Chapter 6 A Truce in Berries
A TRUCE IN BERRIES
Acacius
Marina stood at the precipice of the broken bridge leading into Acacius’s fortress. Floating masses of earth surrounded the mainland, once a giant continent that separated the day he awoke with his new title.
Crumbled rock and cyclones twisted around the islands, spitting chunks into the basalt spires and towers at the top of the fractured castle. A relentless chorus of destruction echoed through its cracked walls.
Unlike Cassius, Acacius never felt the need to keep deities locked out of his realm. While his brother avoided confrontation and punishment, Acacius itched for it.
And as he stood at the entrance of his home, watching Marina’s figure grow closer, a wicked anticipation tingled in his chest.
The wind kicked up the hem of her scarlet gown, tossing her long, wavy hair around. Underneath the grim, opaque sky of Tavora, she strutted, her blank expression absent of fear.
Acacius’s eyes drifted to the velvet box in her grasp, the ends of the satin ribbon fluttering about.
A present?
He grinned, amused by her efforts.
Oh, this ought to be good.
He made no effort to greet her at the edge of the mainland, and Marina made no effort to look up at him as she teleported from island to island, traveling over pieces of the bridge that were once connected.
He shifted his stance, annoyed that none of the flying boulders managed to take her out.
She materialized on the edge of the fortress grounds, and the wind beating against her calmed. Her hair drifted back down over her shoulders, its dark ends meeting her waist.
Acacius’s gaze slid down the deep cut of her neckline, following the dangling silver necklace that bounced in between her breasts as she walked, to the slit in her dress that exposed her long legs with each step. Her confidence and alluring appearance knotted his stomach.
He crossed his arms, pulling the black blazer taut around his biceps. His eyes flitted up to her indifferent disposition, and the urge to crush her windpipe buzzed in his palms. Perhaps pain would trigger some sort of emotion in her.
He had a growing impulse to shatter the shield she hid behind and reveal the mess that lay within. A mess that called to him. He wanted to fold her inside out and see the canvas of Chaos she so easily kept contained.
Marina stopped a few feet away from him, lifting her low-lidded eyes to his face. “Lord Acacius,” she greeted.
Acacius leaned against the column of what was left of the arched stone gateway, entertained by her deadpan tone. “I must say, I am eager to hear why you’ve journeyed to Tavora.”
“Are you going to invite me inside?” She looked from him over to his shattered home.
Her condescending tone pinched his nerves, insinuating he lacked manners. “Are you so desperate to continue where we left off that you would ambush me in my own realm?”
A flit of exhaustion pulled at the corner of her eyes. “This would be a very poor ambush.” Her tone remained neutral, unruffled. “I am here to talk. Nothing more.”
Acacius stared at her for a moment, weighing her words against the twinge in his gut telling him she was full of shit.
Deities did not step foot inside of his space for fear and uncertainty at what calamity awaited. Yet here the High Goddess was, waiting to be let in.
He wasn’t sure if he was more impressed or perplexed by her bravery.
His attention shifted to her long red nails, their pointed ends pushing into the velvet material of the gift box she held against her waist. She wore three silver rings: one held a black crystal in its center, another was a dainty band, and the other was the shape of a dagger that extended to the knuckle of her middle finger.
He pondered the gift, everything in him screaming to not engage with whatever antic she had planned. Not once had he ever seen her show generosity to another. The gift was a gambit, and it was best not to accept it.
But it was precisely all those reasons that he sighed in defeat.
Uncrossing his arms, Acacius gave into his curiosity and said, “Very well. Follow me.”
Acacius escorted her through the pointed threshold into the courtyard, a disarray of a garden that he had no control over.
Climbing roses and briars of vines and overgrown ivy swallowed the stone exterior of his home.
The edges of the flora spread like a virus, their growth determined by Acacius’s emotions.
Acacius and Marina’s presence alarmed the moths resting within the greenery, sending the insects into a swarming flutter throughout the garden. A cloud of white and black and brown swirled in the air around them. Their tiny legs tickled his skin, a feeling his senses had long adapted to.
Marina’s heels clicked to the side of him, her frame lingering in his periphery. She glanced around at the roses and braided ivy over the dark stone. Moths scurried over her shoulders and landed on the top of her hair, but she made no move to bat them away.
