Chapter 28
Princess Cion was the first of the two riders. Soren stood just ahead of Vane as she slid off her dragon and strode towards them.
“Soren. Vane Evva.” Cion spoke crisply, like the leader she had not yet become—like the master who would someday hold the key to Vane’s chains.
“Princess,” Vane answered flatly.
Soren glanced back at him to find his gaze hard. He was standing tall, despite the still-healing wounds.
Cion swallowed, her throat bobbing as he stared at her. “Who saw you without your mask?” she finally asked him. “If anyone in the training camp is aware, it would be prudent to keep you separate from Soren.”
“No.” Soren didn’t let herself think before speaking, firmly and without any semblance of reverence or respect.
Cion reacted immediately to her tone, the princess’ lips parting and her eyes hardening. “It isn’t for you to decide. You are still under my father’s jurisdiction—both of you are.”
The second rider approached behind her, and Soren nearly groaned. Of course, they had sent Ilav with her, of all people.
“You should listen to your princess, Soren,” Ilav said with a smile that stunk of his believed superiority.
Vane made a low sound in his throat. “Who gave you authority?”
Ilav barked a laugh. “And to think, I was afraid of you, Mòr Maslach. You’re nothing but a dog for the king.”
“Shut up,” Soren hissed. She let shadows drift towards him, whispers of Night, and Ilav at least had the wherewithal to look wary as they toyed with his ankles.
“Stand down, both of you. Evva, answer my question,” Cion ordered, a hand on the dagger at her hip, adding, “truthfully.”
“It was a battle,” Vane said, voice dark and dripping with bitter disdain.
“Do you think I had time to look around and take much note of my surroundings?” He stepped past Soren, tilting his head.
She could sense the heat emanating from him—flames begging to reach the surface.
“You wouldn’t, though, would you? To you, battle is a game, with a parade afterwards where they shower you with roses. ”
Cion stiffened. “I said, stand down.” But her voice was wavering now.
Vane only smiled. “Do you know what we are, princess? Or has your dear father not chosen to disclose that particular detail yet?”
Soren felt a seed of pity for Cion, small as it was. She had been in the dark all these years, just as Soren herself had. But Vane wasn’t wrong—she must know some of it now. A line was beginning to be drawn in the sand, and it was unclear who stood where.
Kronos.
King Johannas.
Princess Cion.
Rebels.
Aren.
Mise.
War.
Something far more terrible than a conflict over resources was coming.
Perhaps killing Kronos was the key, but there were endless obstacles to that.
She and Vane could not do it alone, and it was obvious that even her death had not sated Kronos’ immeasurable need for power and control.
Even if they did manage to kill him, who would lead the gods?
Would the mortal side of the world fall into disarray?
Only an organized force could take on a power that had reigned for so long.
They needed more than hope now. They needed revolution.
Cion could be a part of that, should she choose it, but Soren only saw fear in the princess’ eyes as she replied, “The gods granted you power.”
Ilav was watching the whole exchange closely, his gaze flicking to Soren’s momentarily. She shivered, unease creeping up her spine at the cruel curiosity in his eyes.
“That’s what he told you,” Soren stated, brow raising.
Cion’s mouth tightened. “The gods are wise, but their decisions have always been difficult to understand—”
“Who told you that?” Soren had an inkling.
“Anabeth. She visited me at camp this past week, just after my father explained things to me. She helped me understand.”
Vane snorted softly. “She helped you to believe the lies he fed you, and she wasn’t there for you at all. That she wasted time on you at all makes me think she actually does care for you in some way.”
Cion’s eyes shone, but her expression grew sharp with anger. “You’re lying. Even Soren can tell you: Anabeth is just the scribe’s daughter.”
The second rider. Mind him, Thessa said.
“Also a lie,” Vane said. I have my eye on him.
Soren’s breath caught. Now that the four of them had an open pathway, it made sense that she could hear him too. A faint wisp of memory told her that had been the case before too.
Cion began to walk towards her, dagger in hand. “Soren, he’s lying. I don’t know what he’s told you, but you know—”
She cut herself off on a yelp as Vane stepped in front of her, his hands engulfed in flame. He was on edge, Soren could feel it in the shimmering heat of his magic that thickened the air.
“No closer until you drop the dagger,” he snarled, tiny sparks of ether flickering in his eyes. “Or I’ll give you a true glimpse at the power the gods ‘granted’ me.”
Cion’s eyes widened, landing on Soren. “Are you with him?” she said, voice disbelieving.
