Chapter 24
A vaguely familiar voice pulled Soren from the depths. She blinked heavily, wincing as consciousness brought with it pain. Her belly was on fire, aching and sore, and her arm didn’t feel much better.
“Vane. She’s awake.”
The soft voice paired itself with an unexpected face. “Anabeth?” she croaked.
The scribe’s daughter smiled. “Glad to see you’re awake.”
But as Soren’s vision became clearer and her mind caught up, she realized Lady Anabeth was familiar for more than one reason. She had been in the cavern that night, hovering next to the other woman, the goddess who had performed the ceremony.
Now, Soren remembered the truth. ‘Lady’ Anabeth was not real. She was truly the demi-god daughter of the goddess Juno, and one of the only souls who had known about her and Vane before they had been betrayed.
It was all becoming so clear now.
Soren jolted and Anabeth gently caught her shoulder. “Soren, it’s okay,” she said in a hushed voice.
“Was it you?” Soren asked, ignoring the near-agonizing pain as she sat up.
Anabeths’s brow creased, and she glanced back. Soren followed her eyes to the entrance of the tent, where Vane lingered, his stance tense and his arms crossed over his chest.
“You didn’t tell me she remembered,” Anabeth said, brow raised as she looked at him.
His jaw rippled. “I said she remembers some. I didn’t realize she would recognize you yet, beyond the way she knows you in this lifetime.”
Soren slapped away Anabeth’s hand, biting back a gasp of pain, gritting out, “Stop talking about me as if I’m not in the room.”
Vane said nothing, his expression flat.
Soren scoffed at him. “Right. Tell me the worst of everything then go and leave me during an attack and expect everything to be just fine. And now you’re the one acting like I did something wrong.”
Anabeth’s brows rose, but Vane bit out, “You nearly died. Do you know that? If you were mortal, you would be gone.”
“I am mortal,” she snapped. “I was born in Mise twenty-two years ago, and I had a family. I don’t need another one.”
“They are no more your family than the royals in Aren.”
“How dare you—”
“She knew. Your mother in Mise.”
Soren’s breath caught. “You can’t know that.”
He laughed coldly. “Wake up. Look at what she named you. Besides, Cavell is an old surname, one I know well. I don’t know how the fuck Nyx did it, but she made sure you were brought into this world again by the granddaughter of one of her mortal spies from the old days.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Soren shot back, even as her stomach twisted.
Vane’s nostrils flared. “Regardless, you cannot go back to pretending you’re anything but what you are now.”
“What do you mean?”
Anabeth shifted, muttering, “Vane, not now.”
But he ignored the demi-god. “We crushed the rebel attack despite the fact that they overran us. Do you know why?”
“No,” Soren whispered hoarsely, remembering the screams that had surrounded her when she let her magic loose. “I wouldn’t have killed them all. I would have at least protected the rebels.”
“You didn’t protect anyone, Soren. Magic doesn’t have morals, and yours took enough on both sides. But it gave those in the camp the edge they needed.”
She felt faint. The torches flickering in the tent were too warm and bright, the air cloistered and stale. She had to go, had to get away from this.
“Vane,” Anabeth cut in sternly. “You need to calm down or shut up. She needs rest.”
The demi-god lifted her hand and gently put pressure on Soren’s torso, blood seeping through the bandages.
“I’m sorry, Sora,” she said softly. “For pretending all those years and watching what they did to you in silence. I don’t expect forgiveness, but this might be my last chance to say that to you.”
“Not my name,” Soren slurred.
Her vision crossed and blurred, but she swore she saw Vane in the corner, head on his knees. Anabeth said something softly to him, but the words sounded slow and echoed to Soren. The torches in the tent flared just before Soren lost consciousness again.
When she came to again, the pain was gone. A soreness remained in her torso as she sat up in the dark, but she could move without feeling faint. Anabeth was gone, but in the dark, she saw someone curled on the ground next to her under what appeared to be a few overcoats.
“Vane?” she rasped, her voice hoarse and wobbly.
He stirred, and the torches flared to life around them. Now fully awake, she glanced around. The tent was large but nearly empty besides the sleeping cot she rested on, a basin for washing, and a menagerie of weapons on a small rack near the entrance.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting up and knotting back his hair, his brow creased.
She shrugged, swinging her legs over the side of the cot, but he stopped her with a hand to her knee.
“Take it slow,” he ordered.
She ignored the heat from even his subtle touch and muttered, “Says the man who reopened all my stitches with just an argument.”
