Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
To stand in the presence of a single god was overwhelming. To stand in the presence of two was obliterating.
My skin was hot, the ache between my thighs still throbbing despite every logical sense telling me that now was not the time.
Septimus’s hand remained on my arm even after we lurched apart, as if he’d forgotten it was there.
Zefiah had crashed through the closet door, coming to my frantic call in the moments before the gods appeared, but she had fallen short of my grasp.
We were no longer in the cottage. At least, we did not appear to be—it was an illusion, I was certain. Instead, we stood upon a smooth marble tile. Clouds surrounded us, tinted blush and blue, shimmering as if with stardust. It was impossibly bright, dousing Kajmar and Ix in an ethereal glow.
They were staggeringly beautiful.
Kajmar and Ix lorded over different domains, but they were often paired together.
Both were gods of pleasure—Kajmar with his power over art and beauty, Ix with hers over fertility and sexuality.
They lounged upon a throne of clouds, Ix draped over Kajmar’s lap.
Ix had the most stunning face I had ever seen on another being—large eyes with deep, dark irises, pink cheeks, a full, red mouth.
She wore a long, sheer, rose-colored gown that revealed the generous shape of her body beneath.
Yet, all that beauty was lined with barbs.
Her perfect lips appeared to be stained with blood.
And her delicate hands were rust-red up to her elbows—dyed, the scriptures said, with a million lives taken in childbirth.
At her side sat her bow, rendered in thorny vines of gold, and a quiver of rose-tipped arrows.
Kajmar was just as lovely. His chest was bare, revealing muscles that looked to be carved in marble—tailored to aesthetics, not function.
His features were fine, every pane of his face painstakingly placed.
Silky hair fell over his shoulder. The hue of his smooth skin and his hair shifted with each passing second—fairer, darker, tinted with purple and blue and gold and silver, as if perpetually under the cast of light dancing through stained glass.
Septimus’s hand tightened around my arm.
I glanced at him. He was more disheveled than I’d ever seen him, his hair messy and shirt undone.
I remembered with an involuntary flush why he looked that way.
I imagined my state wasn’t much better. I was suddenly very conscious of the amount of bare skin on display.
“What a shame.” Ix’s laugh sounded like a drug. My every mortal instinct would kill for another hit of it. “We didn’t mean to interrupt. You may continue, if you wish. I know you want to.”
She wiggled her fingers playfully at us, and a wave of—well, there was no other word for it—intense horniness passed over me. Septimus’s touch was suddenly agonizing.
He released my arm too quickly, then lowered to a bow.
“An honor to be in your presence, my lady,” he said.
{Bow, you fool,} Zefiah hissed. {Bow to them.}
I did. My legs were weak beneath me, trembling slightly.
Kajmar and Ix exchanged a glance of amusement.
“Such surprising manners from one of Nyaxia’s dogs,” Kajmar said. His voice was the pluck of a lyre, music trailing every word.
Ix made a sweet, soundless noise. “Dogs? No, look at him. He is quite beautiful, is he not?” She beckoned, and Septimus rose and approached.
Ix’s gaze raked over his body. “I will say this of our wayward cousin. She does have taste, in her peculiar way. Look at how lovely she has made them. A shame at what lies beneath their surface. Especially these ones.”
Her fingertips traced his chin, and he sucked in a breath. I found myself holding mine, too, for reasons I did not quite understand. My fingers itched for Zefiah’s hilt.
But then, just like that, he tucked all his unruly surprise away, leaving behind that smooth, confident mask. His lips curled as he bowed his head.
“Very flattering, my lady,” he said. “But give me the credit I deserve. Not all vampires are beautiful creatures.”
I nearly rolled my eyes. Gods help us. He was going to try to seduce her after all.
Ix’s dark eyes sparkled like the afterglow of fireworks. “And credit I shall give you, fallen one. I do appreciate a man who values his appearance.”
Kajmar looked less amused. His eyes—bright green, like polished gems—fell to me.
I blinked and found myself several strides closer, even though I did not remember moving.
A strange melody drifted through the air, subtle, as if played in a distant breeze through the leaves, and I looked down to see that the harp was now in my hands.
“You,” he said. “What is your name?”
“Kyrene.” The answer came like I was an instrument powerless to the pluck of a string. Everything was hazy. But Ix’s fingers ran through Septimus’s hair, and that was enough to cut through it. My expression flickered, purposefully avoiding his gaze, and Ix giggled.
