Chapter 21
Elios adjusted the collar of his impeccably tailored suit before taking a seat, placing an ankle over his knee. “To understand the now, you must understand the past. There was a time before your kind when gods ruled over the land.” He closed his eyes and raised his hands. “Do not panic,” he said softly.
With a thunderous boom, he brought his palms together and my sight darkened momentarily before I was thrust into a vision of Elios’ making. Cut off from my surroundings, I was immersed in a world of opulence. Around me, a myriad of gods and goddesses paraded around cities built from marble and gold while faceted crystals sparkled beneath the firelight. Wine flowed freely from fountains as courtesans danced naked in gilded halls to soft, harp-strung melodies. Love and lust danced hand in hand with curiosity and abandon as these beings of unbridled power indulged in the pleasures of the flesh.
Elios’ voice resonated in my mind as I watched the creation of Kallistos occurring before my eyes. “Everything you know and love was created by the gods—the tall pine trees that pepper this very isle, the earthy scent of petrichor that accompanies the rainfall. Even you were created by our hands, which is how your powers came to be. All of it came from the mind of a being who had the ability to will whatever they desired into existence.”
Centuries passed by in the blink of an eye, the past imprinting itself in my mind as though I had lived it. I clutched the arm of my chair to keep myself from wandering too far into the vision, to remind myself that no matter how real Elios’ magic felt, it was nothing more than an illusion.
“In the beginning, the gods had a purpose—they answered the call of their patrons and favored, exercising their creative freedom to explore new inventions, but as time went on, mortals became less dependent on their makers. Societies blossomed into self-sufficient empires, prayers became redundant, and with most beings having access to their power, gods were called on less with each passing day.” Elios paused, transforming the focus of his images to the gods.
Seven deities sat in a circular courtyard in grand thrones, each boasting elements from their respective dominion. A near-translucent, shimmering barrier stretched above their heads, allowing unfettered access to the sky above.
“An idle god begs for trouble. They were not designed in the way mortals are. Their power must be exercised, or they become overzealous and meddlesome creatures. Because of this, it was collectively decided that they no longer had a role to play in this civilization. However, it could not be left unattended, and they did not want their work to be undone, so they elected an individual from each region to rule in their stead.”
“Calix Darrow,” I said, fitting that puzzle piece together. That had never been written in our history books. There was minimal information on the gods, only that they existed and were the reason we were touched by magic. Even those who prayed to the gods did so blindly, unwaveringly believing in the power they were prophesied to hold.
But their time on our lands was consequently wiped from our records, forcing us to follow the words of mere mortals rather than the divine. I could not help but wonder what the justification for that was. Did the gods themselves not want their history written, allowing us to forge our own path? Or was it omitted due to the avarice of those chosen to lead?
“Correct,” Elios confirmed. Calix Darrow was chosen by the gods to rule over Kallistos. He was blessed by the goddess of wisdom, and held her favor. It was one of many reasons his rule had been as peaceful as it was—until, of course, it was no longer.
Relationships between the fae and the vampyres had always been tense, but it grew more so as the vampyres grew in greed, ringing in a new dawn of conflict. Arowan D’Arcy was a brilliant yet power-hungry man who sought more power than he had been bestowed. He did not think it fair that Calix ruled over all when his vision for the world did not match the one he dreamt of.”
“Not much has changed then,” Castor muttered.
With a snap of his fingers, Elios pulled us back to the present. He surveyed the room, stopping as he came to Castor. To both men’s credit, neither backed down, their gazes holding the same determined heat. I was unsure I would have the same confidence in facing a god.
Elios scoffed. “That is the kind of thinking that got your families into this mess. This prejudice,” he spat, waving his hand. “I will never understand the range of emotions mortals experience. Do you not comprehend that your words have meaning, no matter the intention? They are just as capable of starting a fire as a match. Once that fire is lit, there is no way to undo what has been done. It is the folly of your kind.”
Castor made a disgruntled sound but dropped his gaze away from Elios in submission, choosing to end the battle before he lost the war.
“We aren’t mortals,” Jasper said, raising his brows.
Elios turned to face him. “You are mortal to someone like me. I have lived far beyond any lifespan you can imagine. I am born of gods and have their power and blood flowing through my veins. To put it simply, I am infallible.”
“So, gods cannot be killed?” Sloane asked.
“Why?” he asked with a saccharine smile. “Are you imagining how nice my head would look atop a pike?” Sloane blanched, earning a chuckle from the god. “A jest, I assure you. The humor of a god does not always translate as I hope.” Elios slid his hand into his pocket and leaned against Calia’s armchair. “No, little witch. We cannot be felled in the way you think of, not by mortal defenses. As it happens, only one weapon exists that can slay our kind, and I believe your friends are already acquainted with it.”