He paled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did.” He still hadn’t moved his hand from her leg, and his grip tightened slightly as he added, a shade quieter, “You scared me.”
Looking away from him, she said, “I need you to tell me. My sister, Kelshie—she’s dead, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” he said without wasting a moment to let her guess or wonder.
“I killed her, didn’t I?”
His thumb slipped down her inner knee in gentle motions. “You saved her from a far worse fate. Death by dragonfire is not a kind way to go.”
“Who is he? Mòr Maslach?”
Vane’s thumb stilled. “A monster in a mask,” he said in a low voice, adding bitterly, “a pet for King Johannas.”
“Have you met him before?”
“We have bigger problems to worry about,” he said, shaking his head.
She narrowed her eyes. His hate for the masked rider seemed personal, so she didn’t understand why he wouldn’t reveal who he was. He had already told her most everything, and she didn’t like the secret between them.
But she let his bait work for now and asked, “Like what?”
“Anabeth still has connections to Arcadia,” he said, lowering his voice. “That’s why she was here. She came to warn us.”
“Who and…how?” Soren asked.
Outside, someone was walking past the tent.
Vane let the footsteps fade, eyes on the canvas flap, before he said, “You saw the Three Sisters, didn’t you? Not long ago?”
“I don’t know…” she said, trailing off as she remembered those voices in the mountain on the journey to the Sisters of Arcane’s temple.
Vane caught her hesitation, nodding. “Anabeth thought so. The Sisters are under Juno’s jurisdiction, so when they appeared on this side of the barrier, Ana said she felt it.”
Soren wrung her hands. Vane slipped his fingers away from her leg, leaving coldness in his wake. Resisting the urge to ask him to touch her again, if only to chase away the cold, she said, “What do they have to do with Arcadia? I thought no one could cross the barrier.”
“No mortals.”
She stared at him, shocked. “Then why are you still here? Why did Anabeth stay in Aren, for that matter?”
Vane grimaced. “I was raised here. And after…everything, neither of us were welcomed back to Arcadia.”
“She wasn’t the one who sold us out?”
“No.”
Soren paused. “What about her father? The scrollkeeper in Aren?”
“Her brother. A godling. He decided to stay with her in mortal lands, to protect her should Kronos send anyone to try and hurt her.”
“And Kronos just…let you go?” she asked quietly. “Once I was dead?”
Vane flinched, and for a split second, she saw it—not from her eyes but from his…
The white marble was slick as he crawled to Sora’s still body.
Above, Kronos grunted and brought down the barbed whip again.
His body convulsed, but the pain was nothing compared to the ripping in his soul.
He just kept crawling, even as tears and blood obscured his vision.
When he reached her, Kronos just stood there, watching, as if his pain was a show.
Her bright blue eyes were wide open, but the familiar silver hue that had always lit them up was gone. A gasp turned into a heaving sob, clawing its way up from his chest. His body shook violently as he pulled her into his lap, her blood staining his hands, his legs… There was so much of it.
His punishment was setting in now. All he wanted to do was lie down and die with her, but Kronos wouldn’t allow that. He was going to force him to endure an empty world, one void of her.
Eventually, once Sora’s body was cold and the blood was beginning to dry on the marble, Kronos kicked him and barked, “Burn her body.”
He looked up at the Kronos and snarled, “No.”
Kronos barked out a cold laugh. “I thought you might say that. Burn her body, or I will chain you up again and make you watch as my guards chop it into tiny pieces to feed to the dogs.”
He wanted to scream, to tear out his own heart and the king’s, but Kronos had always been true to his word. This was no mere taunt.
He was so weak after hours of torture, he couldn’t even stand, much less fight the king of the gods.
He finally released her, pressing trembling lips to her brow and whispering again and again, “I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Any day now, demi-god.”
He crawled half a pace back and shut his eyes. He barely had the strength to access his magic, but when he felt it flare, when he felt the heat of the flames and smelled burning flesh, his body finally gave in.
He welcomed the darkness as it consumed him, praying he would never wake.
“How…long ago?” Her words were strangled, each an effort after what she had just seen. She had no idea how he had shown her the memory, but she had to know the answer first.
Vane’s hands were clenched at his sides. “One hundred and three years. In less than one moon cycle, it will be one hundred and four. I…” His voice shook slightly. “I didn’t mean for you to see that.”
“How did I see it?”
He cleared her throat. “Thessilnn connects us. She must have been tuned in and ferried the memory to your mind.”
You needed to see it. There is a price for everything.