They passed by a patch of fresh blossoms in the shape of small red hearts dangling from their stem.
Bleeding hearts.
A flower that sprouted hours after Ruelle’s death. Acacius clenched his jaws at the sight of them, despising the crack in his chest that they triggered.
He escorted Marina to his dining hall. The interior of the fortress was just as cold and grim as the outside. The gloomy walls were barely visible behind the thicket of mangled ivy, the mess decorated with crimson blooms hanging from the ceiling.
He pulled out a chair to the head of a long, narrow table draped in lacy linen.
The centerpiece was a bouquet of cream carnations and currant-red roses.
Taper candles, their wax dripping and clumping down the sides, each held a flame.
In between them was a serving platter filled with a variety of cheeses, nuts, and berries, courtesy of his Bound Olethros—the weakest breed of his monsters, who acted as his servants.
They had no way to anticipate the realm would receive a guest. It had been at least a century since their last one, aside from his siblings and Ruelle.
This feast was a ploy directed at him, something they started a few weeks after Ruelle’s death.
A way to persuade Acacius out of his bedchamber.
If not to dine, then to be in their company.
Because while Acacius was used to the loneliness, his Olethros rarely left him in it.
Acacius gestured for Marina to sit with a dramatic motion of his hand. “I suppose we can chat over wine and refreshments. Whatever you have to say, I know I will need the alcohol.”
At the sound of his sarcasm, she sent him a fake smile, the expression drawing little divots right below her eyes, high up on her cheeks. “I must say, your hosting skills need arduous work.”
He gave a fake smile right back, gripping the top of the chair a little tighter to keep from throwing it at her. “How long are you going to make me stand here before you sit?”
“You can pair your alcohol with these.” She shoved the velvet box into his stomach, and Acacius let out a grunt. “A gift to express my apologies.”
Making no move to accept it, he looked from the gift box up to Marina, skeptical, as if it would hex him just from the touch. “A gift?” he echoed.
“Yes,” she said.
He stared at her for a beat, attempting to gauge the empty surface of her umbral gaze.
In all the years he’d observed her, not once had he ever witnessed her giving something to another. Well, other than punishment.
She pushed the box harder into his abdomen. “How long are you going to make me hold this before you take it?”
He snatched the gift box from her. “I do enjoy you begging for my forgiveness.”
“It’s called sincerity.” She joined her hands in a proper manner in front of her navel, waiting.
Discomfort clenched in his stomach. He didn’t want to open it in front of her. It felt vulnerable somehow, being forced to acknowledge this thing she’d given him.
However, she persisted, refusing to sit until he did.
Acacius let out an annoyed sigh and began unraveling the bow. His fingers moved slowly, dread gathering in his chest. He was certain whatever was inside would harm him in some way.
He pulled the lid off warily, peeking in. The box was filled with fruit, a division of raspberries and blackberries on a black handkerchief.
He blinked.
What the hell?
His favorite marriage of foods.
The gesture was oddly considerate.
So very unlike her.
Acacius narrowed his eyes at her, unnerved. “How did you know?”
She swung her dress out of the way and finally sat down, pushing up a gust of warm vanilla. “We’ve attended the same monotonous dinner parties for ages, Acacius. Do you honestly think I have never caught glimpses of you sneaking a berry under your mask?”
Her observation skills were undoubtedly her most bothersome quality.
“How kind of you.” Acacius scooted her into the table a little too brusquely, cutting the edge into her abdomen.
A small grunt escaped her, and he smiled, fabricating to his chair across from her.
She pushed back from the table to create a small distance between it and her stomach, eyeing him with pointed disdain.
A hunched figure swathed in a dark cloak entered the room, their face concealed by an animal skull with small, twining horns. It hobbled with the assistance of its bone-carved staff, a bottle of wine in its other hand.
“I must say, your decor is gorgeous.” Marina leaned into the bouquet, closing her index and middle finger around a thorny stem to bring the rose to her nose. “Do you grow the flowers yourself?”
The Bound’s sharp claws clanked against the glass as it filled their chalices.
Acacius stripped from his blazer and handed it off to the Bound before sitting. If he were going to tolerate conversation with Marina, he needed to ease the density in his chest, and the snug fabric of his blazer only overstimulated his nerves.
“In a sense, yes.” Acacius downed his drink, the wine seizing his tastebuds.