Elios nodded toward Rowena, studying her curiously as realization dawned upon both of us. “Holy shit,” she breathed, eyes growing as wide as saucers. “Rion?—”
“Surprising, is it not?” he asked, tilting his head. “That so many consequences would happen to a group of people brought together by unsuspecting circumstances. I surely never assumed I would stand in a room with my demi-goddess daughter and her vampyric husband—because yes, Castor, they are still married under Kallistos law—whose family owned the single weapon which could kill me.”
Good gods, it was disturbing how little we truly knew. Our father’s knife. The one Rowena and I had both been preoccupied with as children and beyond, that had called to my sister to present it to Calia, was a god slayer.
How had that come to be in my father’s possession? And why had it been displayed as though it were a trophy? I hated to think about my father having any malice in his heart that would prompt the use of the weapon, especially when it contradicted the image I held in my mind.
But other happenings made more sense, knowing the gravity of the situation. Of course, my mother would not have torn the house apart for a silly heirloom, as she claimed. It had never registered with me, for I thought she had simply wanted father’s study to remain untouched until I assumed his position on the council.
And again, how she panicked as she beheld the knife in Calia’s possession.
I sat forward, meeting Elios’ gaze. “My mother knew about Calia, didn’t she? She knew about the knife—its origins and power—and Calia’s true lineage. That is…” I trailed off, running a shaking hand through my hair. “That is why she still believes she can break this curse. She knows Calia lives.”
Dread pooled low in my gut. Good gods, this was much bigger than I ever imagined.
In my mother’s hands, this weapon had the power to bring about the destruction of the gods and, with it, the world. This held so much more weight than the curse ever had, but what good was the power of the world if you could not act on it whenever you pleased?
A heavy silence descended, our faces paling as our guests looked on. “Yes,” Castor said gruffly. “Calia did not know the power of the weapon she possessed until later, but I had surmised Leonora’s knowledge from the panic I witnessed in her expression as she beheld the dagger in my hand. Though she knew Calia would survive the damage, it would not have been safe for her to return and be easily accessible.” He lowered his gaze, but I swore I saw a hint of remorse cross his features before it disappeared. “I could not risk her safety if your loyalty was aligned with Leonora.”
And gods, though I ached more than I had a right to, I understood his confession for what it was: an apology.
Castor was not the type to admit faults, for in his eyes, he had none. But recognizing what he had done was more than I ever thought I would receive. It was enough to know he had done it for Calia and her safety—even if it was out of doubt for where my loyalties lay.
I shifted my gaze to my wife, who refused to return the gesture. She stared at her lap, running the tip of a nail along the finger that once housed my ring.
The ring, which I realized, I had never confessed having painstakingly spent days selecting in the hope of capturing the spirit of a woman I had never met.
A territorial instinct reared its ugly head, but now was not the time for me to free it. Perhaps there would never be a time for it again.
“Of course, that is neither here nor there,” Elios said. “A tale for another day, perhaps. But this is where our story takes a turn. One of grave importance.
Calix tried, for many years, to dispel the vampyric uprising, until he had no choice but to beseech the gods for help. He asked for a solution to quell the turmoil plaguing his land that he had been unable to do on his own. However, the gods did not answer his plea.”
“But he was their chosen,” Rowena interjected. “Why would they abandon him in his time of need, especially when they didn’t want their time of peace to be broken?”
Elios smiled sadly. “As benevolent as the gods were during their time of rule, they had already decided not to involve themselves in the matters of mortals. They did not have the emotional range of their creations, which meant—to put it simply—they did not care what happened.”
He walked to Calia’s side, tilting her chin tenderly with long fingers. “But there was one who did. She saw the potential of this land and its inhabitants, even if the others could not. She turned toward her oracles, scrying with bones to inquire of the future. In every variable, there were two commonalities.” He turned toward me. “The first being Arowan’s ruthless nature, for the situation was more dire than Calix knew. Arowan made offerings to a dark god, bargaining for more power than even could have wielded. If he had been successful, it would have meant the end of the fae.”
“And the second?” Sloane asked.
“The second was far more precarious. The bones foretold of two individuals, one Darrow and one D’Arcy. Their identities were concealed, but their union could at last bring peace to the land once more.”
Jasper hummed softly on the couch, drawing idle patterns along his leg as he collected his thoughts. “And this god, the one who intervened, they sent the sorceress to Calix?”
“Goddess,” Elios corrected. “And not quite. While mortals can communicate with the gods by prayer, it is not easy for them to reciprocate. There is no heavenly messenger capable of pigeoning correspondence. There is, however, a portal of sorts connecting the two realms where gods can come and go as they please. It is rarely used, except by those of us who walk between the worlds regularly.”
“You’re telling me the gods could be walking amongst us, and we wouldn’t even know?” Jasper asked. Elios raised his brow, gesturing to his body. “Ah, right. Still don’t understand that, either,” he mumbled.
“The goddess descended without delay, hoping she would not be too late. She landed in a field of poppies, reaching out with her powers to draw Calix to her. And when he approached, he saw only what she intended for him to see,” Elios said.
“And what was that?” I asked, ignoring the rising hairs on the back of my neck.
“A sorceress kneeling in a field, ready to answer his prayers.”