“Oh, how sweet. Possessive, are you?” She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “He feels the same, you know.”
Now I was definitely avoiding Septimus’s eyes.
{Six bleeding blades, get a grip on yourself, Kyrene,} Zefiah snapped. {We have bigger concerns.}
She was right. Our mark was right in front of us. But, oddly, the vision had given no mention of Ix. Still, we had come here to slay Kajmar. And slay him I would.
I observed Kajmar’s stunning face. I could see why his followers offered themselves to him, even at the cost of their own autonomy.
There were worse fates than to sacrifice the rough edges of a foul world in favor of becoming a slave to such beauty.
At least you would live in pleasure every day.
At least you could feel the sun, even if it was a shallow mimicry of it.
And yet.
When I looked at those pristine features, I saw the bodies sprawled out in Estrys.
I saw the death that he had brought upon Septimus’s people, and even his own followers.
Were those warriors any better than slaves?
Had his magic masked their awareness to make them more willing sacrifices, so high that they no longer even felt the instinct to preserve their own lives?
It felt sick to twist pleasure into something so fucking ugly.
Zefiah’s presence tugged at me. She might—might—be close enough to come if I called her.
{You are close enough to take them,} she hissed. {Give me his blood. Give me his heart. Give me retribution.}
I felt her hunger, too. But I stayed my hand. Instead, my eyes drifted to Septimus. Beneath his impassive expression, I could hear him urging: Wait.
Last time, I had run at Srana blade drawn and paid for it. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
“Enough of petty distractions,” Kajmar said, stroking Ix’s hair in a way that seemed half affectionate, half annoyed. He eyed me. “You are the god slayer? We have heard of you.”
“Very flattering,” I said. “Yes. I killed Shiket.”
They looked me up and down, visibly unimpressed.
“Poor Shiket,” Ix sighed. “Our sister murdered by the very one she chose as her warrior.”
But there was a twist of cruel delight at her perfect mouth. Ix did not mourn her sister at all.
“Is that why I’m here, then?” I asked. “You’ll be bringing me to justice?”
Kajmar and Ix exchanged an amused glance.
“Have you not heard?” Kajmar drawled. “Justice is dead.”
“Convenient, too,” Septimus said. “It would be a terrible waste to destroy a tool so valuable. Kyrene is the only one capable of bearing Shiket’s Blade of Retribution. The strongest remaining piece of Shiket’s power.”
“And why should that matter to us?” Ix said, with a carelessness that seemed very deliberate.
“I think it matters to you very much.” I gave her a knowing smile. “You were the ones who sought me out, after all.”
“The death of a god cannot go unpunished,” Kajmar said.
“That’s a shame,” I said. “I think I have a lot to offer.”
“An offer from a traitor.” He scoffed. “How tempting.”
“A weapon is a weapon.”
It was a dare.
Because they could kill me—easily, they could. And that would be the smart thing for them to do. I was unpredictable. Mortal. Traveling with a fallen one of Nyaxia. They could not say what move I’d make next, so their smartest one would be to eliminate the variable.
But they wouldn’t do that. I knew it. They knew it. They knew I knew it. We were all just pretending.
Ix’s eyes shone, lips twisted into a vicious smile. She was delighted by this—the game, the bloodshed, the opportunity to win over a possession once precious to her sister. Just as Septimus had known she would be.
“Tell me,” she said, “why did you kill my sister?”
It took everything in me not to flinch as I met Ix’s hypnotic gaze. And I chose my words so carefully, because no one could lie to a god:
“She proved herself to be unworthy of following,” I said.
Ix leaned back against Kajmar’s chest. “Such a toll these last ten years had taken upon her. She was not what she used to be.”
“You have something that belongs to me.” Kajmar gestured to the harp that burned in my grasp. “My followers were unsuccessful in their attempt to reclaim it. How fortunate that you have brought it to me instead.”
“Very fortunate indeed,” I said, but already, in the back of my mind, I was frantically trying to decide how I’d avoid giving it up.
I was relieved when he only said, “Do you know what it does?”
“I do not.”
His hand wove into Ix’s long, cinnamon-colored hair, as if he was snuggling up for a night of entertainment. “Play it for us.”
Well, fuck. It would almost be funny if it was my utter lack of musical talent that would end us.
I said, “I’m afraid I’m not much of a—”
“Play it.”
The command left no room for interpretation. My body begged to obey him. And though I had never once strummed a harp in my life, my fingers found the strings and plucked.