Ilav snorted. “You’re quite unobservant, princess, if it took you this long to pick up on that. Besides, does it really surprise you that a slave would try to gain favor by fucking her superior? Too bad he’s just as chained as she is.”
The darkness, sleeping in its prison, opened an eye.
“I would like to think it’s not a crime to fuck my husband,” Soren said, raising a brow. She was done denying the truth to herself, and the words were a release, letting go of all the uncertainty she had felt over the past few days while he had been asleep.
Glad to finally hear you say it, wife. I’ll have to make sure you remember what it’s like as soon as we’re alone again.
Cion’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, Ilav’s brow rising nearly up to his hairline.
The princess glanced at Vane, testing his reaction.
He simply took a step closer to Soren and said, “The truth is far worse than you want to imagine, mortal princess. And given that I’m not under any specific order to keep you alive, killing you is quite possibly in the cards if you don’t agree to help us. Your little friend, too.”
Cion paled, retreating a step, then another. Her dragon growled, the low sound vibrating through the earth. Ilav inched closer to his own dragon.
“Cion...” Soren wanted to at least give her a chance. “You need to listen.”
Cion let out a broken laugh. “Listen to what? You’re both mad! I should be the one threatening you, not the other way around.”
“We’re more alike than you think,” Soren said quietly.
Nyx was no queen, not after her refusal to marry Kronos. Still, all the principal gods held enough influence to be considered royalty. Soren had been raised as such in her life as Sora.
“Explain. Then, we go. My father, your king, is waiting on us.”
Soren pulled on the ether that had slowly begun to finally show itself in her blood, watching as Cion and Ilav’s attention went to her eyes.
“It’s complicated,” she told them. “But what you need to know is that Mise, or even the rebels in your own ranks—they’re not the real enemy. Over a hundred years ago, a god didn’t get what he wanted, and this world descended into chaos for it.”
“Your eyes,” Cion whispered.
“Ether,” Vane supplied, lacing his bare left hand in Soren’s. The cool metal of his wedding band slid against her skin as he squeezed hard. Behind them, Thessa and Heles rumbled.
Cion shook her head. “Ether only exists in Arcadia, in the gods.”
“The border sealed off mortals from entering Arcadia, but it does not prevent gods from entering this world. Vane was born and then banished here.”
“Holy gods,” Cion whispered. “You’re both demi-gods?”
“Vane is, but I—”
Vane’s hand tightened on hers, and she looked up at him. “Soren,” he said in a low voice. “This is Johannas’ daughter.”
“And he knows already anyways. Besides, we need her on our side.”
Cion looked at Soren expectantly, her eyes still wide and shining. Soren checked that well, the prison of power inside her, one last time. There was no denying what she was, not anymore. She could feel the power humming through her.
“A long time ago,” she said softly, “the only daughter of two powerful gods was betrothed to Kronos. But she fell in love with someone else, and he and his mortal kin paid the price for her selfishness.”
“Darkness rises, an ember of light to meet it,” Cion said, shaking her head. She looked up at Vane. “I always wondered what that part meant. Now, it’s becoming clear.”
Soren met the princess’ eyes, realizing what she meant. “The prophecy, the one that destined you to be a rider. There was more to it, wasn’t there?”
Slowly, Cion nodded. She opened her mouth, but Ilav cut in, stepping forward, Vane tense next to Soren as he said, “Are you seriously saying you are a god? I thought you were born in a dirt pit in Mise.”
Vane let go of her hand, closing in on Ilav so they were face to face. “Watch. Your. Mouth.”
Ilav looked up at Vane and said tersely, “It’s a simple question. How can she be your goddess wife and a slave from Mise?”
“Kronos didn’t let me live after what I’d done.” The words said aloud were a harsh reminder of Vane’s screams echoing against the palace walls in Arcadia. Her skin raised, as if she was hearing them now, and both Heles and Thessa made low, keening noises behind them.
Vane didn’t step away from Ilav as Cion said slowly, “So, you’re not a goddess, or you are?”
“Gods cannot die,” Soren replied simply. “Not their—our—souls. I am both Sora, daughter of Nyx and Thanatos, as well as Soren, a girl taken from her from her family in Mise.”
A shocked silence filled the area, perhaps the whole valley.
The mortal world held its breath as she willingly announced herself.
But the terse air broke quickly as Ilav asked, “Goddess or mortal, why in all the world would you pick a demi-god over a king? I mean, your power could have been limitless with Kronos, right?”