to obey its master.
The hallway blazed orange, smoke billowing through shattered windows and across the ceiling.
A woman burst into view, her gown aflame as she shrieked for water.
With a flick of Theron’s fingers, the fire on her skirts vanished, smoke rising in a thin curl from the singed fabric.
But the rest of the hall still blazed, columns wreathed in fire, banners collapsing in blackened heaps.
Courtiers and servants screamed and stumbled, skirts and robes tangling as they tried to flee through the inferno.
Whenever they passed, pale light flared, walls of shimmering protection rising in their wake, shielding them from the flames.
Theron’s gaze never left mine. “I don’t think they deserve to live,” he said calmly. “Not after standing by and letting Menelaus abuse you. Someone should have stepped up for their queen.” He growled as if it made him furious just saying it. “Just say the word … and I’ll kill them.”
All I could do was gape at him, still unable to comprehend what was going on.
He let out a sigh, almost disappointed, and gave a small shrug. “Very well. I’ll make sure they don’t burn to death.”
The protections pulsed, glowing brighter as people continued to run away, the fire still raging all around. He strode forward, and I had no choice but to follow, as room after room unfurled in firelight.
We passed through the banquet hall, its long tables overturned and aflame, roasted meat still smoking as if mocking the feast that had been laid there the night before.
A whimper rose from beneath one of the tables, then another.
I caught a flash of faces, servants curled tight around each other, clutching their heads as the fire crawled closer.
Theron didn’t pause. He only flicked his wrist and walls of light sprang up around them.
Sparks hissed harmlessly against the barriers, sliding down their sides like rain on glass.
In the gallery, painted frescoes blackened and peeled from the walls, crumbling into curls of ash. A marble statue toppled with a groan, shattering across the floor in a spray of glowing embers.
Hot tears blurred my vision. Gods, I hated this place. I had prayed to see it fall, to see its walls broken and its cruelty undone. Yet the sight of it burning wrenched sobs from me all the same, tears spilling despite every oath I’d made never to mourn it.
Through it all, Theron hummed, unconcerned, fire bending at his whim, answering each idle flick of his fingers. And always, Roz’s growl followed us.
“You’re a plague,” I said through clenched teeth.
He tilted his head. “No, my queen. I’m the cure you don’t want to swallow.”
A ceiling beam crashed behind us. Sparks showered the corridor. I flinched, but I couldn’t stop walking. Couldn’t stop obeying.
The statue of Menelaus loomed at the end of the room, cracked from crown to base. The flames licked up its legs, blackening the marble, charring the solemn face that had once watched Anysa die.
My breath hitched. “Aren’t you afraid?” I asked. “Of Menelaus?”
Theron’s smile deepened, dark and crooked, as though I’d offered him a bedtime story. “Menelaus?” he echoed, tasting the name like it was a joke he’d already solved. “Once, maybe, he could slay the gods and Sparta trembled at the sound.”
He spun the bone lazily between his fingers, an absent, almost mocking gesture, its pale length catching what little light the room still had.
“But power like his …” His gaze drifted to the crumbling Menelaus statue, its marble eyes stained as if they’d wept something older than soot. “It thins. It leaks. It forgets how to hold itself.”
The bone clicked softly as he twirled it again.
He stepped closer, close enough that the heat of the fire blurred with his breath. His eyes caught mine, bright with promise. “Menelaus should have been more afraid of what comes after the gods.”
The words still shivered through me when a knot of guards surged from the smoke, their faces smeared black with soot, swords lifted as they rushed to drag me from him. “Free the queen!” they cried.
“Now they want to help,” Theron said exasperatedly, waving his sigiled hand again. The air shimmered, and the men locked mid-stride, bodies caught as if the world had clenched around them. “Where were they the rest of the time?”
My blood iced. Achilles … Alcmene … where were they? Did Theron’s protection from the fire extend to them?
“Please.” I gasped, though the word dissolved as soon as it left me.
A beam collapsed with a crash right behind us, and Theron didn’t so much as flinch. His hand closed over mine, and heat flared where our skin met, his sigils spilling their light into me until my palm blazed with borrowed fire. My breath caught, my body bound to his rhythm.